But he didn't even finish the breath of that sentence when Jerry's voice burst through the line, sharp as a blade.
"Stop that."
Jerry's father blinked, startled by the sudden fury in his son's tone.
"What you're trying to do," Jerry continued, his voice loud, furious, and crystal clear, "just stop it. I called you to warn you. And no—this isn't even a warning anymore, this is me telling you directly."
His voice was shaking now—not from fear, but from the sheer power of what he was feeling. He wasn't just angry. He was done.
"Whatever you think you're planning—whatever stunt you think you're trying to pull—it's not going to work. Not this time. Not with her. Not with me."
Jerry's father opened his mouth, but Jerry didn't give him room to speak.
"This is the last call I am going to make to you. Do you hear me? The last time I will ever speak to you."
Jerry's voice cracked, but only for a second. He held it together, strong, commanding.
