Gemotions

The champagne tasted like victory. Leo, usually a man of stoic reserve, felt his lips curve upwards. The gallery was filled with his meticulously crafted sculptures, all presented under the moniker of a 'newly discovered talent.' He leaned against a wall, crossing his arms, feeling a strange sense of ownership.

He watched a couple discuss the intricate details of "The Guardian," a piece he'd poured weeks of labor into. Their words, admiring and appreciative, were like music to his ears. A comfortable warmth spread through his chest.

His gaze swept over the crowd, a subtle smugness forming in his eyes. He had been right all along. They were captivated.