The dinner portion of the reception had begun, and I found myself seated at the head table between Damian and his mother, Elena. The seating arrangement was strategic – I was positioned where everyone could see me, observe my every reaction, catalog my every word. In my previous life, I had felt honored to be at the center of attention. Now I realized I was being displayed like a prized specimen in a glass case.

"You've been unusually quiet during dinner," Elena Black observed, her voice carrying that particular tone of aristocratic disapproval she had perfected over decades of looking down on people she considered beneath her station. "I do hope you're not having second thoughts about joining our family."

*If only you knew.* I smiled at my new mother-in-law with the same gentle deference I had shown her the first time around. "Not at all, Mrs. Black. I'm simply taking it all in. It's overwhelming to think that this is my life now."

"Yes, well, you'll need to adjust quickly. The Black name comes with certain... expectations." Her pale blue eyes assessed me with the calculating gaze of someone evaluating livestock. "Damian's first wife will be the mother of the next generation of Blacks. I trust you understand the responsibility that entails."

*First wife.* The phrase hit me like a physical blow. Had she really just implied that I might not be Damian's only wife? Or was she simply making it clear that my primary value lay in my reproductive capabilities?

"Of course," I replied smoothly, though my grip tightened on my champagne flute. "Family is everything."

"Indeed it is." Elena's smile was as cold as winter frost. "Which is why we must always be vigilant about protecting it from... outside threats."

The implication was clear. *I* was the outside threat. The interloper who had married into their pristine bloodline and would need to be watched, controlled, and eventually eliminated if I proved problematic.

*Well, mother-in-law, you have no idea how problematic I intend to be.*

"Evira has been showing a remarkable interest in the family business," Damian said, his voice carrying a note of something that might have been pride or might have been warning. "She knew about the European expansion, the Asian markets. I'm quite impressed."

Elena's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "How... modern of you to discuss such matters with your wife."

"Perhaps it's time for our family to embrace more modern approaches," I suggested with careful innocence. "After all, some of the most successful families have women who take active roles in business. Look at the Whitmore dynasty – Alexandra has built an empire that rivals any man's."

The temperature at our table seemed to drop several degrees. Elena's expression hardened, while Damian's eyes narrowed with speculation.

"Alexandra Whitmore is unmarried and childless," Elena said with pointed emphasis. "She has no family responsibilities to divide her attention. You, on the other hand, have other priorities now."

*Like being the perfect little wife who asks no questions and causes no trouble.* 

"You're absolutely right," I agreed, but I let my gaze drift across the room to where Marcus Chen was deep in conversation with several other executives. "Though I do find it fascinating how much goes into running an empire like this. Marcus seems particularly dedicated – I noticed he's been handling several urgent matters even during the reception."

It was a calculated comment, designed to seem like idle observation while actually probing for information. Both Damian and Elena followed my gaze to Marcus, and I caught the brief look that passed between them.

"Marcus is very thorough," Damian said carefully. "Perhaps too thorough at times."

*Interesting.* There was definitely tension there. In my previous life, I had assumed Marcus was completely loyal to Damian. But maybe the loyalty went both ways – or maybe it didn't go as deep as everyone assumed.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Uncle Victor's voice carried across the ballroom as he stood to address the crowd. "If I may have your attention for a moment."

The conversations died down as all eyes turned to the distinguished silver-haired man who commanded respect simply by entering a room. He looked every inch the benevolent family patriarch, raising his champagne glass with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Tonight, we celebrate not just the union of two wonderful people, but the joining of two families with a long history of friendship and mutual support." His gaze found mine across the room, and I felt that familiar chill. "Damian, my dear nephew, you have chosen well. Evira brings grace, beauty, and intelligence to our family."

*And you plan to murder me in less than three hours.*

"To the happy couple," Victor continued, his voice carrying across the silent room. "May your marriage be blessed with love, prosperity, and the wisdom to know who your true friends are."

The crowd raised their glasses and echoed the toast, but I heard the underlying message clearly. *Know who your friends are – and more importantly, know who your enemies are.*

As the applause died down, I excused myself from the table. "If you'll pardon me, I need to freshen up."

The ladies' room was thankfully empty, giving me a moment to collect my thoughts and plan my next move. I had approximately two and a half hours before the confrontation that would end with my death – unless I could change the narrative. But to do that, I needed allies, and I needed information. 

*Marcus.* He was my best shot at both.

When I emerged from the restroom, I found him waiting in the hallway, apparently studying his phone. But his positioning was too convenient to be coincidental.

"Mrs. Black," he said with a polite nod. "I hope you're enjoying your reception."

"Please, call me Evira. And yes, it's been... illuminating." I moved closer, lowering my voice. "I was hoping we might have a private word."

His dark eyes sharpened with interest. "Of course. Perhaps we could step onto the terrace? The gardens are beautiful in the moonlight."

