The champagne glass trembled in my hand as I stared at the amber liquid swirling inside. Around me, the charity gala hummed with laughter and clinking glasses, but all I could hear was the thundering of my own heartbeat counting down to the moment that would destroy my life. Again. Eleven-thirty PM. In exactly thirty minutes, Marcus's business rival would slip something into his drink. By midnight, he'd be stumbling, disoriented, his perfect control shattered by whatever drug coursed through his system. And I—dutiful, invisible Claire Whitmore—would find him, help him to a room, and seal my fate in the cruelest possible way. That's how it happened before. That's how it all began. But not this time. "Claire, darling, you look pale." My mother-in-law, Constance Whitmore, appeared at my elbow, her smile sharp as cut glass. "Surely you're not feeling ill on such an important night? Marcus needs you to make a good impression." I forced my lips into the docile smile I'd perfected over eight years of marriage. Eight years in my previous life. Eight years of being the wife Marcus never wanted, the woman who'd "trapped" him, the placeholder for the one he truly loved. Diana Chen. Even thinking her name made my chest tighten with the phantom pain of everything I'd endured. But that was before. Before I died in a car accident with our daughter Lily's blood still wet on my dress. Before I woke up in this body, in this moment, with one impossible chance to change everything. "I'm fine, Constance. Just admiring the turnout." I gestured toward the glittering crowd with practiced grace. "Marcus should be pleased with tonight's donations." "Hmm." Her eyes narrowed, always searching for weakness, for proof I wasn't good enough for her son. She'd never know she was right—Marcus had never wanted me at all. "He's networking by the bar. Do try to be useful and not embarrass us." She glided away, leaving me alone with my churning thoughts and the small vial burning like acid in my clutch. Across the ballroom, Marcus stood tall and devastating in his tailored tuxedo, his dark hair perfectly styled, his smile the one he reserved for business—charming but empty. Even after everything, even knowing what he'd become, my traitorous heart still stuttered at the sight of him. But then I remembered. *"You're nothing but unwanted trash, Claire. You and that brat both."* His words, spat at me in the hospital as Lily lay dying three floors above us. Our five-year-old daughter, bleeding internally from the car accident, while Marcus refused to leave Diana's side because her son had a broken arm. Just a broken arm, while Lily's organs were failing. *"Daddy will come, Mama,"* Lily had whispered, her small hand so cold in mine. *"Daddy loves us, right?"* She died still believing that lie. She died while Marcus signed divorce papers and planned his wedding to Diana. She died, and I'd been powerless to save her because I'd spent eight years making myself powerless, hoping love would bloom from ashes. Never again. I moved through the crowd with purpose now, my heels clicking against marble as I tracked Marcus's rival—Gregory Chen, Diana's cousin, though Marcus didn't know that connection. Didn't know this whole night was orchestrated to trap him. In my past life, I'd been the trap's victim. Tonight, I'd spring it on someone else. Gregory stood near the champagne fountain, exactly as I remembered, his hand hovering near the drinks with practiced nonchalance. I watched him palm the small capsule, watched him scan the room for Marcus. Time slowed. This was it—the moment everything changed before. I intercepted a waiter, pressed a hundred-dollar bill into his palm. "The tall gentleman by the fountain is Marcus Whitmore. He specifically requested you bring him the next champagne. Make sure he knows it's his preferred vintage." The waiter nodded, eager to please, and prepared a glass. Gregory struck as predicted, his hand swift and sure as he dropped the drug into the champagne meant for my husband. But I was swifter. "Excuse me." I stumbled—deliberately, perfectly—into the waiter, catching the tray before it fell. "Oh my goodness, I'm so clumsy! Let me help you." In the confusion of rearranging glasses, I switched them. The drugged champagne went back on the tray, but not for Marcus. I plucked a different glass, pressed it into Gregory's hand with an apologetic smile. "Please, have this one. I feel terrible for nearly ruining your tray." Gregory accepted with barely concealed annoyance, and I watched with grim satisfaction as he downed it in one gulp before disappearing into the crowd. Phase one complete. Now for the hard part. I found Diana exactly where I knew she'd be—standing near the terrace doors, a vision in sapphire silk that matched her eyes. The eyes Marcus had loved since college, before his parents forced him into marriage with me to secure a business merger. Diana Chen, his first love, his only love, the woman he'd spent our entire marriage pining for. The woman who'd stood beside him at Lily's funeral with barely concealed triumph, her hand on her pregnant belly, already carrying the son Marcus actually wanted. "Diana." I approached with the warmth of someone who didn't know she was speaking to her greatest enemy. In this timeline, we'd only met a handful of times, always cordial, always distant. She didn't know yet that I was the obstacle to her happiness. "You look stunning tonight." "Claire." Her smile was porcelain-perfect and just as cold. "How lovely to see you. Marcus speaks of you so... fondly." The lie was transparent. Marcus barely spoke of me at all. "I was hoping we could talk," I said, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "About Marcus, actually. I think... I think I need to let him go." Her eyes sharpened with interest, predatory and eager. "Oh?" "I know he's never loved me. I know his parents arranged everything." I let my voice crack, played the broken wife with expertise born from living it. "I've tried so hard, Diana, but I can't keep pretending. Not when I see the way he looks at you." "Claire, I don't know what you—" "Please." I grabbed her hand, squeezed with desperate intensity. "Meet me in the private lounge in thirty minutes. Second floor, east wing. I need advice from someone who truly knows him. Someone he actually cares about." I saw the war in her expression—suspicion versus opportunity. But greed won, as I knew it would. The chance to finally hear me surrender, to claim her victory, was too tempting. "Thirty minutes," she agreed. I walked away before she could reconsider, my hands shaking now with adrenaline and something darker. Revenge tasted like champagne and ashes on my tongue. The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of careful preparation. I found Gregory slumped in a corner, the drug working faster than expected. A generous tip to the security guard ensured no one would disturb the "drunk guest" sleeping it off. Then I prepared the lounge—dim lighting, champagne on ice, and the second vial from my clutch. This one I'd acquired through careful research and darker channels than I'd ever explored in my previous life. Colorless, tasteless, and devastating when combined with alcohol. Diana arrived exactly on time, her curiosity overriding her caution. "I brought champagne," I offered, pouring two glasses. "If we're going to have this conversation, I need courage." She accepted the glass, and we talked. I spun stories of my failing marriage, of Marcus's coldness, of my decision to step aside. And she drank, her guard lowering with each sip, her victory so close she could taste it. When her words started slurring, confusion flickered across her face. "Claire? I feel..." "Shh." I guided her to the chaise lounge as her legs gave out. "It's okay, Diana. Everything's going to be okay." For me. Not for her.