Jane stared at him in disbelief. What had he said? Had he actually accused her of drugging him? He, who had taken the initiative that night, who had brought her to his strange apartment and eagerly made love to her. Her eyes reddened, her head shaking. "I didn't," she whispered.

"You don't have to deny it!" Charles retorted, his tone unpleasant. "Hannah was away that night, and you slipped something into my wine. Drunk, I accepted your offer to take me home, only to find myself in a strange place, forced to have sex with you! Jane, you're younger than me, I've always treated you like a sister—as Hannah's boyfriend—and you did this to me..."

His misery deepened with each accusation. He seemed determined to portray himself as the victim. Jane endured his public humiliation in silence. Then, her voice choked with sobs, she exclaimed, "You were the one who said you'd noticed me for a long time, that you liked me! That's why I slept with you, and now you're saying I drugged you? Charles, I was pure before this, and now you're framing me!"

"Am I not?" he cried. "I've preserved my innocence for Hannah for years, and you've ruined it all! Jane, if I'd known what you were really like, I'd never have given you the chance. I regret it so much. The thought of sleeping with you...I want to die."

"Charles!" she screamed, losing control. "You're a hypocrite! A beast! I was blind to fall for you!"

"If I'd known you liked me, I'd never have gotten close," he declared righteously, his disdain for Jane palpable.

Her body trembled with rage. She pointed at him. "How can you turn on me like this? You gave me this dress! You said it was a new Celina design, unreleased, that you'd gotten through connections. You said you wanted me to outshine Hannah!"

"That dress isn't ours," a woman's voice cut through the air. "Don't smear our brand. Our chief designer is on leave and hasn't released any new styles."

All eyes turned to the speaker. "I'm James, Celina's design director," she stated clearly. "This dress is not from our brand." The implication was clear: for a top-tier brand, such a misidentification was impossible.

Jane glared at Charles, her voice rising in a crescendo of fury. "Charles, you lied! You lied about the dress being from Celina! You made me wear a fake dress to be laughed at!"

"Enough!" Charles's face contorted. "What nonsense? When did I give you a dress? And where do you get the nerve to think you're better than Hannah? You can't hold a candle to her!"

She was beyond reason, lunging at him, tearing at his clothes and hair. Her fury was terrifying. Her narcissism, her belief that all men should adore her, was shattered by this accusation of seduction and the humiliation of the fake dress. The thought of it all was unbearable. Shame was the least of her concerns.

Hannah recoiled from Jane's wild outburst. Roger intervened, forcibly pulling Jane away. He looked grim. What a disgrace! Even in her most arrogant moments, she'd never been this uncontrolled. He almost wanted to slap her.

She continued to struggle against his restraint, screaming, "Charles, I want to die with you! I want to die with you!"

Charles, too, was a sorry sight. Jane's scratches marred his face and neck, buttons were torn from his shirt, his hair disheveled. He looked far from the gentleman he'd pretended to be.

"Let go of me! Let go of me, Dad!" she shrieked, her hysteria unabated.

"Enough!" Lorie's voice boomed. Jane cowered before her grandmother's authority; Lorie's temper was legendary. "Isn't this embarrassing enough? Take her away and lock her up!"

Roger, acutely aware of the scandal, shot Charles a venomous look before dragging Jane away, his own anger barely contained. Her protests dwindled into silence.

Hannah watched Jane go, then turned to Mary Cooper, Jane's companion. Mary’s vicious smile faltered as Hannah's gaze held hers. A flicker of fear crossed Mary’s face; Hannah seemed to see through her deception. Mary carefully composed herself, suppressing any outward display of emotion.

On stage, Charles, seemingly composed, addressed Hannah with a loving, if strained, expression. His misery, however, was palpable. If he saw himself as others did, he’d likely go mad.

"You saw what happened," he said, his voice pleading. "She's crazy, she'll do anything. You have to believe me." He reached for her hand.

Hannah subtly withdrew. His hand hung awkwardly in the air, his face reddening with humiliation. He swallowed his anger. "Hannah," he said, his voice low, "didn't you say you'd forgive me?"

He lowered his arm, a subtle gesture of resignation. A faint smile played on Hannah’s lips. "But I didn't say I'd still marry you," she replied.