Tina excused herself to use the restroom, leaving Bette chatting with a group of Tina’s friends as she stepped back, Bette caught her hand, her touch light but grounding.

Bette (warmly, mouthing): Hurry back.

Tina smiled, nodding, then turned toward the hallway.

From across the room, Henry watched, his gaze followed her with growing fixation. The alcohol had dulled his boundaries but sharpened something darker an urge he’d never fully named, and now couldn’t contain. He set his beer bottle down on a nearby table with a quiet clink and started after her, footsteps muffled by the music and chatter.

A dimly lit hallway, away from the crowded party. The music here was just a distant thump, like a heartbeat behind walls, leaving only the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall.

Tina walks toward the restroom, the night has been perfect so far Bette by her side, her friends welcoming and warm but she can feel the weight of the attention on them. She exhales, brushing a hand through her hair as she rounds the corner.

Before Tina can reach the door, she hears the sudden scuffle of footsteps behind her but too late. A rough hand clamps around her arm, yanking her backward into an empty room. The door slams shut with a jarring thud.

Henry blocks her path, his face flushed and eyes glassy. He sways slightly, his stance unstable. One hand hovers too close to her, fingers twitching with an edge of menace as he stares at her with something dark in his gaze.

Tina (startled, struggling free): Henry What the hell are you doing? Let me go

Henry releases her arm, but his eyes glassy, desperate stay locked on hers. He’s unsteady, the smell of alcohol strong, but it’s the emotion behind his stare that feels more dangerous.

Henry (pleading, slurring slightly): Tina, please. You’re making a mistake with Bette. She’s going to break your heart, just like I told you (his voice catches) you deserve better someone like me.

Tina jerks her arm free, breathing hard, pulse racing not from fear, but betrayal.

Tina (cold and clear): Henry, stop. You’re drunk. And this? This isn’t okay.

Henry shakes his head, frustrated, raking a hand through his hair.

Henry (voice cracking): No, listen to me I lied, alright? I made up things about her about Bette. I said she’d hurt you because… (his voice drops, thick with emotion) because I couldn’t stand seeing you with her.