The shot isn’t pretty. Concrete walls. A folding table. A phone leaned against a water bottle. Graysie Parker sits in the frame, elbows on her knees, both titles laid across the table in front of her—the Iron Crown and the WrestleZone Championship. Her eyes stay locked on the camera.

Graysie Parker: “Scott Stevens spent ten minutes in Georgia talking about Aaron Shaffer, about disappointment, about meetings and promises and phone calls. Ten minutes, and not once did he say my name. Not once. Just… ‘somebody from Iron City Wrestling.’

“That’s not an accident. That’s a man trying to erase me. Trying to make it sound like Aaron just had a bad night, instead of admitting what really happened: I walked into his ring, in front of his people, and I made his champion quit. He tapped. And Stevens can’t live with that. So he pretends I don’t exist. Pretends this belt didn’t end up right here in Birmingham.”

Her palm slaps down on the WrestleZone Championship. The clap of metal against wood echoes in the empty room.

Graysie Parker: “You wanna talk about control, Scott? That’s all this is. You think you can control the story by keeping me out of your show. By telling Eric Dane Jr. he’s not cleared. By putting rules over reality. But the truth doesn’t bend just ’cause you’re wearing cowboy boots and a suit. The truth is, your boy Shaffer tapped, your tour lost its shine, and the whole world saw it. And now you’re scrambling, trying to look like you’ve still got both hands on the wheel.”

Her voice rises, the heat creeping in.

Graysie Parker: “And then you had the nerve to drag Eric Dane’s name into it. Like my win needs a Hall of Famer’s stamp of approval. Let me make this real clear: Eric Dane didn’t make Aaron Shaffer tap—I did. Eric Dane didn’t walk out of Birmingham with two titles—I did. You wanna call your old friend to make yourself feel better, go ahead. But don’t you dare act like that makes my history any less real.”

She rises, pulling both belts onto her shoulders. The chair legs scrape the floor.

Graysie Parker: “You can hide behind rules. You can hide behind legends. You can hide behind boardroom meetings. But when the lights go up and the bell rings, none of that matters. The truth is right here. The WrestleZone Championship already came home. Birmingham. Iron City. My home. And Scott… you don’t get to erase that. Not tonight. Not ever.”

She stares into the lens, both titles gleaming on her shoulders, until the feed cuts.