The wedding march began to play, its haunting melody echoing through the grand cathedral as I stood at the entrance, my arm linked with my father's. Alexander Rose looked older than his fifty-eight years, the weight of our family's financial ruin etched into every line on his face. In my previous life, I had seen only his love and pride in this moment. Now, I noticed the guilt lurking behind his eyes.

He sold me, I realized with startling clarity. He sold his daughter to save the Rose name.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion that I now understood was regret, not joy. "Are you sure about this?"

Now he asks? Three years too late, but I supposed better late than never. I squeezed his arm gently, offering him the same reassuring smile I had given him before. "I'm sure, Dad."

But I wasn't the same naive girl who had walked down this aisle the first time. As we began our processional, I used the time to study the assembled guests with new eyes. The cream of New York society was here – politicians, business moguls, socialites who treated weddings like stock market openings. Every single one of them had a price, and most had already been bought.

In the front row sat Elena Black, Damian's mother, her expression as cold and perfect as a marble statue. She had never liked me, though she'd hidden it well behind impeccable manners. Today, I caught the fleeting look of satisfaction that crossed her features when she thought no one was watching.

She knew. The realization hit me like a physical blow. She knew what they planned to do to me.

My gaze swept across the other guests, cataloging faces and expressions with the precision of a surveillance camera. There was Harrison Ford III, the senator's son whose political ambitions were as transparent as his forced smile. Alexandra Whitmore sat three rows back, her red hair catching the light as she watched me with predatory interest. Even Ryan Sterling was there, playing the role of gracious competitor while undoubtedly plotting his next move against Damian's empire.

They were all part of it. All of them knew what was coming.

But it was the man standing at the altar who commanded my attention. Damian Black, thirty-two years old and devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, watched me approach with an expression I had once interpreted as love. Now I saw it for what it truly was – calculation. Those storm-gray eyes weren't drinking in the sight of his bride; they were evaluating an asset.

How did I miss it the first time? The answer was simple: I had been in love. Love made you blind, stupid, vulnerable. It made you believe in fairy tales and happy endings. Love had gotten me killed.

I wouldn't make that mistake again.

As I reached the altar and my father placed my hand in Damian's, I felt the familiar jolt of electricity that had always passed between us. His touch was warm, his fingers strong and sure as they closed around mine. For just a moment, my resolve wavered. This man had held me when I cried, laughed at my terrible jokes, made love to me with a passion that had felt real.

It was all a lie, I reminded myself, even as my traitorous heart skipped a beat. Every kiss, every whispered endearment, every moment of intimacy – it was all part of the game.

"Dearly beloved," the minister began, his voice carrying across the cathedral, "we are gathered here today to witness the union of Damian Alexander Black and Evira Catherine Rose..."

I let the familiar words wash over me while I focused on more important matters. Like the fact that Uncle Victor was watching me with unusual intensity from his position as best man. In my previous life, I had thought his scrutiny was simple protectiveness of his nephew. Now I recognized it for what it was – a predator studying his prey.

Victor Black was fifty-five years old, silver-haired and distinguished, with the kind of refined cruelty that came from generations of breeding and wealth. He had always been charming to me, treating me like a beloved niece. The memory of his satisfied smile as I bled out on the ballroom floor made my stomach turn.

He orchestrated everything. The pieces were falling into place with sickening clarity. The failed business deals, the planted evidence, even my death – it was all part of his plan to take control of the Black empire.

"Do you, Damian Alexander Black, take Evira Catherine Rose to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." His voice was steady, sure, and completely devoid of the emotion that should accompany such words. I wondered if anyone else noticed the practiced quality of his response, the way he delivered his vows like a business presentation.

"Do you, Evira Catherine Rose, take Damian Alexander Black to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Do I? The question hung in the air as I stared into his eyes. In my previous life, I had answered with joy, with hope, with love. This time, I was answering with full knowledge of what lay ahead.

"I do." My voice was clear, carrying across the cathedral with perfect conviction. Let them think I was the same naive girl they had manipulated before. Let them believe they held all the cards.

They had no idea what they were dealing with now.

The ring slid onto my finger with practiced ease – the same three-carat diamond that had once represented my dreams of happily ever after and had later become a symbol of my stupidity. This time, I saw it for what it truly was: a shackle, beautifully crafted but a chain nonetheless.

"You may kiss the bride."

Damian's hands framed my face with gentle precision, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones in a gesture that had once made my heart race. When his lips met mine, I felt the familiar warmth, the spark that had convinced me we were soulmates. The kiss was perfect – passionate but respectful, intimate but appropriate for our audience.

God, he's good at this. Even knowing what I knew, feeling what I felt, part of me still responded to him. That was perhaps the most terrifying realization of all. Despite everything, despite the knowledge of my murder, some traitorous part of my heart still yearned for this man.

Focus, I commanded myself as applause erupted around us. You can't afford to be weak. Not again.

As we turned to face our guests, Damian's arm around my waist, I forced myself to smile and wave like the happy bride I was supposed to be. But my mind was already racing ahead, planning and calculating with a cold precision that would have frightened my former self.

I had approximately eight hours before the attempt on my life. Eight hours to gather information, plant seeds of doubt, and begin to turn the tables on my would-be murderers. It wasn't much time, but it would have to be enough.

First step: Find out exactly what evidence they think they have against me.

As we made our way down the aisle, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from the assembled crowd, I caught sight of a familiar face near the back of the cathedral. Marcus Chen, Damian's assistant, watched us with his usual professional expression, but something in his dark eyes made me pause.

He knows something. Marcus had always been loyal to Damian, but he was also a good man. If I could find a way to reach him, to make him question what he'd been told...

"Smile, darling," Damian murmured in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "You look like you're attending a funeral instead of your own wedding."

If only you knew how accurate that comparison is, I thought, but I obediently brightened my expression. "Sorry, I was just... overwhelmed. It's all so perfect."

"Yes, it is." His arm tightened around my waist possessively. "And tonight will be even better."

Tonight. The word sent a chill down my spine. Tonight, I would die – unless I could change the course of events that led to that moment. The evidence against me, the accusations of betrayal, the elaborate setup that had convinced even my own husband that I deserved to die.

But how do you prove a negative? How do you prove you didn't do something when all the evidence says you did?

As we reached the cathedral doors and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight, I was struck by the irony. I was walking out of my wedding into what felt like a war zone, surrounded by enemies who wore the faces of friends and family. But this time, I wasn't walking in blind.

This time, I was ready to fight.

"Ready for the reception, Mrs. Black?" Damian asked, his smile perfect for the cameras that were already flashing around us.

I looked up at him, this beautiful, dangerous man who would murder me in cold blood in just a few hours, and smiled back with equal perfection.

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life."

Let the games begin.