That day, Russell wolfed down the whole plate of food and almost teared up.

Of course, my cooking skills were not to be trusted. The next day, he had severe diarrhea and missed an important meeting in London with major investors.

He completely lost it, saying that if it were the Best Actress, she would’ve handled the ingredients properly—because in her series, her on-screen husband ate the dish she made and was totally fine the next day. He sighed, saying, “Man, being the Best Actress’s husband must be a blessing.”

I imitated the Best Actress’s character, whimpering like a wronged little wife, staying silent while he threw dishes around.

By the time Russell smashed his third Limoges porcelain plate, shards flew up and left a few cuts on my face.

He stared at me coldly and said, “Your breathing’s off by two beats! She wouldn’t tremble like you. Even her fear? It has a quiet resilience to it!”

But in that series, the Best Actress played a pathetic housewife working as a chef in her husband’s restaurant, only to find out he was cheating with a young server. She confronted the mistress in front of the customers but got slapped hard by her husband. Heartbroken, she walked alone through the pouring rain and eventually met her true love. That’s how her story began…

Russell was cruel. He slapped me too.

“You’re such an ungrateful woman! Not only are you useless to my career, but you’re also dragging me down!”

Honestly, he should’ve been the one teaching acting classes.

My cheek burned with pain. The next day, when I went for a facial, the beautician asked about the red handprint on the left side of my face. I just laughed it off. “Just some bedroom fun with Mr. Rowlett.”

‘Bullshit!’

Sure, Russell bought me a designer bag worth over 30,000 dollars to make up for it, but I still felt miserable. How much longer do I have to live like this?

My contract was in his hands for a full ten years. Breaking it early meant paying a huge penalty, and the agreement even required me to earn a certain amount every month. I relied on the salary he gave me just to meet the contract’s terms.

“Mrs. Dunst took an emergency leave today, so no one made dinner at home.” That night, I stood humbly at the door, welcoming him back.

Lately, the Best Actress had been playing a career-driven woman who prioritized work over family, so Russell stopped forcing me to cook.

But his temper was just as bad. “Can’t you study her expressions and movements properly? She’s not playing a timid woman anymore. This month’s salary is gone.”

Oh, come on, Russell. You were the one who told me to act like her!

I slapped him—hard. A thunderous slap!

His face hurt. My hand hurt.

I demanded, “What’s your problem? If Mrs. Dunst wasn’t coming today, you should’ve told me earlier! What, you expect both of us to starve now?”

To my surprise, Russell’s expression shifted. He licked the slightly swollen corner of his lip, eyes turning sharp. “Hit me again.”

I froze. No way.

But he insisted, “I said, hit me again! Merylle, show me how much you’re like her! No, you are her!”

Gosh, he was insane!

I raised my hand high as he said…

But I hesitated.

I knew what kind of person Russell was. When he got into character, he really got into it. But once he snapped out of it, he’d settle scores with me.

So I wavered.

“Forget it,” he sneered. “You’ll never be her. Next month’s salary? It’s gone too.”

“What am I supposed to eat next month?”

“I already told you—I’ll cover your basic food and housing.”

“Then… can I sell the bag you bought me for money?”

“That bag was for her. Not for you! You can use it for now. But once she comes back, you’ll return it to her.”

“Hah, she’s willing to settle for my second-hand stuff?”

“Merylle, watch your mouth.”

Russell had already snapped out of character, back to his usual untouchable CEO persona. It had taken me a long time to figure out his rhythm and know when he’d switch like this.

“Sorry, Mr. Rowlett,” I said, knowing better than to push it.

“I have a dinner meeting tonight. Stay home.”

“What am I supposed to eat?”

“Actresses have to diet. She’s starving herself—why can’t you? Skipping one meal won’t kill you, you know. She never eats dinner, but she’s still alive.”

“She needs to stay camera-ready to make money. What about me? Am I shooting a film? Do I need to starve?”

Russell scoffed. “Who do you think you are to compare yourself with her?”

As expected, he left me home alone in the end. But what I didn’t get was—if he had a dinner meeting, why not just call or text? Why did he have to come all the way home just to tell me in person before heading out?

Russell… Mr. Rowlett… must have been so traumatized by women that he’s lost his mind.

