Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but did little to thaw the chill that had settled in her bones. Across the table, Liam was describing his latest "high-profile" project, a project that, according to the LinkedIn profile Amelia had just scrolled through, didn't exist. She took a slow sip, the coffee lukewarm. Her shoulders slumped. What was the point of even correcting him?

"So," Liam was saying, gesturing dramatically, "the CEO practically begged me to take the lead." Amelia nodded, feeling a heavy weight in her chest. The apartment, with its mismatched furniture and peeling paint, suddenly felt suffocating. She knew the truth, and he knew she knew. This charade, this meticulously crafted fiction, had been going on for years.

"Sounds… challenging," she offered, her voice flat, devoid of any real interest. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock her indifference. She set the mug down with a clink. Time, she thought, to go clean the bathroom. The bleach smell was more honest than Liam's bullshit.