Alessandra didn't release the tension. She held Darius's gaze for a second longer, letting him see the challenge, before turning her attention to the real architect of this disaster.

She walked toward Ilene.

The crowd parted for her. Her red lipstick was a slash of violence in a sea of pastel gowns.

Ilene stood her ground, but her eyes flickered. A micro-expression of uncertainty. She wasn't used to the prey walking toward the hunter.

"Ilene," Alessandra said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly gentle register. "You mentioned I might have 'trouble'? That I needed money?"

She reached out. Ilene flinched, expecting a slap.

Instead, Alessandra's fingers brushed the diamond necklace resting on Ilene's collarbone. It was a stunning piece-a cascade of white diamonds leading to a sapphire drop.

"This is exquisite," Alessandra murmured. "The setting... that's a Van Cleef & Arpels signature, the invisible setting from their '78 collection. I remember it from the Sotheby's catalog. Last month's auction. Lot 402."

She felt Ilene's pulse hammering against her fingertips.

"Darius has excellent taste," Alessandra added, loud enough for the surrounding circle to hear.

The whispers ignited instantly.

"Darius bought it?"

"I thought they were just friends."

"Is she the mistress?"

Ilene's face flushed a deep, blotchy red. The narrative was shifting. It was no longer about a desperate gold digger drugging a billionaire. It was about a jealous lover trying to eliminate the competition.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Ilene stammered. She took a step back, her hand flying to her chest.

"Oh, come on," Alessandra smiled, showing teeth. "If you're going to be the next Mrs. Brandt, you really shouldn't be so insecure. Why try to frame a 'nobody' like me? Unless..." She leaned in close. "Unless you're afraid he doesn't actually want you."

It was a direct hit.

Ilene's breathing hitched. She gasped, her hand clutching the diamonds so hard the setting must have dug into her skin. Her eyes rolled back slightly.

"I can't... I can't breathe," Ilene wheezed. She stumbled.

"Ilene!" Chloe, her loyal lapdog, shrieked from the sidelines. "She's having a panic attack! She has a heart condition! You're killing her!"

The sympathy in the room swung back like a pendulum.

"She's heartless," someone muttered.

"Attacking a sick girl."

Darius frowned. He hated scenes. He hated weakness. He looked at Ilene, who was now sagging into Chloe's arms, gasping for air like a fish on a dock.

Alessandra didn't back down. She checked her watch.

"Three... two... one," she counted under her breath.

She looked at Darius. "You might want to call an ambulance," she said, her tone clinical. "Or perhaps a casting director? The performance is a bit derivative, but the commitment is there."

Darius looked at Alessandra. He saw the utter lack of concern. He saw the sharp intelligence. And for a second, he saw a reflection of his own cynicism.

He gestured to his security team. "Take Ms. Walton to the VIP lounge. Get her water."

He didn't rush to Ilene's side. He didn't scold Alessandra.

Alessandra dusted off her hands, as if cleaning off dirt. "Well, since the main act is over, I'll excuse myself."

She turned to leave, her heart pounding against her ribs despite her calm exterior. She needed air. She needed to get away from him.

But a hand clamped onto her wrist. Sharp nails dug into her soft skin.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Alessandra looked down. Her mother, Vivian Abbott, was gripping her arm with enough force to leave bruises. Vivian's face was a mask of fury, her makeup settling into the deep lines of greed around her mouth.

"You idiot," Vivian hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "You ruined everything. Do you know what happened to your father? Do you know what they did to us? We're about to lose everything!"

Alessandra looked at the woman who had sold her out in the last timeline. The woman who had told her to "be a good wife" when Darius ignored her. The woman who had asked for a loan at Estella's funeral.

"Yes, Mother," Alessandra said coldly. "I just saved myself."

Vivian dragged Alessandra into a narrow service corridor lined with stacked chairs and discarded trays. The noise of the ballroom faded, replaced by the hum of the industrial HVAC system.

"Saved yourself?" Vivian spat, shoving Alessandra against the wall. "You embarrassed the Brandts! We needed that merger. After your father was framed, all our assets were frozen! That marriage was our only way out!"

Alessandra rubbed her wrist where her mother's nails had broken the skin. "I'm not selling my body to save your lifestyle, Mother."

Vivian's face crumpled. She switched tactics instantly, her features melting from rage into a pathetic, wheedling desperation. Tears welled up in her eyes-on command.

"Ally, please. Think of the family. We're drowning. If you could just... smooth things over. Maybe apologize to Darius in private? He seemed interested. I saw the way he looked at you."

Alessandra felt a wave of nausea. Not just from the manipulation, but from a sudden, sharp memory.

In the original timeline, she had drunk the wine. The waiter had spilled it on her, but she had managed to take a sip before the crash. She remembered the heat, the dizziness, the loss of control later that night. Even though she hadn't slept with Darius that night, the drug had been in her system.

She needed to be sure. She needed to prove a negative.

"Fine," Alessandra said, cutting off her mother's sobbing. "I'll play the game. But I need something first."

Vivian looked up, hopeful. "Anything. What do you need?"

"I need Plan B," Alessandra said. "Emergency contraception. Right now."

Vivian's eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open. "You... did you and Darius... already...?"

Alessandra didn't confirm or deny. She just stared at her mother with hard, unyielding eyes. "If you want me to have a shot at being Mrs. Brandt, I can't be pregnant with a bastard before the ring is on my finger. It looks messy. Go get it."

