Gemotions

The gallery's pristine white walls seemed to mock Leo with their emptiness. He’d painted the fiery sunset scene for his own eyes, a release, not a conquest. Now, there it was, hung above a velvet rope, a smug price tag gleaming beneath it. His stomach churned. He should have been more careful, locked the studio door, taken more precautions. Each brushstroke, once a solace, now felt like a betrayal. He watched a woman, her face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, study the canvas. Leo wanted to vanish, to rewind time to that quiet evening in his studio.