Gemotions

The press conference was a nightmare. Every flashbulb felt like a personal insult. Reginald, his rival, stood on the podium, beaming and basking in the adoration of the crowd, showcasing *his* design, the very thing Reginald had mocked when she first showed him the plans. A sickness settled in her gut. She’d tried to remain composed, but the polite applause for *his* “genius” was a physical blow.

She gripped the back of her chair, her knuckles turning white. The room swam a little. The words, "groundbreaking," and "innovative," grated on her ears. It was her idea. She wanted to yell, to scream the truth, but she remained silent, the polite smile plastered on her face a grotesque parody of happiness.