Bethany’s Final Call Read more
House on Edge
The living room buzzed with the muted clink of glasses and the low hum of pre-party chatter. Music pulsed softly through the speakers, but beneath it all ran a current of unease. Bethany paced near the entrance, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, eyes locked on every guest who crossed the threshold.
She wasn’t hosting a party.
She was guarding a fortress.
Larry noticed immediately. He approached with care, as if one wrong word might shatter the night.
“Bethany… is everything okay? You look upset.”
She stopped cold. Her hands curled into fists as she turned to him, eyes hard and unblinking.
“Larry, we need to talk. Now.”
II. Lines Drawn in Stone
Larry frowned, lowering his voice. “What’s wrong? The party’s just starting—let’s enjoy it.”
Bethany stepped closer, her tone slicing through the noise.
“No. This isn’t about enjoying anything. This is about control.”
He swallowed. “Control of what?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Of who is allowed in this house.”
Larry stiffened. “Bethany…”
“Sharra,” she snapped. “I don’t want her here. Not tonight. Not ever.”
The words landed like a slap.
“Bethany, it’s just a party. She won’t cause trouble.”
Bethany’s voice rose, commanding, absolute.
“Larry, send her home. I don’t care what excuses you make. She is not stepping foot in this house tonight.”
Guests nearby fell silent, pretending not to listen—failing badly.
III. The Warning
Larry searched her face. “Are you serious?”
Bethany’s stare was glacial.
“If she stays, this party won’t survive five minutes.”
A beat. Then another.
“Let me talk to her,” Larry said quietly.
Bethany laughed—short, sharp, humorless.
“Talking won’t help. She feeds on chaos. And if she stays… she wins.”
Larry exhaled slowly. He knew that look. Bethany had already decided.
“Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll ask her to leave. No scene.”
Bethany nodded once.
“Good. Because if she refuses, I won’t hold back.”
That wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise.
IV. A Smile That Cuts
Larry found Sharra near the bar, her laughter light, her smile dangerous.
“Sharra, can we talk?”
She tilted her head, amused. “That bad, huh?”
He didn’t dodge it.
“Bethany doesn’t want you here. She wants you to go home.”
Sharra’s smile faded, replaced by something colder.
“She’s threatened?”
“She’s serious,” Larry said. “And if you stay, things will get ugly.”
For a long moment, Sharra said nothing. Then she smoothed her dress and nodded.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
She leaned closer, her voice barely audible.
“But tell Bethany this—she doesn’t win wars by hiding.”
As she turned toward the door, her eyes flicked once toward the center of the room.
Toward Bethany.
V. The Calm Before Something Worse
Sharra was gone—but the damage lingered.
Whispers rippled through the room. Conversations resumed, forced and fragile. The music felt too loud now, the laughter too sharp.
Bethany exhaled slowly, reclaiming her space. She stepped back into the center of the room, posture regal, gaze unwavering.
“Thank you,” she murmured to Larry.
“And remember… no one threatens what’s mine.”
Larry nodded, unease settling deep in his chest.
Outside, through the darkened window, a shadow paused.
Sharra stood beneath the streetlight, phone in hand, a faint smile returning as she typed a message—slowly, deliberately.
Inside, Bethany raised her glass in a silent toast.
Neither woman looked away.
Because they both knew the truth:
The party was only the opening move.
And the storm hadn’t even begun.
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