A week before my wedding, my fiancé paid for a man to destroy my face with acid so he could secretly marry another woman. While pretending to remain unconscious in a private room at the hospital, I overheard him say, “After this, who would ever want her?”

Ryan broke down crying over the line. "All right! All right! What do you want me to do?!"

"When Logan steps up to the podium, I want you standing right behind him," I instructed. "When the main video screen behind the stage cuts out, you do not let him leave that podium. You hold him there."

"Okay... okay, I'll do it!" Ryan gasped before disconnecting the call.

I turned back to Rachel, who had successfully bypassed the hospital's internal media routing system, linking our laptop directly to the main auditorium’s giant LED video wall.

"We have full control of the auditorium's media screen," Rachel reported, her eyes wide as she monitored the live satellite feed. "The room is packed. CNN, E! News, MSNBC, Forbes... every major outlet is in that room right now. My father is sitting in the front row next to Detective Elena Ward."

"Is Logan on stage yet?" I asked, pulling a black silk shawl over my shoulders to cover my hospital gown.

"He's walking out right now," Rachel said, pointing to the laptop screen.

On the live broadcast feed, Logan Vance emerged from behind a dark blue curtain. He was wearing a dark, tailored suit with a black armband. His face was a mask of pale, tragic solemnity. He walked up to the pod of microphones, clutching a folded sheet of paper in his trembling hands.

The flashbulbs of fifty cameras burst into a blinding storm of light.

"Thank you all for coming," Logan spoke into the microphone, his voice crackling with rehearsed emotion. "As many of you know, my beloved fiancée, Maya Carter, was the victim of a senseless, horrific attack two days ago..."