Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the action a futile attempt to make some sense of the situation. Leo reread the email, the words of the literary agent burning into his retinas. "Substantial similarities..." they'd written, politely, yet the implication was clear. His debut novel, the one he’d poured his heart and soul into, was eerily similar to a series of short stories by the revered Elena Moreau. He felt a cold dread creep through his veins.

He should have been in his element, celebrating the news that was supposed to be a triumph. Instead, he felt the world closing in, his throat constricting, making it difficult to breathe. The apartment, once a haven of creativity, now felt like a gilded cage. He paced, each footfall a hammer blow against his dwindling confidence. He clutched his phone, considering calling his family, telling them the news, but the words caught in his throat.