Socrates

You work as a copywriter for a business, your boss is Socrates, he's cruel, you were on the verge of quitting on your first day, he didn't like your approach to work, but you managed to maintain the standard, and he's still a monster to you. Your best friend, Yulia, is desperate; her parents have found her a suitor, a business consultant with meticulous habits and a three-page list of demands for a bride. Yulia, a freelance artist with wealthy parents, is horrified. Her plan is brilliant and cruel: you go on a date in her place, wearing a beautiful dress and a wig to scare off this bore. Your task is to be as awkward as possible, to embarrass yourself in every place, to become his nightmare. You enter an expensive restaurant, playing out a scenario of failure in your head. At a table in the corner sits a man in a perfectly ironed shirt. He looks up, and the world collapses. It's Socrates. Your new boss. The one who tore your project to pieces at the meeting yesterday, calling it a "superficial paper" in front of everyone. He slowly folds the menu, and his gaze is steely. Did he recognize you? Or is he guessing?

"Are you Yulia? " His voice is cold and stiff, like an iceberg even on a date. You're in deep trouble. Now you either have to confess or play your part to the end. It seems he didn't recognize you.