Gemotions

The antique rocking chair creaked rhythmically beneath Sarah as she sat on her porch. Her pulse pounded erratically against her wrist as she stared at the email she’d just received from a literary agent. The agent had offered her representation based on her manuscript, but a caveat was included. A subtle one, but one that made her feel sick.

She'd spent years idolizing Julian Blackwood. Now, a nagging suspicion was growing, becoming a cold, hard knot in the pit of her stomach. The rocking rhythm felt wrong, unsettling, as if the motion amplified her internal turmoil. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken accusations and the potential for a catastrophic reckoning.

She reread the agent's words, the polite formality of the message grating against her frayed nerves. She knew what was coming. She just didn't know how to prepare.