Gemotions

"Oh, *come on*," Maya muttered, staring at the glossy magazine spread. There it was: “The Duchess’s Divine Dark Chocolate Cake,” featured at the Royal Bakery. Maya, the pastry chef who actually *made* the cake, was only mentioned in a tiny footnote. She felt a familiar knot forming in her stomach.

She slammed the magazine shut, the sound echoing in her tiny apartment. The Duchess, bless her heart, couldn't tell a ganache from a glaze. Maya had poured her heart and soul into that recipe, tweaking it for months, perfecting the richness, the bitterness, the melt-in-your-mouth perfection. Now, everyone was fawning over the Duchess's "genius."

She paced the small living room, her hands clenched into fists. She needed to breathe. She opened the window, inhaling the city air, which seemed somehow heavier today.