It was a lie. A calculated, dangerous lie. She hadn't touched Darius. But she needed a prop for the next act.

"Yes. Yes, of course. You're thinking ahead. That's my girl." Vivian scrambled, looking around wildly. She spotted a maid passing by the end of the corridor.

Vivian grabbed the maid, a young Hispanic woman looking terrified. She shoved a roll of hundred-dollar bills into the girl's apron. "Go to the pharmacy on 5th. Get Plan B. Bring it here. Don't talk to anyone."

The maid nodded and ran toward the service exit.

Alessandra leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. She counted the seconds.

One second, two seconds.

From the shadows of a decorative pillar near the entrance of the corridor, a figure moved. It was Chloe. She had been listening.

Chloe tapped furiously on her phone.

The Service Entrance.

The maid pushed open the heavy metal door, stepping into the cool night air. Before she could reach the street, a figure blocked her path.

Ilene Walton stood there, no longer hyperventilating. She looked perfectly composed, her eyes glittering with malice.

"Where are you going?" Ilene asked.

The maid stammered, clutching the cash.

Ilene held out a thicker roll of bills. And a small amber bottle.

"Change of plans," Ilene smiled. It was a shark's smile. "You're going to buy the box, but you're going to put these inside instead."

The maid hesitated. "What are they?"

"Vitamins," Ilene lied smoothly. "My special vitamins for my heart. Strong ones. Just to give her a little scare."

The maid looked at the money. It was more than she made in three months. She took the bottle.

The Corridor.

Alessandra opened her eyes. She checked her clutch.

Inside the hidden lining, tucked away where no one could see, was a blister pack. She had called a 24-hour courier service the moment she woke up in this timeline, instructing them to purchase the item and deliver it to her name at the gala's coat check. The receipt was tucked neatly beside it.

She knew Ilene. She knew Ilene couldn't resist a trap.

Alessandra wasn't walking into a trap. She was setting the jaws of one.

"Hurry up," she whispered to the empty hallway. "I want to see the look on your face when it snaps shut."

Ten minutes later, the maid returned, breathless and flushed. She handed a brown paper pharmacy bag to Vivian, her eyes darting nervously toward the ballroom entrance.

"Here," Vivian said, snatching the bag and thrusting it at Alessandra. "Take it. Quickly."

Alessandra reached into the bag. She pulled out the box. Plan B One-Step. The shrink wrap looked tampered with, a subtle wrinkle in the plastic that shouldn't be there, but she pretended not to notice.

She opened the box and shook the pill into her hand.

It was white. Round.

She raised it to her lips.

"Alessandra!"

The voice was shrill and triumphant.

Ilene marched into the corridor, flanked by her entourage of socialites and, crucially, Darius Brandt. He looked annoyed at being dragged away from his scotch, but his eyes sharpened when he saw the scene.

"What are you taking?" Ilene demanded, her voice echoing off the tiled walls.

Alessandra feigned surprise. Her hand jerked, and the pill rolled onto the floor.

Chloe dove for it like a shortstop. She grabbed the pill and snatched the open box from Alessandra's other hand.

"Oh my god," Chloe gasped, pouring the contents of the box into her palm. There were three more pills inside-which was wrong. Plan B was a single-dose pill. And these pills had small markings on them.

"This isn't contraception," Chloe announced, holding them up to the light like evidence in a murder trial. "These look like... like those vitamins my aunt took when she was trying to get pregnant. What are these, some kind of fertility booster?"

The group of socialites gasped in unison. It was a well-rehearsed chorus.

Ilene stepped forward, her face a mask of righteous indignation. "Alessandra, you just told everyone you didn't drug him. But now you're sneaking fertility drugs? What are you trying to do? Get pregnant tonight? Trap him with a baby?"

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and ugly. In their world, being a "baby trapper" was a social death sentence. It confirmed every gold digger stereotype.

Vivian turned pale gray. "No, that's... she asked for..." She stammered, looking from the pills to her daughter, realizing she had been played, but not understanding by whom.

Darius stepped forward. The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees.

He looked at the pills in Chloe's hand. Then he looked at Alessandra. The faint amusement he had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a deep, visceral disgust. He despised manipulation. He despised anyone trying to leverage his legacy.

"Is that your plan?" Darius asked. His voice was quiet, dangerous. "You want a Brandt baby that badly?"

Alessandra looked at him. She saw the judgment. She saw how quickly he believed the worst of her. It hurt, a phantom pain from a life where she had loved him.

But then she looked at Ilene, who was struggling to hide a smirk.

Alessandra laughed.

It was a soft, dry sound. She clapped her hands together slowly. Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Bravo," she said. "Truly. The production value is increasing."

"The evidence is right there!" Ilene pointed at the pills.

Alessandra bent down. She picked up the pill she had dropped. She held it between her thumb and forefinger, examining it.

"Darius," she said, holding the pill up to his eye level. "Do you believe I intended to take this?"

Darius looked at her with cold contempt. "The box was in your hand. The intent is clear."

"Right," Alessandra nodded. "Because I'm just a desperate Abbott looking for a payout."

She walked over to a trash can near the service door.

"You think I want your bloodline?" she asked, her back to him.

She flicked the pill into the garbage.

She turned around. Her eyes were blazing now, dark holes of intensity that swallowed the light.

"You think I want to carry a child that shares your DNA?"

She took a step toward him.

"Let me show you exactly how much I want to be a mother to your children."