Gemotions

The manuscript felt heavy in his hands, a weight of betrayal and violation. He sat at his kitchen table, the unfinished breakfast growing cold. The author, a former colleague he had considered a friend, had crafted a fictionalized account of his life, embellishing details, twisting truths, and exploiting his vulnerabilities.

He slammed his fist on the table, the impact jarring through his arm. The coffee cup jumped, narrowly escaping the edge. He stood up, pacing the small space, the tension coiled in his shoulders. Every sentence, every fabricated anecdote felt like a personal attack. He envisioned the author, smug and self-satisfied, basking in the supposed success of her deception.

“I’ll show her,” he growled under his breath, a cold determination hardening his gaze.