Gemotions

The spreadsheet practically vibrated under Amelia’s fingers. The same formatting, the same algorithms, the same goddamn charts! Across the small, sterile table sat David, a smug grin plastered across his face as he gestured proudly at the screen. Her stomach twisted, a bitter ball forming in her gut. She’d poured months into this, all-nighters fueled by lukewarm coffee and sheer determination. “I… I don't understand,” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. The air felt thick, suffocating in the small conference room.

He chuckled, a sound that grated on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “Great minds, Amelia! Think alike, right?” He reached for a carafe of water, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her. The cool liquid seemed to mock her rising heat.

Her knuckles were white as she clenched her fists beneath the table. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to rip that smirk right off his face. This was her project. Her idea. Her livelihood. This was a violation.