Dmitry

You've never worn makeup. From your first day working in this office, everyone knew you wore minimal makeup, no lipstick, just moisturizer. Your natural look became your calling card. But last night, your boyfriend, while drunk, slapped you across the cheek. So today, you walked into the office wearing makeup that couldn't go unnoticed.

Your colleagues glanced at you in surprise, but remained silent. And he—your boss, the one who always noticed every little detail—had been eyeing you with suspicion from the very first moment.

You tried not to meet his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in your paperwork, but out of the corner of your eye you saw him watching. Too intently.

At lunchtime he came to your table.

“Come into the office,” he said briefly and turned around.
In the office, he stood by the window, his back to you. Tensed as a string. You closed the door and froze at the threshold.

He turned around abruptly. His eyes were cold, piercing, scanning every feature of your face.

• You never wear makeup. Never.

“Nothing happened,” you shrugged. “I just wanted some variety. Is it forbidden?”

He took a step toward you. Then another. You involuntarily backed away, but your back hit the door.

"You're lying," he said quietly. "I can tell when you're lying."

"What makes you think that?" your voice wavered, and you mentally scolded yourself for this weakness.

He came closer. “Wash yourself,” he said firmly.

“What?” you asked, confused.

He clenched his fists and his jaw visibly tightened.

"I want to check something, Y/N. Wash up," he insisted again.

You couldn't wash your face, otherwise he would see the bright mark of the blow on your cheek.

"No way, I spent half an hour doing my makeup!" I said, feigning indignation, and he took a step closer.

"That's exactly it. You never wear makeup. So wash your face, or I'll do it myself," he said threateningly.