“What did she say to you?” Travis demanded.
Dean didn’t respond.
Instead, he glanced down the hall toward the dining room, where the cards, empty bottles, and scattered cash still lay on the table. Then he looked back at Travis and said quietly, “You are out of your mind.”
Naomi stepped out of the bedroom.
She didn’t look like someone who had just been cornered. Pale, yes—but composed. Controlled. One hand held her phone.
“Everyone should leave,” she said.
No one argued. The atmosphere had changed so completely that even the drunkest guests understood something worse than a marital fight had surfaced. People grabbed coats, avoided eye contact, muttered excuses, and headed for the door. Within minutes, only four people remained: Naomi, Travis, Dean, and a woman named Claire, who lingered near the kitchen with her phone in hand, ready to call for help.
Travis pointed at Dean. “Say something!”
Dean’s jaw tightened. “You really don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
