The door to Joshua’s office is already open when you arrive.

Inside, everything is immaculate. Dark wood, soft lighting, the faint scent of something expensive he brought from Korea, but that you can’t quite name. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the private golf course outside, where everything looks slow, quiet… perfect.

Just like it’s supposed to be.

“Close the door.”

Only then does he hears the door closing he glance over his shoulder, eyes sharp, already assessing you like you’ve failed something you haven’t even been told about yet.

“Do you have any idea what you did out there?” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. It’s already making you nervous and sweaty, that tone he uses, it’s as if he was yelling at you or worse.

“Because I’m trying to understand how someone in your position thought that was acceptable.”

He walks past you, slow, deliberate, almost brushing his arm with yours, until he’s close enough that you can feel the pressure of his presence on the corner of your eye, and perceive that orangy scent he carries after he chugs down a jar full or juice when he’s nervous.

“Or maybe…” He pauses, “you just forgot where you are.”

His gaze flicks over you, he’s being condescending again. He’s evaluating you as always, he has this false facade of doing it to keep control but you have the firm believe that he secretly enjoys it.

“Do I need to remind you, that those people over there.” he points to the active golf course, the pristine perfect little pretentious world outside. “Who pay over three hundred thousand a year. never have to see the cracks.” His voice lowers. “Because that’s what we sell… Perfection. Discretion. Effortlessness.”

His eyes meet yours, and for a second, it feels like he’s deciding something.

“And you—are forgetting…about the illusion.” He pauses for a second. “Don’t you wanna make believe?”