The final toast was about to begin, and I could feel the walls closing in around me just as they had in my previous life. The ballroom had taken on an almost surreal quality – the same crystal chandeliers casting dancing shadows, the same elegant guests holding champagne flutes, the same sense of impending doom that I now recognized had been building all evening.

Damian stood beside me, his hand resting on my waist with what anyone watching would interpret as loving possession. But I could feel the tension in his fingers, the way his grip had subtly tightened since our return from the terrace. He knew something was coming.

*He knows, and he's going to let it happen.*

The realization hit me like a physical blow. In my previous life, I had believed Damian was manipulated, deceived by Victor's lies and fabricated evidence. But the man standing beside me now wasn't the victim of manipulation – he was an active participant in my destruction.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Victor's voice rang out across the ballroom, commanding attention with the natural authority of someone born to wealth and power. "Before we conclude this wonderful evening, I'm afraid I must address a rather serious matter that has come to my attention."

*Here it comes.* The same script, the same timing, the same orchestrated destruction of my life. But this time, I was ready.

Victor reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew what looked like a tablet computer. "Earlier this evening, our security team discovered some... troubling irregularities in our London office systems. What they found was evidence of industrial espionage at the highest levels of our organization."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. I caught sight of Alexandra Whitmore's satisfied smile, Ryan Sterling's carefully neutral expression, and Senator Ford's look of calculating interest. They had all known this was coming.

"The evidence is quite damning," Victor continued, his voice heavy with false regret. "Bank transfers totaling over two million dollars from Whitmore Industries and Sterling Corporation. Phone records showing dozens of calls to our competitors' offices. Even security footage of clandestine meetings in various hotels and restaurants throughout the city."

*All fabricated. All perfectly constructed lies.*

I felt Damian's hand tighten on my waist, and when I looked up at him, I saw something that chilled me to the bone. Not surprise, not shock, not even disappointment. Just cold, calculated resolve.

"And who," came a voice from the crowd – Harrison Ford III, playing his part in the choreographed drama – "is responsible for these... irregularities?"

Victor's gaze found mine across the room, and I saw the triumph in his eyes. The moment he had been building toward for months, perhaps years. "I'm afraid the evidence points to someone we all trusted implicitly. Someone who had access to our most sensitive information through her marriage to our family."

*Every face in the room turned toward me.* The same expressions I remembered from my previous life – shock, disgust, betrayal, and in some cases, vindicated suspicion. They had been waiting for this moment, expecting it, perhaps even hoping for it.

"That's impossible," I said, and my voice carried clearly across the silent ballroom. Not the trembling denial of an innocent woman caught off guard, but the steady conviction of someone who had been preparing for this moment. "I've never accessed company files, never contacted competitors, and certainly never accepted money from anyone."

"The evidence suggests otherwise," Victor replied smoothly, gesturing to the tablet in his hands. "Bank records don't lie, my dear. Neither do phone logs or security cameras."

*But people do.* And I was about to prove it.

"You're absolutely right, Uncle Victor," I said, stepping forward with a confidence that clearly surprised him. "Evidence doesn't lie. Which is why I find it so interesting that these allegations would surface tonight, of all nights."

A murmur ran through the crowd. This wasn't the script they had expected.

"What are you implying?" Victor's voice remained steady, but I caught the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating facts." I turned to address the entire room, projecting my voice with the same authority Victor had used moments before. "The London security breach happened three weeks ago. The Tokyo merger fell through six weeks ago. The European expansion began failing two months ago. But somehow, the evidence of my supposed involvement only surfaced today? On my wedding day?"

*Keep going. You have them listening now.*

"Moreover," I continued, warming to my theme, "I find it curious that someone supposedly smart enough to orchestrate months of industrial espionage would be stupid enough to leave such a comprehensive paper trail. Bank transfers in her own name? Phone calls from her personal number? Meeting in public places where she could be photographed?"

Senator Ford frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that whoever really sabotaged those deals wanted to make sure there was a convenient scapegoat ready when the time came." I let my gaze sweep across the room, meeting the eyes of every person who had been complicit in my framing. "Someone who knew that a new bride, overwhelmed by social obligations and wedding planning, would be the perfect patsy."

"This is ridiculous," Elena Black's voice cut through the murmurs like a knife. "Are you seriously suggesting that someone in this family would frame you for crimes you didn't commit?"

"I'm not suggesting it," I replied calmly. "I'm stating it as fact."

The room erupted. Voices raised in shock, denial, and in some cases, nervous laughter. But I kept my eyes fixed on Victor, watching as his mask of benevolent concern began to slip.

