Gemotions

A wave of heat crashed over Mark as he looked at Liam, who'd just confessed. He felt like he'd been punched. His jaw worked, but he couldn't form the words. Liam, the "consultant" with the penthouse apartment and the private jet, was a… a *janitor*? The world tilted on its axis, and Mark gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for support, his knuckles white.

He felt a tightening in his chest, a sensation like a vise slowly crushing him. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, usually so comforting, now seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of the normalcy that had been shattered. He wanted to throw something, break something, anything to release the pressure building inside. He took a staggering step backwards, the world blurring at the edges.