The Substitute Wife's Revenge

Alena never imagined the birthday cake she'd carried home with such care would become the silent witness to the end of her life. Her body was shattered. Not from the chemotherapy she'd endured just hours ago, but from the moans echoing behind her bedroom door. "Ohh... Tristan... deeper..." Alena's hand trembled on the doorknob. Her head pounded. This had to be a nightmare. Side effects from the chemo making her hallucinate. "Baby... you're incredible." That voice... belonged to her husband. Tristan Kensington. The man she'd been married to for three years. Alena pushed the door open slowly. The scene before her squeezed her heart like a vice. On the king-size bed she'd bought with money earned from her grueling hours at the multinational PR firm, her husband was tangled with another woman. Not just any woman. She was— "SIENNA?!" Alena's voice pierced the air. The cake box slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a crash, making both figures on the bed jolt. Sienna Reid—

Thick smoke clawed its way into Alena's lungs. She coughed violently until her throat felt shredded. Her eyes struggled to open. Her vision was a blur.Fire.Flames licked up the walls of her room. Orange and red, creeping slowly but relentlessly. Heat. She felt unbearably hot. Sweat drenched her entire body.The fire alarm shrieked—piercing, shattering the hospital's former stillness. From the corridor came screams. Running footsteps. Panic echoing everywhere."FIRE! FIRE ON THE FIFTH FLOOR!"Alena tried to move. Tried to get out of bed. But her body wouldn't respond. Her legs wouldn't budge. Her arms felt like lead. Her neck was stiff.What had Dr. Julian injected her with?Poison? Or a paralytic?"No... please..."Alena's voice emerged only as a faint whisper. No one heard. No one cared.The fire grew larger. It consumed the curtains. Licked at the bed. The heat began searing her skin—like thousands of burning needles piercing every pore.Tears streamed down Alena's face. Not from

"Who are you?" Alena asked, though she'd already guessed. "Why am I here? Why are they calling me Serena?" Kaevan pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down. His gaze was firm, sharp, calculating. "My name is Kaevan Aldrich. I'm the one who saved you twice—first in your apartment building's elevator, second from the fire at Manhattan Memorial Hospital six months ago." "Why?" Alena whispered. "Why did you save me?" Kaevan's expression didn't change. No hesitation in his tone—only cold, ruthless logic. "Because I want to destroy the same enemy you have. Tristan Kensington. He's not just a traitor to you, but my enemy too." Kaevan leaned forward slightly. "Three years ago, Tristan worked at Aldrich Technologies as a senior researcher. We were developing an experimental drug formula for late-stage cancer therapy—a formula that could save millions of lives." Alena held her breath. She remembered Tristan had indeed worked at Aldrich Technologies before marrying her. "Tristan sold t

The next morning came too quickly. Alena had just finished breakfast—bland porridge and warm tea provided by the nurse—when her room door opened without a knock. A man entered with confident steps. He stood about five-nine, shorter than Kaevan but still well-proportioned. His light brown hair was neatly combed to the side in a casual yet professional style. He wore a white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, gray slacks, and thin-framed glasses that gave him an intellectual air. Most striking was his smile—warm, friendly, a stark contrast to Kaevan Aldrich's coldness. "Good morning, Mrs. Aldrich," he greeted with a clear American accent, his tone cheerful. "Or may I call you Serena?" Alena flinched. She wasn't used to that name yet—especially spoken so warmly. The man stepped closer, extending his hand. "Ethan Cross. Kaevan Aldrich's personal assistant. But don't worry, I'm not as cold as my boss." Alena eyed the outstretched hand hesitantly, then raised her own trembl

Three months later...Pain had become Alena's daily companion.Every morning began with physical therapy that felt like torture—muscles that had atrophied during six months of coma had to be retrained, slowly, painfully, and exhaustingly."Five more steps, Mrs. Aldrich. You can do this."Marcus's voice, the physical therapist who'd been with her for the past three months, sounded patient as usual. But every movement Alena made felt like thousands of needles stabbing her bones."Aaakh!"Alena bit her lip hard as her legs trembled violently, barely able to support her own body weight. Sweat drenched her forehead, no longer covered by bandages—just a face still wrapped in sterile cloth in some areas."Good. Now three more steps toward the chair."Three steps. Sounded easy. But for Alena, those three steps felt like three kilometers.Her legs shook. Her knees nearly gave out. But Alena kept going. One. Two.Her right foot stumbled. Her body swayed."Careful—"Marcus caught Alena just befo