Gemotions

The dog-eared manuscript lay on the kitchen table, a single word scrawled across the cover: "Amelia." He’d never even asked her name. James walked over, deliberately dragging his knuckles along the page. A tremor, a barely perceptible tightening in his jaw, was the only outward sign of the storm brewing inside.

He grabbed the nearest mug, a chipped ceramic monstrosity she’d insisted on keeping. He filled it with lukewarm coffee, not bothering to check the contents. He knew it would be weak, just the way she liked it. He took a long, exaggerated swallow, the bitter liquid doing little to soothe the rising heat in his chest.

The title page. "Her Perfect Husband." A sardonic snort escaped his lips. The sheer audacity. He flipped through the pages, his movements jerky, each turn a barely controlled act of aggression. The prose was…competent, he had to give her that. But the details. The liberties she’d taken with his personality, the things she’d *imagined* him saying, doing… it was revolting.