The clinking of glasses and low murmur of conversation filled the hotel bar, a sophisticated space with polished wood surfaces and soft lighting that created an inviting, yet professional atmosphere. The crowd was a mix of men in tailored suits and women in elegant dresses, all unwinding after a long day of networking and presentations. The conference for advertising agencies had brought together some of the most influential names in the industry, and the bar was the natural after-hours gathering spot for those looking to continue the evening’s connections—or make new ones.

Victor stood among a group of men near the bar, his back to the polished counter. He held a shot of tequila in one hand, his other resting casually in his pocket as he scanned the room with practiced ease. The conversation around him ebbed and flowed, but Victor’s mind was elsewhere. He was in his element here—confident, charismatic, and always on the lookout for his next conquest.

The tequila burned pleasantly as it went down, warming him from the inside out. He liked the ritual of it, the way it sharpened his senses and smoothed out the rough edges of the day. He wasn’t really listening to the men around him, though he nodded along, laughing when appropriate. His attention was on the women in the room, each one a potential target, each one a challenge waiting to be conquered.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to settle on her. She was standing at the other end of the bar, alone, her back to him as she leaned against the counter. She had long, dark hair that fell in soft waves down her back, and she wore a sleek, black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. The dress was simple but elegant, the kind that spoke of understated confidence.

Victor’s lips curled into a smile as he took another sip of his drink. “Gentlemen,” he said, cutting into the conversation. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got something to take care of.”

The men around him chuckled knowingly, clapping him on the back as they exchanged a few teasing remarks. Victor waved them off with a grin, already focused on the woman at the bar. He finished his tequila, the glass clinking softly as he set it down, and made his way across the room.

She didn’t notice him at first, lost in thought as she stirred her drink with a slender straw. Victor moved beside her, leaning against the bar with easy confidence. He didn’t speak right away, letting the silence between them linger just long enough to get her attention. When she finally looked up, he met her gaze with a smile that was equal parts charm and invitation.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice smooth and warm.

She returned his smile, her eyes flickering with interest. “Not at all,” she replied, her tone light.

Victor signaled the bartender for another drink, then turned his full attention to her. They exchanged the usual pleasantries—names, what brought them to the hotel, small talk that flowed easily and naturally. She was witty and intelligent, with a sharp sense of humor that matched his own. Victor found himself genuinely enjoying the conversation, even as his mind worked on the next steps of his plan.

The drinks kept coming, and as the night wore on, the conversation shifted from casual banter to something more flirtatious. There was a moment, brief but charged, when their eyes met and Victor knew he had her. He suggested they take the party somewhere more private, and she agreed with a playful smile.

They danced for a while first, the rhythm of the music pulling them close. Victor’s hands rested on her waist, guiding her as they moved together, their bodies in sync. The heat between them was undeniable, and when she leaned in to whisper something in his ear, her breath warm against his skin, he felt a surge of anticipation.

By the time they made it to Victor’s hotel room, the air between them was electric. They barely made it through the door before they were kissing, their hands exploring each other as they stumbled towards the bed. Victor was in his element, every touch and kiss calculated, every move designed to bring them closer to what he was certain would be an unforgettable night.

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But then, as they tumbled onto the bed, something changed. Victor felt it first as a faint chill in the air, an eerie cold that seemed to seep into the room from nowhere. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him pause.

The woman didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in the moment as she kissed his neck, her hands roaming over his chest. Victor shook off the unease, convincing himself it was nothing, just a draft from the air conditioning. But then, as he tried to push forward, he felt it—a sudden, inexplicable tension in his body, a resistance where there shouldn’t be any.

Victor’s confidence wavered as he realized that something was wrong. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the woman in his arms, but no matter what he did, his body refused to cooperate. The chill in the room grew stronger, wrapping around him like an invisible shroud, and with it came a creeping sense of dread.

The woman pulled back slightly, sensing his hesitation. She looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. “Hey,” she whispered, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “You okay?”

Victor forced a smile, though it felt strained. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... give me a minute.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it just happens. Maybe you’re a little tense.”

He nodded, though tension wasn’t the right word for what he was feeling. There was something else, something he couldn’t quite put into words. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the unease only grew. He tried again, but the result was the same. His body remained unresponsive, as if it had suddenly become foreign to him.

The woman tried to reassure him, her voice soothing as she offered suggestions—maybe another drink, maybe they should take it slow—but nothing seemed to work. With each failed attempt, Victor’s frustration mounted, a bitter taste forming in the back of his throat.

Finally, the woman sighed, pulling away entirely. She sat up on the edge of the bed, smoothing down her dress as she gave him an apologetic look. “I should probably go,” she said gently. “It’s late, and we’ve both had a lot to drink.”

Victor opened his mouth to protest, to try and salvage the situation, but the words caught in his throat. He nodded instead, feeling a strange mix of relief and shame as she gathered her things. She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, a gesture that felt more pitying than affectionate, before slipping out of the room.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Victor alone in the dimly lit room. The chill lingered in the air, more pronounced now that he was alone, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

It had to be the alcohol, he told himself. He had drunk more than usual, and maybe it had messed with his body’s response. It wasn’t the first time he’d overindulged, and it wouldn’t be the last. But even as he tried to rationalize it, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a sense that something wasn’t right.

Victor rolled over, burying his face in the pillow as he tried to push the thoughts away. He was too tired to deal with it now, too drained to think clearly. He’d sleep it off, and in the morning, everything would be back to normal. It had to be. This was just a one-time thing, a fluke. Nothing more.

But as he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, the chill in the room persisted, wrapping around him like a ghostly presence. It seeped into his dreams, turning them strange and unsettling. In one moment, he was himself, confident and in control, but in the next, everything shifted. His reflection in the mirror was wrong, distorted, the features too soft, too unfamiliar. His body felt different, the angles and lines all wrong, as if he had been remade in someone else’s image.

The dreams left him restless, and when Victor finally woke, it was with a start. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light, and for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. The events of the previous night came rushing back in fragments, and with them, the cold, gnawing fear that something had changed.

Victor sat up, rubbing his face with both hands as he tried to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. His head ached, a dull throb that pulsed behind his eyes, and his mouth was dry, the aftertaste of tequila clinging to his tongue. He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, but his hand froze midway, a strange sensation prickling at his skin.

His fingers felt different—slimmer, more delicate than he remembered. He stared at them, turning his hand over as if expecting to find some visible change, but they looked the same. It had to be his imagination, the remnants of those bizarre dreams bleeding into reality.

Victor pushed the thoughts aside, The cool air of the room brushed against his skin, sending another shiver through him. He glanced around, looking for any sign of what might have caused the draft, but everything seemed in place. No windows left open, no vents blowing cold air. Just an inexplicable chill that seemed to follow him.

He shrugged it off.