At the party, my husband's so-called "close female friend" suddenly had an episode. Right there in front of every guest, she pulled open the front of his shirt and pressed her entire body tightly against his chest.   "Don't take this the wrong way, Leah," she said, her voice trembling as if she were freezing. "When my cryophobia flares up, I get this overwhelming fear and feeling of cold. I absolutely have to hold onto Vincent to warm up and calm down."   My husband let out a long, helpless sigh, but he did nothing to push her away.   "Leah, please try to understand," he said gently. "She can't control it when this happens."   A ripple of awkward laughter and knowing glances swept through the room. I stood frozen in place, feeling like nothing more than a fool.   'This is exactly how it started last time,' I thought. 'The same act, the same excuse, and the same result.'   But Aria only grew bolder after that. Before long, she even moved into our home.   She would burst into the bathroom while Vincent was showering, or walk straight into our bedroom late at night, just to throw her arms around him and cling to him.  Each time, Vincent would act surprised, yet he would only scold her briefly before letting it go.   When I finally confronted her, furious and fed up, she just smirked coldly.   "Of course, I want your place," she sneered. "I've been putting something in your food every single day, just waiting for you to drop dead."   The words hit me like a blast of ice.  Before I could even process what she meant, her expression shifted instantly back to that fake, innocent look.   "Just joking, Leah," she said lightly. "Vincent and I have been nothing but platonic friends for twenty years. If there was ever anything more between us, do you really think you'd have ended up as his wife?"   I could not take it anymore. I made up my mind to file for divorce, but before I could even call my lawyer, a sharp, burning pain exploded in my chest, and my vision turned black.  The poison had finally done its work.   When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in the crowded ballroom, standing exactly where I had been that terrible night. The air felt cool, about 68°F, and the room was filled with the same music and chatter.   'I am really back,' I realized. 'Back to the moment it all began.'   This time, I would not be the victim. I would teach this manipulative woman exactly what it means to play with fire and how to burn herself to the ground.