The champagne glass slipped from my trembling fingers, shattering against the marble floor of the Black mansion's grand ballroom. The sound seemed to echo through my skull as I stared at the crimson stain spreading across my ivory wedding dress.

Blood. My blood.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out, Evira?" Damian's voice was as cold as winter steel, his gray eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my knees buckle. The man I had married just hours ago – the man I had foolishly believed I could love – stood before me holding a gun with the same casual indifference he might hold a wine glass.

"Damian, please..." My voice came out as barely a whisper. The ballroom, which had been filled with New York's elite celebrating our union just moments before, was now eerily silent. The guests had vanished as quickly as smoke, leaving only the two of us and the suffocating weight of betrayal.

"Three years of marriage, Evira. Three years of playing the perfect wife while you fed information to my competitors." His fingers tightened around the weapon. "Did you enjoy watching me lose deal after deal? Did you laugh when the Tokyo merger fell through? When the European expansion collapsed?"

What is he talking about? My mind reeled, struggling to process his accusations. "I never... I would never betray you. I love you!"

The sound that escaped his throat might have been laughter, but it held no warmth. "Love? You don't even know the meaning of the word." He took a step closer, and I could smell his cologne – the same scent that used to make me feel safe in his arms. Now it made me nauseous.

"The private investigator was very thorough, darling. Bank records, phone calls, meetings with Alexandra Whitmore and Ryan Sterling. Did you think I was blind? Did you think I was stupid?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Those meetings... they weren't what you think. I was trying to help you! Alexandra approached me, said she had information about threats to the company. I thought—"

"You thought you could play both sides and come out the winner." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You thought you could manipulate the great Damian Black."

The gunshot was so loud in the enclosed space that my ears rang. I looked down, surprised to see the crimson stain expanding across my chest. This isn't real. This can't be happening.

As I collapsed to the cold marble, my vision blurring, I saw a shadow move behind Damian. Uncle Victor stepped out from behind one of the grand pillars, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Well done, nephew. Though I must say, it took you long enough to see through her little game."

Uncle Victor? My dying brain struggled to make sense of what I was seeing. He was behind this? But why?

"The Japanese deal will go through tomorrow," Victor continued, straighting his cufflinks with practiced nonchalance. "With her gone, there's nothing standing in our way. The investigators will find her suicide note, of course. Poor thing couldn't live with the guilt of betraying her beloved husband."

Suicide note? I tried to speak, to scream, but only blood bubbled from my lips. The elaborate crystal chandelier above began to dim, or perhaps my vision was fading. Either way, I was drowning in my own blood and betrayal.

"She was never supposed to be more than a convenient alliance," Damian said, his voice sounding distant now. "I should have ended this marriage months ago."

Marriage of convenience? But we had laughed together, shared quiet mornings over coffee, made love under the moonlight streaming through our bedroom windows. Had it all been pretense? Had I been nothing more than a business transaction to him?

As darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, one thought burned through the fog of pain: I was innocent. And they murdered me for crimes I never committed.

The last thing I saw was Victor's cold smile and Damian's emotionless face as he holstered his gun.

Pain.

The first sensation that crashed through my consciousness was pain – but not the agonizing fire of a gunshot wound. This was different. Sharper. Like needles pricking at my scalp.

I gasped, my eyes flying open to find myself staring at an ornate ceiling I knew all too well. The same baroque moldings, the same crystal chandelier that had been the last thing I'd seen before...

Before I died.

I bolted upright, my hands flying to my chest, expecting to find blood-soaked fabric and a gaping wound. Instead, my fingers encountered smooth silk and the intricate beadwork of my wedding dress. My wedding dress, pristine and white, without a single drop of blood.

"Mrs. Black? Are you alright?" The concerned voice belonged to Maria, our housekeeper, who was bustling around the room with a steamer in her hands. "You looked like you were having a nightmare. Though I suppose all brides have wedding day jitters."

Wedding day. I looked around the room – the bridal suite at the Black mansion where I had gotten ready this morning. The morning of my wedding. The morning of my death.

But I wasn't dead. I was here, alive, in my wedding dress, with Maria fussing over the final details.

"What... what time is it?" My voice came out hoarse, as if I'd been screaming.

"Two-thirty, Mrs. Black. The ceremony starts in an hour." Maria's weathered face creased with worry. "Are you feeling ill? You look terribly pale."

Two-thirty. In my previous life – my previous life, God, was I going insane? – I had died at approximately eleven-thirty that night, during the reception. Which meant I had nine hours. Nine hours to figure out what had really happened, why Damian had believed I betrayed him, and how to survive this time.

"I'm fine," I managed, though my voice shook. "Just... pre-wedding nerves."

Maria nodded sympathetically and continued her preparations, but I barely heard her gentle chatter. My mind was racing, trying to reconcile the impossible: I had died, and now I was alive again, given a second chance to rewrite my fate.

But how do you fight an enemy who holds all the cards when you don't even know what game you're playing?

I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back. She looked exactly as I had on my wedding day three years ago – younger, more naive, with hope still shining in her green eyes. But behind those eyes lurked the knowledge of betrayal, murder, and a love that had been nothing but an elaborate lie.

I won't be your victim again, Damian Black. The thought formed with crystalline clarity. This time, I'm going to control the game.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway made me freeze. Heavy, measured steps that I would recognize anywhere. Damian was coming.

Showtime.

As the door opened and my soon-to-be husband stepped into the room, devastatingly handsome in his black tuxedo, I forced myself to smile. The same trusting, adoring smile I had given him the first time around.

But this time, I was watching. This time, I was ready.

"Hello, darling," he said, his voice warm with what I had once believed was genuine affection. "Ready to become Mrs. Black?"

Oh, I'm ready, I thought, even as I nodded and let him take my hands. But not for the reasons you think.

The game was about to begin again. But this time, I wouldn't be playing by their rules.