At my wedding reception, I noticed my mother-in-law, Caroline, secretly drop something into my champagne when she thought no one was watching.
She expected me to drink it. Instead, I quietly switched glasses. When she lifted hers for a toast, I smiled. That was when the real chaos began.
Her red lips curved into a faint smirk as she took a sip—but seconds later, her smile faltered. Caroline’s face paled; her eyes widened in shock before the glass slipped from her trembling hand and shattered against the marble floor.
The music stopped. Three hundred guests froze.
“Mom!” Dylan shouted, rushing toward her.
I stayed still, suppressing the satisfaction threatening to show on my face. Caroline tried to speak, but only a weak groan escaped her lips.
Feigning concern, I leaned close and muttered so only she could hear, “You should’ve chosen another day, because this one belongs to me.”
Her terrified eyes told me she understood everything—but it was already too late.
As staff rushed in, the hall erupted into chaos. The chandelier lights sparkled above, music still faintly playing, and amid the confusion, I felt a strange sense of calm.
When the paramedics arrived, I stepped back and examined my phone. There it was the message Caroline had sent Dylan that morning. I had read it earlier; I knew her passcode.
“Son, I’ll make sure you never make the mistake of marrying her. It’ll all be over before the night even begins.”
I forwarded the text to myself and to a journalist at Revista Central.
“Lori,” Dylan said, his face pale, “do you know what happened to my mom?”
I smiled sweetly. “Maybe she just reacted badly. You know how sensitive your mother is to champagne.”
But when I saw Caroline’s fading eyes as she was carried out, I knew the truth: this was only the beginning of our wa:r.
Later, the music stopped completely. The guests whispered, unsure what to do. Dylan turned to me, panic flashing in his eyes.
“Lori, what’s going on? My mom wouldn’t collapse for no reason!”
I calmly set my glass down and got rid of my gloves.
“No, Dylan,” I said softly. “It wasn’t a coincidence.”
He looked bewildered. I didn’t bother to explain.
Caroline hadn’t intended to k*ll me just to ruin me. I’d explored the sedative in time. It would’ve knocked me unconscious, turned my wedding into a scandal, and left me as the perfect suspect.
But her plan had backfired.
That night, back in our hotel suite, my wedding dress draped over a chair, I scrolled through the headlines:
“Bride implicated in mother-in-law’s collapse at luxury wedding.”
“Poisoned champagne scandal rocks the Ashford family.”
Photos flooded the internet Caroline crumpling to the floor, champagne spilling, and me standing behind her, smiling. No one truly knew who the victim was.
Three days later, I visited her at the hospital – VIP suite, ninth floor. She looked weak but alive.
“Feeling better, Mrs. Ashford?” I asked.
She gazed at me with hatred.
“I know what you tried to do,” I said evenly. “You wanted me humiliated, the media to destroy me, and Dylan to think I poisoned you.”
She gave a bitter smile. “You think you’ve won? You’ll never belong in this family, Lori. You’re nothing but a gold digger.”
I leaned closer, voice like ice. “No, Caroline. The one about to lose everything is you.”
I played the recording from my phone and her voice from that morning:
“I’ve already given him the drug. Once he drinks it, it’ll all be over.”
Her face turned ghostly white.
“That recording and your text,” I continued, “are already with Revista Central. You have 24 hours to resign from the Ashford board. Otherwise, tomorrow the world will know who tried to poison the bride.”
She said nothing. I stood, smoothed my dress, and smiled. “I didn’t come for revenge, Caroline. I came to war:n you. You fired first and now it’s my turn.”
Three months later, I was sitting in my new office on the 32nd floor of Ashford Holdings. Caroline had “resigned for health reasons.” Dylan remained loyal, convinced his mother’s collapse had been because of stress.
In the window’s reflection, I no longer saw an innocent bride, but a woman who understood that love and power often share the same face. At the bottom of my champagne glass, I kept a single white pill – a reminder that every marriage begins with a vow, but not all survive it.
It seemed over. Caroline vanished from the media. I became the celebrated new Mrs. Ashford, the family’s savior.
But I should’ve known that Caroline never stays buried.
One winter morning, a black envelope appeared on my desk. Inside, a handwritten note read:
“Everything you think you know is only half the story.”
Along with it and a photo of me, in my wedding dress, switching the glasses. And beneath it:
“If I fall, you fall with me.”
My heart stopped. Caroline was alive and she was back.
That night, an anonymous email arrived:
“Meet me tomorrow at 9 p.m. at the old Ashford mansion.”
Attached was a video – Caroline in a hospital bed, speaking to a man with his face hidden.
“He thinks he’s won,” she said, “but I still have an ace up my sleeve… and it carries the Ashford name.”
I zoomed in—the man wore the same wedding ring as Dylan.
I couldn’t believe it.
The next night, I went. The mansion was dim, haunted by silence. Caroline stood in the living room, elegant and calm, like a ghost who’d never left.
“You came quickly, Lori,” she said.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Justice,” she answered. “You ruined me in the press. I just want to return the favor.”
She slid a folder across the table – fake financial documents with my signature, reports of fra:ud.
“I bought these. One call, and you’ll be charged with embezzlement. Unless,” she paused, “you leave Dylan tonight.”
I walked out into the rain, shaking. If she released them, I’d lose everything. But she didn’t know that I had recorded our entire conversation.
That night, I sent the audio to the journalist. Subject line: The End of the Toast.
The next morning, the headlines erupted again:
“Caroline Ashford accused of blackmail and corporate fraud.”
“Ashford empire on the verge of collapse.”
Caroline was arrested. Dylan wept.
And once again, I was the innocent wife in everyone’s eyes.
When he came home that night, voice trembling, he asked, “Lori… did you know about this?”
I stroked his cheek and whispered, “We all pay for our actions, Dylan.”
He hugged me tightly. I smiled behind his shoulder.
The war was finally over.
And I was the one who won.