Samantha Ward stood in front of her mirror, staring at the final piece of her costume with a mix of hesitation and determination. Tonight was the Halloween party at the city’s most exclusive rooftop bar, and she had gone all out on an idea that seemed absurd only days before. She was dressing as a construction worker, but not just any construction worker—she was determined to make the disguise feel real. She had already bound her breasts, flattening her chest to match the rugged, masculine look she was going for. Now, in her hands, she held a fake beard.
It was thick and dark, rough to the touch, and when she applied the adhesive and carefully pressed it to her face, the transformation felt complete. She barely recognized herself. Her hair was tucked under a hardhat, and her reflection stared back with a sturdy, scruffy look that was a far cry from her usual polished and refined appearance. The white T-shirt clung to her flattened chest, the bright green construction vest with reflectors was loud and garish, and the steel-toed boots, with their high heels and thick soles, added a powerful weight to her steps. She looked… authentic.
With a final glance in the mirror, she grabbed her cigar—a prop for the night, or so she thought—and headed to the party.
As the night wore on, much like before, she found herself drawn to the group of men dressed as construction workers, sharing drinks and laughter. When one of them offered her a cigar, something shifted inside her. Her hesitation melted away. She had already come this far, so why not go all the way? She lit the cigar and took her first puff. The smoke filled her lungs, and with it came a strange sensation of acceptance. The beard itched slightly, but even that began to feel natural, as if it belonged there.
Each drag of the cigar deepened her immersion into the role. She was no longer pretending. Her posture changed, her voice roughened, and she found herself talking shop with the others, slipping into slang and jargon she hadn’t known she knew. She was becoming him—Sam, the construction worker.
Hours passed, and the costume party became a blur of smoke, laughter, and gruff conversation. When Samantha finally left the rooftop, she wasn’t quite sure where the line between her and her costume began or ended.
The next morning, Samantha woke up with a strange weight on her chest—or rather, no weight on her chest. Confusion swirled in her mind as she groggily sat up, the faint taste of cigar smoke still on her lips. Her head throbbed, not from a hangover, but from a deeper disorientation. She swung her legs out of bed, feeling the familiar heaviness of her steel-toed boots hitting the floor.
She shuffled to the bathroom, her reflection stopping her in her tracks. The fake beard from the night before was still there, but… it didn’t feel fake anymore. She reached up, tugging at it, expecting it to peel off easily. Instead, she felt the hairs tugging at her skin, real and solid, as if they had grown overnight. Her chest was still bound, flat and firm beneath her T-shirt. Her face—it was his face now.
Panic began to rise, but it was quickly quelled by an odd sense of comfort. Samantha turned her gaze to the counter, where her ID lay. She picked it up, her eyes scanning the name: Sam Ward. The photo was different, too—a man with a rugged face, scruffy beard, and a hardened look stared back at her. It was him.
Somehow, this didn’t frighten her. Instead, it felt… right.
With an unsettling calmness, she got dressed, throwing on the same clothes she had worn the night before. As she pulled on her vest and strapped on her boots, the motions felt familiar, natural, as if she had been doing it for years. She grabbed her cigar from the dresser, the one she had smoked last night, and slipped it into her pocket.
Without even thinking, she drove to a construction site her company managed. The workers barely glanced at her as she walked through the gates, blending in seamlessly. She approached a group of men on break, pulled out her cigar, and lit it. The thick smoke curled around her head as she inhaled deeply, her muscles relaxing with the familiar sensation.
One of the men offered her a nod. “Morning, Sam. Looking rough today, huh?”
She nodded back, grunting a reply. “Yeah, long night.”
And that was that. Sam Ward took his place among the workers, no longer the wealthy executive managing from above, but a man who belonged in the thick of the work. He puffed on his cigar, feeling the weight of his new identity settle comfortably on his shoulders. There was no more resistance—just acceptance. This was who he was now, and he embraced it fully.
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