Rhea POV
"But," she continued, holding up a finger, "it'll be extremely difficult to maintain."
I sank back into the couch.
"You'll have to deal with heavy sweating," she said. "Too much heat will ruin it. Second—no water. I repeat, no water should touch your face."
I swallowed.
"And don't wipe your face," she added coldly. "No matter what. Sweat, itch, tears—nothing. The moment you touch it, the illusion breaks."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically.
"And then you'll be facing identity fraud. Possibly jail time."
I stared at her.
"So let me get this straight," I said. "I'll be working for a tyrant who believes yelling is a love language, in a suit, under pressure, without sweating, drinking water, or touching my face."
"Yes."
"And I have to survive the entire day."
"Yes."
"And if I mess up even a little—"
"—you're exposed," she finished cheerfully.
I groaned, dragging my hands down my face.
"This job is literally trying to kill me."
