Backstage. Concrete walls. Production crates stacked like tombstones. The hum of distant crowd noise bleeding through the arena bones.
Jenny stands in front of a rolling camera cart, hair perfect, expression unimpressed.
She doesn’t pace.
She doesn’t shout.
She just smiles like someone who already won.
“Oh… Betsy called me out?”
A soft laugh.
![[Image: applause-clapping.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/sXJj6BJ3/applause-clapping.gif)
“That’s adorable.”
She adjusts her jacket, glances off-camera as if someone just confirmed the joke.
![[Image: jenny-holding-amby.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/7hWydSJh/jenny-holding-amby.png)
AMBY--The Amber Mansley Replica Doll with Better Skin
“Let’s just get something straight before you start stitching my name into your little comeback tour, sweetheart. I am not your stepping stone. I am not your rehabilitation program. And I am definitely not the warm-up act for whatever midlife crisis you’re currently cosplaying as a ‘return.’”
She steps forward slightly, lowering her voice.
“You are the definition of a part-timer. Every time things stop being smooth sailing… you vanish. The second the waters get choppy, Betsy grabs a life vest and disappears for six months. Then when the sun comes back out? Oh look. There she is again. Hair blown out. Ready to pretend she never left.”
A smirk.
“Didn’t you throw a full-on temper tantrum last time because of Charlie? Because things didn’t go your way? I remember that. It was almost performance art. Tears. Vague tweets. Dramatic exits. You’d think someone unplugged your WiFi and your self-worth at the same time.”
She tilts her head.
“And while we’re dusting off history… weren’t you banging Jim Caedus for a while?”
A shrug.
“What ever happened to him anyway? Did he vanish like all your ‘big moments’? Or did he just realize attaching himself to you was like investing in Blockbuster in 2026?”
She smiles sweetly.
“It’s funny how your career has always required a co-signer. A boyfriend. A partner. A controversy. A louder personality standing next to you so maybe, just maybe, someone would actually notice you.”
Her tone sharpens.
“You have always been second fiddle. Always. And the one thing you’ve been consistent at? Inserting yourself wherever I was.”
She taps her own chest.
“You hovered around my matches. My feuds. My spotlight. Because you knew that if your name was anywhere near mine, you might accidentally trend.”
She glances at the camera.
“Let’s be honest. Nobody tunes in for a Betsy Granger main event. They tune in for chaos. For dominance. For something memorable.”
Hair flip.
“You were, and still are, background noise hoping proximity would equal relevance.”
She takes a step closer, voice lowering to a venomous calm.
“And now you want to call me out? Now you want to puff your chest and pretend this is unfinished business?”
She shakes her head slowly.
“This isn’t unfinished business. This is you realizing the only time your name gets traction is when it’s attached to mine.”
A slow clap.
“Congratulations. You figured out branding.”
She exhales through her nose, almost amused.
“I spent nearly five years paving my way in this place, 2 and a half of those were spent kicking your tits off your chest. Three years clawing, bleeding, rewriting rules, flipping divisions upside down. I didn’t build what I built so I could come back and lower myself to spar with someone who only shows up when the weather forecast says ‘partly sunny with a chance of attention.’”
Her expression hardens.
“I already got roped into one jobber with Game Girl. One was charity work. One was community service.”
A dismissive wave of her hand.
“I do not need to volunteer again.”
She steps back, folding her arms.
“You have nothing I want. No titles. No leverage. No influence. No mystique. You don’t even have consistency.”
Her eyes lock into the lens.
“You want a match because you think proximity to me gives you oxygen.”
A thin smile spreads.
“But here’s the thing, Betsy.”
Pause.
“No.”
She lets that sit.
“No, I will not give you the clout you’re craving. No, I will not elevate your comeback attempt. No, I will not pretend we are on the same level just so you can feel relevant again.”
Her voice drops to ice.
“I am advisory role only.”
She gestures toward the arena.
“I decide who matters. I decide what moves the needle. I decide which stories get told.”
Toothy grin.
“You are not a story.”
She straightens up, smoothing her hair.
“You are a footnote.”
She turns to leave, then pauses just long enough to glance back at the camera.
“If you want smooth sailing, maybe find another ocean.”
![[Image: alexa-bliss-cute.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/SxXKSxmV/alexa-bliss-cute.gif)
And then she’s gone.
![[-]](https://xwf1999.com/images/portal2/collapse.gif)
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