A Reborn Bride Pearl Emerging from Dust novel Chapter 942

By the time the waiters arrived, arms laden with bottles and glasses, nearly everyone at the party had gathered around Calliope and Blythe. A crackle of anticipation filled the air. Word about the impromptu drinking contest had spread instantly—everyone knew, from the Suttons and Calliope’s friends to Damien, Monty and his crowd, and of course, Jett and the Whites. In a ballroom like this, there were no secrets; rumors moved faster than sound.

Portia slipped to Calliope’s side, a worried look on her face. “Callie, are you really doing this? Blythe has been groomed for high society since she could walk—she’s been trained to be perfect at everything, and that includes holding her liquor.If it was her idea, I bet she’s got some scheme planned.”

Crispin hovered nearby, echoing her concern. “Honestly, Callie, maybe you shouldn’t go through with it. All that alcohol—it can’t be good for you.”

One of the Sutton parents chimed in, “She’s right, sweetheart. It’s just not worth it.”

But Calliope’s friends disagreed, rallying to her side with playful confidence.

“Oh, let Callie have at it. She’ll be fine!” one laughed.

“I’d put money on her any day—no one beats Callie at drinking.”

“She could drink anyone here under the table and never break a sweat. I think liquor has met its match.”

“Exactly! Let them go for it.”

“Our Callie has never lost, not once.”

“The White family might have trained their daughter to impress, but I don’t care how talented she is—nobody’s immune to booze. Except maybe Callie.”

Her friends were unwavering, certain of her victory before the first glass was raised.

He sighed. “Let’s just let the younger generation fight their own battles. Besides, I get the sense Ms. Jewell’s not exactly my biggest fan either. Honestly, every time I see her, I get this strange, unsettling feeling in my gut—like I owe her something.”

Mrs. White nodded quietly. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way, and I don’t even know why.”

The two of them exhaled in unison, sharing the mysterious unease.

Meanwhile, the contest began. Calliope and Blythe faced each other, drinking glass for glass—it was elegance meeting bravado. Both women, raised in privilege and trained in poise, handled their drinks with graceful ease.

Calliope’s style was unhurried and deliberate. She didn’t spill a drop, upending each glass to prove it was empty before reaching for the next. She looked relaxed, almost languid, but her pace was relentless.

Blythe, determined at first, tried to keep up—her tempo swift, her smile unwavering. Yet as the rounds went on, her intensity faded; each motion grew less composed, her earlier confidence gradually replaced by a faltering effort to stay in step with Calliope’s calm precision.