"You're obviously under a great deal of stress," he said, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. "Wedding days can be overwhelming, especially when combined with serious accusations. Perhaps we should discuss this privately—"

"No." The word cut through his placating tone like a blade. "I think we should discuss this right here, right now, in front of everyone. After all, you made these accusations publicly. I have the right to defend myself publicly."

*Now for the gamble.* The moment that would either save my life or seal my fate.

"Marcus," I called out, turning to find Damian's assistant in the crowd. "You've been handling the security investigation. Can you tell everyone what you discovered about the timing of these alleged transactions?"

Marcus stepped forward, his expression professionally neutral, but I caught the slight nod he gave me. "The bank transfers in question were all initiated during times when Mrs. Black was either at social events with multiple witnesses or at home with household staff who can verify her whereabouts."

Victor's face darkened. "Banking can be done remotely, from anywhere—"

"Not these transactions," Marcus interrupted smoothly. "These required in-person authentication at specific branch locations. According to the timestamps, Mrs. Black would have had to be in three different cities simultaneously to make these transfers herself."

*Thank you, Marcus.*

The crowd was murmuring now, but the tone had shifted. Doubt was creeping in where there had been certainty moments before.

"Furthermore," Marcus continued, "the phone records show calls made during documented public appearances. I have security footage of Mrs. Black at a charity luncheon at the exact time she was supposedly making covert calls to Whitmore Industries."

"Enough!" Victor's voice cracked like a whip across the ballroom, and for the first time, I saw real anger flashing in his eyes. The mask was slipping. "This is clearly a desperate attempt to deflect blame. The evidence is overwhelming—"

"The evidence is fabricated," I said quietly, but my voice carried in the sudden silence. "And we both know who fabricated it."

Victor went very still. Around us, the ballroom had fallen into complete silence, every guest straining to hear what would happen next.

"That's a very serious accusation," Victor said, his voice deadly quiet.

"Yes, it is." I took a step closer to him, my heart hammering but my voice steady. "Just as serious as the accusations you've made against me. The difference is, my accusations are true."

*This is it. The moment of truth.*

"You want to know who had access to sensitive company information? You did. You want to know who could have sabotaged the Tokyo merger, the European expansion, the London operations? You could. You want to know who would benefit from discrediting me and removing me from the family?" I let the question hang in the air. "You would."

The silence in the ballroom was deafening. I could see the wheels turning in people's minds, reassessing everything they thought they knew, looking at Victor with new eyes.

"You're suggesting that I would frame my own nephew's wife?" Victor's voice was incredulous, but there was something else there now. Panic, carefully controlled but unmistakably present.

"I'm suggesting that you've been systematically undermining Damian's business empire for months, possibly years, and when you realized the damage might be traced back to you, you needed a scapegoat. An outsider. Someone the family would be willing to sacrifice to protect the Black name."

*Now for the final blow.*

"What I can't figure out," I continued, "is whether you planned to have me killed tonight, or if you were just going to let the scandal destroy me slowly."

The gasp that went through the room was audible. Several people stepped back, as if physical distance could protect them from the implications of what I was suggesting.

Victor's face had gone pale, but his voice remained steady. "You're obviously having some kind of breakdown. The stress of the wedding, the shock of these allegations—"

"The stress of knowing someone wants me dead," I corrected. "Because that's what this is really about, isn't it, Uncle Victor? You can't just discredit me and hope I quietly disappear. You need me completely gone."

I could see Damian in my peripheral vision, his face a mask of confusion and growing horror. But I couldn't tell if he was horrified by my accusations or by the possibility that they might be true.

"This is insane," Victor said, but his voice lacked its earlier authority. "Absolutely insane. Damian, your wife clearly needs professional help—"

"My wife," Damian's voice cut through the chaos, "is the smartest woman I know."

*What?*

I turned to stare at him, seeing an expression I had never seen before. Not the cold calculation I had grown to expect, not the practiced charm he used in business. Something else. Something that looked almost like... pride?

"And if she says the evidence is fabricated," Damian continued, his gray eyes never leaving Victor's face, "then I believe her."

*He believes me.* After everything, after all the lies and manipulation and carefully constructed evidence, he was choosing to believe me.

But Victor wasn't finished. I could see the desperation in his eyes now, the realization that his carefully orchestrated plan was falling apart.

"You're both clearly not thinking rationally," he said, reaching into his jacket. "Perhaps this will help clarify things."

*He's going for a gun.* The same gun he would use to kill me in just a few minutes, if my previous timeline held true.

"Gun!" I shouted, diving toward Damian as Victor's hand emerged from his jacket.

The ballroom erupted into chaos. Screams, the crash of breaking glass, the sound of people stampeding toward the exits. But I was focused on only one thing – the weapon in Victor's hand and the cold fury in his eyes.