Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, mocking her with its blunt subject line: “Concerning your work and Elias Thorne.” Amelia’s breath hitched. Elias Thorne. The man whose novels had shaped her childhood, the words that whispered in her dreams. She clicked, her fingers suddenly clumsy. A lawyer's cold language detailed similarities, page numbers, and blatant lifts from her own unpublished manuscript. A wave of nausea rolled up, making her grip the edge of her desk.

Her hands started to tremble, and she felt a pressure behind her eyes as she read the evidence. The characters, the plot twists, even the obscure historical details she'd spent months researching—all echoed in Thorne's latest bestseller. She reread the first line, then the second. Each word, once a comfort, now felt like a betrayal. She felt a chill, despite the warm summer day.

Amelia stood abruptly, knocking over her coffee mug. Dark liquid spread across the pristine white carpet. Her face felt hot, her skin prickling. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words caught in her throat. She sank into her chair, the weight of the accusation pressing down on her.