Gemotions

The gala was supposed to be a celebration of innovation. Instead, for Leo, it felt like a public execution. The room buzzed with chatter, but all he could hear was the echoing voice of his supervisor, praising the brilliance of… his own design. The identical design.

He'd spent a year hunched over his workstation, sacrificing his social life, his health, all to bring his creation to life. He’d meticulously crafted every detail, only to have it ripped from his grasp and presented as someone else’s.

His palms were clammy, his grip on the champagne flute tightening. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes. He considered throwing the drink in his supervisor's face, but instead, he simply turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd, the music suddenly sounding jarring and mocking.

He couldn't stand to hear another word.