Gemotions

The opening night was a disaster. Clara, who was usually the epitome of composure, found herself pacing the crowded gallery, the polite smiles of the attendees grating on her nerves. Her stomach was twisted in a painful knot. This exhibition was supposed to be a triumph. Instead, it was a blatant betrayal.

She spotted the "artist," a man she barely knew, and immediately began walking toward him. The blood was rushing in her ears, making it hard to think. He greeted her with a warm smile, oblivious to the storm brewing in her eyes.

"That's… that's mine," she managed to stammer, her voice shaking with unshed tears and mounting fury. She felt an overwhelming impulse to push him, to make him understand the depth of her anger, to witness a physical reflection of his theft. The sheer gall of it!