Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor's inbox, bold and taunting. "Congratulations, you've been nominated for Senior Analyst." Beneath, another name, her colleague, Mark. A coldness settled in her stomach, a feeling like someone had replaced her blood with ice water.

She leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking in protest. Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the desk. It wasn’t a surprise, not really. Mark was competent. But she'd poured herself into this job, the late nights, the weekends spent crunching numbers, all for this.

"What do you think?" Brenda, her team lead, leaned in, her voice too bright. Eleanor forced a smile. "Exciting, right? Good for both of us." Her throat felt tight, as if a hand were squeezing it. The words tasted like ash.