The Substitute Wife Strikes Back

Isabella Roscente was the most dazzling red rose in the elite social circle of Beijing.

Her beauty was breathtaking.

With just a glance, she could captivate any man's soul.

It was said her suitors could form a line stretching from the 2nd Ring Road to the 5th Ring Road.

Yet, the young Miss Roscente couldn't be bothered to spare them a single look.

Her best friend, Charlotte Royston, pulled her into a bet.

"Ling, if you can win over my uncle Alexander Royston, you can pick any of the luxury cars from my garage."

Alexander Royston.

The head of the Royston conglomerate.

Cold, untouchable, and unattainable.

The unattainable one in the hearts of countless socialites.

Rumors said not even a female mosquito could get close to him.

Isabella's red lips curled into a smirk.

What she wanted, she always got.

But fate had other plans.

That very night, she stumbled upon Alexander, drugged and vulnerable.

Seizing the opportunity, she became his antidote.

After that night, cracks began to form in his icy exterior.

For three years, they were inseparable.

Night after night, Isabella's heart fell deeper for him.

She thought this godlike man was finally hers.

Until tonight.

After their intimate moment in the car, she noticed his sapphire cufflinks had fallen.

She picked them up, intending to return them.

At the end of the hallway, the private room's door was slightly ajar.

Just as she was about to push it open, laughter and voices drifted out.

"Alexander, just came from Isabella's? That wildcat who acts like she owns the world—how does she turn into a docile kitten around you? When are you marrying her?"

Isabella froze, her heartbeat erratic.

Then she heard that familiar, icy voice.

"Just friends with benefits. Marriage was never on the table."

Seven words.

Seven daggers straight to her heart.

The room fell dead silent.

Even his closest friends were stunned.

After a long pause, someone hesitantly spoke up.

"Alex, it's been three years... Are you still hung up on the one that got away?"

The one that got away?

Isabella's mind went blank.

Alexander had someone else?

Rooted to the spot, she heard him respond with a quiet "Hmm."

"When we broke up, she asked for three years—for herself and for me. If the feelings remained, we'd reconcile."

"She's playful, insecure. I indulged her."

"Three years is up. I've tested it." His voice carried a hint of anticipation. "She should be coming back."

Isabella's entire body turned cold, her fingers trembling.

So these three years were just an experiment?

"But what about Isabella? She's so proud—if she finds out—"

BANG!

The door flew open.

Everyone jumped, turning toward the entrance.

Isabella stood there, pale as death.

Only her peach-blossom eyes burned red with fury.

Her gaze locked onto the man seated at the head of the table.

Alexander, impeccably dressed in his tailored suit, remained composed.

Her sudden appearance didn't faze him in the slightest.

His calmness was the final salt rubbed into her bleeding heart.

She walked up to him, her voice hoarse.

"Alexander Royston. Don't you have anything to say?"

He lifted his eyes, meeting hers with unsettling serenity.

"You heard everything."

"We were friends with benefits. I thought you understood."

"Charlotte made a bet with you—win me over, and you'd get a car from her garage. If that's not enough—"

His slender fingers slid a black card across the table.

"Here's 10 million dollars. Consider it payment for these three years."

"We're even."