In the grand banquet hall, a thousand pairs of eyes were glued to the massive screen.

The scene was unmistakable: a man and a woman entwined in a feverish, carnal embrace. It took only a heartbeat for the guests to identify the man as the "perfect" groom, Charles Sawyer. The woman, however, was clearly not Hannah Cooper.

The reality of the situation didn't hit Charles until the first gasps of horror rippled through the crowd. He froze, his face draining of color until it was the shade of ash.

How? How could this be? This was supposed to be a montage of their romantic history—carefully curated photos of his and Hannah's "pure" love. Instead, the hall was filled with the sounds of his own lustful betrayal with Jane Cooper.

"Turn it off! Turn it off right now!" Charles screamed at the tech staff.

The mask of the humble, soft-spoken gentleman shattered instantly. He was flustered, disoriented, and snarling. His voice, once smooth and melodic, was now high-pitched and irascible. The guests recoiled; his lack of courtesy was as offensive as the video itself.

At the main table, his parents surged to their feet. "Who played this? Shut it down!" Lee Sawyer roared, his own true colors—arrogant and entitled—bleeding through.

"Call the manager!" Loretta yelled at a passing waiter, her voice reaching a shrill, hysterical pitch. "I want an explanation! Stop that video immediately!"

The hall was a chaotic symphony of shouting and the rhythmic, lustful moans echoing from the speakers. It was a stain on the Sawyer family name that no amount of money could ever wash away.

On the stage, amidst the madness, Hannah stood like a marble statue.

In her previous life, Charles had forced her to watch him with other women while she was his prisoner. He had delighted in her humiliation, feeding on her silent despair. Back then, she had endured the breakdown and the agony in a vacuum of silence.

She had spent years wondering what it would feel like to have his hypocrisy laid bare for the world to see. To watch him feel the crushing weight of shame and despair.

Now, it was happening.

She turned her gaze to him, watching him lose every ounce of his legendary composure. He was a cornered animal, frantically clawing at the air.

Finally, the screen went black. The audio cut out.

The silence that followed was far more deafening than the screams. It was a vacuum that pulled every guest’s attention back to the wreckage on the stage.

Charles’s breathing was ragged. He was ruined. Or was he? His mind, ever the manipulator's tool, began to spin. If I can get Hannah to stay, I can spin this. If the victim forgives me, the public has no right to judge.

He rushed to Hannah, grabbing her hands with a desperate, sweaty grip. "Hannah, listen to me. Please, let me explain."

She looked at him, her expression so calm it was haunting. That tranquility terrified him far more than a slap would have. He felt a cold prickle of guilt, but he clung to his belief that she was a fool for him. He believed her love was a bottomless well he could always draw from.

He squeezed out a few tears, his face contorting into a mask of pure remorse. "I was set up, Hannah. Jane... Jane trapped me."

"Was she?" Hannah asked, her voice a cool breeze in a room full of fire.

She glanced toward the darkened guest tables. She wanted to see Jane’s face. She wanted to savor the expression of the woman who had helped destroy her, only to be thrown under the bus by the very man she loved.

"Yes! Don't you remember?" Charles spoke with a frantic, breathless urgency. "We all had a drink together that night. I got drunk, and she helped me out of the bar. I was blacked out—I didn't even know who she was. By the time I woke up, it was over! I wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid of losing you. I’m selfish, and I made a terrible mistake, but please... I'm begging you. Forgive me."

The tears fell freely now—real tears, born of the sheer terror of losing his status and his future.

Hannah watched his performance with the detachment of a scientist observing a specimen.

"Hannah, I felt sick," he sobbed. "When I saw her beside me, I wanted to kill myself. But I couldn't leave you. Who would take care of you? We've been together so many years... don't let that woman ruin us."

Hannah remembered the previous life. She remembered the cold steel of the knife he’d used to end her. She remembered him telling her he’d never loved her.

"Hannah, please. Give me one more chance to love you," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I’ll never drink again. I’ll never leave your side. I swear!"

Hannah finally spoke, her voice clear and carrying through the silent hall.

"If you're so sorry... are you willing to get down on your knees and beg me?"