Gemotions

Mark saw him first, leaning close, whispering something in her ear, the woman's laughter echoing across the bustling art gallery. He felt a white-hot wave surge through him, stealing his breath. All the romantic dinners, the weekend trips, the private jokes – the feeling of being special – were revealed to be a cruel illusion. He approached, his steps heavy and deliberate, each footfall a hammer against the polished floorboards. "Excuse me," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Do you have any idea who this man is?" His finger gestured between them. He felt the impulse to just… break something.