Gemotions

The gallery buzzed, a cocktail party atmosphere humming around Eliza. She gripped her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her “Untitled Series 4” - her *work* - was plastered across the walls, its vibrant, chaotic energy somehow neutered by the pristine white space. A man in a tailored suit, clearly an investor, was pointing at one of the pieces, holding forth with an animated gesture. He didn't even know her name. A bitter taste coated Eliza’s tongue.

She pushed past the chattering crowd, her eyes darting from face to face. It was her cousin, Mark, who’d “helped” her get her foot in the door. Now he was acting like the proud papa. His face was flushed with self-importance. A tight smile was plastered on his face. He made a beeline for her.

"Eliza! Just look at this reaction!" he boomed, clapping her on the back. The force of the gesture nearly sent her stumbling. She forced a chuckle. "They adore them. It's truly a success." His words felt like a slap. Success? He’d stolen her vision and now he was reaping the rewards.