On our wedding anniversary, I saw my husband discreetly slip something into my glass. A cold fear gripped me. While everyone was distracted, I switched my glass with his sister’s. Minutes later, she drank and immediately fell ill. Chaos followed. I watched as he panicked and whispered on the phone, “She wasn’t supposed to drink it… I swapped the glasses.” That confirmed everything. He intended to poison me. I stayed calm and began collecting evidence—messages, receipts, recordings—while pretending to be the perfect wife. When he suggested a weekend getaway, I agreed, but tipped off a private investigator. As we sat by the fireplace and he raised his glass, the doorbell rang. The police came. “Mr. Orlov, you’re under arrest for attempted murder.” He stared at me, horrified. “You set me up?” “No,” I said, “you did.” Later, he requested a meeting from jail, claiming, “It wasn’t meant for you—it was for my sister. She knew too much.” I didn’t believe him until I found proof on her tablet: messages revealing she was plotting with someone called “M.O.” to get rid of me. I realized they were both playing a game—against me. But someone else was behind them both. I tracked down M.O., a cold figure leading a secret organization. Instead of revenge, I offered cooperation. He accepted. I became part of the network, carrying out quiet missions, gaining influence. My husband remained in jail. His sister vanished. I rose through the ranks. People feared me. Then, one day, I received an unmarked envelope with a photo of me sleeping and a note: “You are not the first.” The power I thought I had was just another illusion. The real players were still above me, watching. Now I live in the shadows, always looking over my shoulder. The game never ends—and I’m no longer sure who’s in control