The terrace was indeed beautiful, with twinkling lights strung through the trees and the distant sound of the string quartet drifting through the open doors. It was also private, away from the cameras and curious eyes inside. Marcus led me to a secluded corner where a marble bench sat beneath a flowering tree.

"You wanted to speak with me?" he asked, but his tone suggested he already knew this wasn't a social conversation.

I took a deep breath, knowing I was about to take a leap of faith that could either save my life or accelerate my death. "Marcus, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me."

"I'm listening."

"The security breach in London, the accusations about industrial espionage – they're going to be blamed on me, aren't they?"

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. "The evidence is... comprehensive."

"Fabricated evidence."

It wasn't a question, and Marcus didn't treat it as one. "The digital trail is very convincing. Bank records showing payments from Whitmore Industries and Sterling Corp. Phone records of calls you supposedly made to their offices. Meeting locations that can be verified by security cameras."

My heart sank. "How long have you known?"

"I've had suspicions for weeks. The timing was too convenient, the evidence too perfect. In my experience, real conspiracies are messy, full of loose ends and contradictions. This was... clean. Professional."

"Then why haven't you said anything?"

Marcus turned to face me fully, his expression serious. "Because until tonight, I wasn't sure whose side you were really on. The evidence suggested you were guilty. Your behavior suggested you were innocent. But tonight..."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight you're asking questions that only an innocent person would ask. A guilty person would be trying to deflect suspicion, not seeking confirmation of their own frame-up." He paused. "Also, guilty people don't usually refer to evidence as 'fabricated' unless they know for certain that it was."

*Smart man.* No wonder Damian relied on him so heavily.

"Who's behind it?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

"I have theories, but no proof. And accusations without proof are just conspiracy theories." His eyes met mine directly. "But if someone were planning to... remove you from the equation, tonight would be the perfect time. Everyone's here, everyone's had a lot to drink, emotions are running high. A tragic accident or a moment of passion gone wrong – it would be believable."

My blood ran cold. "How long do you think I have?"

"Not long. The evidence is already in place. All they need now is the right moment to reveal it." Marcus glanced back toward the ballroom, where the party continued in full swing. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What changed? Three hours ago, you were the same sweet, naive girl who married into this family. Now you're asking questions like someone who's seen behind the curtain. What happened?"

*I died.* But I couldn't tell him that. Instead, I chose a version of the truth that might be believable.

"I overheard a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear," I said carefully. "About evidence being planted, about the family needing to be 'cleaned up.' It made me realize that my marriage might not be what I thought it was."

Marcus nodded slowly. "That would certainly explain the transformation. The question now is: what do you intend to do about it?"

"I intend to survive," I said with more conviction than I felt. "And I intend to expose whoever is behind this. But I can't do it alone."

"No, you can't." Marcus was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the moonlit gardens. "Evira, what I'm about to tell you could get us both killed, but I think you deserve to know the truth."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I'm listening."

"The European expansion failure, the Tokyo merger problems – they weren't caused by industrial espionage. They were sabotaged from the inside. Someone with access to the highest levels of company information has been systematically undermining Damian's deals for months."

"Someone in the family."

"Someone with the authority to access confidential files, the connections to know which deals were most vulnerable, and the political savvy to make it look like external interference." Marcus met my eyes. "There are only three people in the company with that level of access."

"Damian, you, and..."

"Victor Black."

The name hung in the air between us like a death sentence. We both knew what it meant – Uncle Victor wasn't just framing me for crimes I didn't commit. He was framing me for crimes *he* had committed.

"We need proof," I said.

"We need more than proof," Marcus replied grimly. "We need to survive long enough to use it."

As if summoned by our conversation, Victor's voice carried across the terrace. "Evira? Are you out here, my dear?"

Marcus and I exchanged a look of pure terror. We had been found.

"Smile," Marcus whispered urgently. "Act like we were just having a friendly conversation about the wedding."

Victor appeared around the corner of the terrace, his expression benevolent but his eyes calculating. "There you are. I was looking for you – it's time for the final toast before the reception ends."

*The final toast.* In my previous life, it had been during this toast that the "evidence" of my betrayal had been revealed. The moment when everything had gone wrong.

"Of course, Uncle Victor," I said, rising from the bench with a smile that felt like broken glass on my lips. "We were just admiring the gardens. Marcus was telling me about the landscaping."

"How lovely." Victor's smile was equally false. "Though I'm afraid the party is winding down. Damian is looking for his bride."

*And you're looking for your victim.*

As we walked back toward the ballroom, I caught Marcus's eye one last time. He gave me the slightest nod – a promise that he would be ready for whatever came next.

The clock in the hallway showed 10:45 PM. 

Forty-five minutes until my scheduled death.