Gemotions

The realtor’s saccharine smile felt like a personal affront. She watched him, waiting for his signature. "It's a great opportunity, Mr. Peterson," she chirped, gesturing towards the glossy brochure. "Prime location, new construction." He could feel the pulse in his neck hammering against his collar.

He picked up the pen, then slammed it down. The sound echoed in the sterile office. "You think this is a game?" he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He felt his hands begin to shake.

She faltered, her smile wavering. "Sir, I just… I'm just doing my job." He laughed, a short, humorless bark. His gaze flicked to the photograph on the brochure: a generic, soulless house. That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to scream.