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An elegant wedding reception hall in the evening with warm golden lighting from crystal chandeliers, round tables with white linens and floral centerpieces, two hundred guests in formal attire. At the front platform, Robert (58, gray hair, suit, reading glasses) holds a microphone mid-toast, champagne glass in his other hand. Wide shot captures the entire reception as his voice suddenly stops mid-sentence. Across the room at table twelve, his daughter Sarah (28, navy dress, blonde hair) is grabbed roughly by a man in a dark suit. Her champagne glass crashes to the floor. Medium shot follows Robert as he sets down his glass, steps off the platform with microphone still in hand, and walks deliberately across the silent reception hall. Close-up shows two hundred guests turning to watch, conversations dying, forks frozen mid-air. He reaches Sarah's table and gently places the microphone beside her plate. Facing the man, Robert's voice is quiet but carries: "You're going to leave this reception. Right now." The man looks around at the unified stares, releases Sarah's arm, and storms out. Robert picks up the microphone, returns to the platform, adjusts his glasses and continues: "Where was I?" The room exhales, someone laughs softly, tension breaks. No logos, no brand names, no watermarks, no text overlays.