I’d known about the rumors between him and the Oscar-winning actress years ago, back when they were all over the trending searches. That was when I had just gotten into one of the country’s top-performing arts schools, dreaming of becoming an actress. She had graduated from the same school, so back then, I used to look up to her.

But now, all I felt toward her was hatred.

I hated that I looked like a younger version of her. I hated that I ever attended Russell’s casting call. And more than anything, I hated that I didn’t have enough money to buy my way out of this nightmare.

Actually, no—lately, I did have some promising opportunities. Thanks to accompanying Russell to business dinners, I’d met quite a few promising young elites. They weren’t as rich as Russell, but paying my contract termination fee wouldn’t be a problem for them.

The only issue was my reputation. Everyone thought I was Russell’s wife. But Mr. Pure-and-Chaste CEO had never actually touched me—just some hand-holding and kissing at most.

I knew exactly what was going through his head. He was staying ‘faithful’ to that actress, his one true love.

He wasn’t afraid of me finding someone else. For one, he was confident in his status—no one dared to mess with what belonged to him. And two, he knew those rich playboys were only interested in a good time. When it came to actually spending a fortune on me, they’d all back out.

But they had no idea who they were dealing with. My acting skills were top-tier—I just never got the chance to debut.

Russell had trained me well. It was time to put those skills to use.

With Duke Wellington, I played the delicate damsel. With Lord Sinclair, I became a cold and commanding queen. With Mr. Harrington, I acted like the perfect devoted daughter. If each of them pitched in ten million, I’d have more than enough to buy my freedom!

My plan was already in motion. And when Russell finally realized I was gone, I’d stomp on his face in sky-high heels and make him badmouth his beloved actress a thousand times over.

He once said his ‘pure first love’ was untouchable—not even by himself.

That would be his worst nightmare.

That night, Russell came home drunk.

I was lying on my bed, starving, unable to sleep.

He must have opened the wrong door because he stumbled into my room.

He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, reeking of alcohol.

Then, in a drunken murmur, he whispered her name.

“Why did you leave me? Is your career really that important? Isn’t it just about money? I could give you that—I could give you myself. And that thing… honestly, I already…”

I struggled to break free, but it was no use. His grip was too strong.

If I were the real leading actress, having a man like Russell thinking about me day and night, I’d probably be moved to tears.

Unfortunately, I’m just her stand-in. Every heartfelt word he says feels like a sharp needle piercing my heart.

Yep, I love Russell—or rather, I used to love him.

When he skipped an important board meeting because I was sick, when he planned a special trip abroad just for my birthday, when he ignored high-class women just to make my jealous self feel better…

He remembered all my preferences, but was all that affection really meant for me?

I was trapped, lost in my own confusion…

Until one night, just like tonight, he got drunk. And the only name he called out was Bernadette’s.

That was when I finally woke up—his love was never for me. I was nothing more than a substitute.

They say drunken words are sober thoughts. He only ever admitted the truth when he was wasted—he saw her through me.

And yes, there’s another reason I hate that woman. Because Russell doesn’t love me. He loves her.

When his hands started wandering, I pushed him away with all my strength. “You’re drunk.”

“Merylle, be good. Don’t move. Just let me hold you for a bit.”

‘Hold me? That’s what you call this? You’re clearly…’

His warm breath brushed against the back of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“If you keep moving, I can’t promise what I’ll do next.”

“Russell, if you really wanted to, you would’ve done it already. Would you really wait until now?”

“Heh, you’re really acting like her now. Talking back to me?”

The corners of my mouth twitched. ‘So there’s always going to be someone between us, huh?’

“Merylle, just sleep. I won’t touch you.”

“Fine.”

But moments later, he turned me over and kissed me.

‘So this is what you call ‘not touching me’? You were just waiting for the right moment, weren’t you?’

His lips were cold. He didn’t notice the tear slipping from the corner of my eye—just as cold as he was.

With his eyes closed, he looked like he was completely lost in it. He must be picturing her right now, right?

‘Russell, I want to get back at you. I want to use everything I have.’

If you wake up tomorrow and realize you spent the night with a stand-in, how would you feel? Could you still face your precious first love?

I kissed him back passionately, trying to stir up the deepest desires buried inside him…

But then he suddenly shoved me away, hard, and called out her name.

“Damn… I’m not that drunk. Don’t even think about taking advantage of me.”

I coaxed him, “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Russell let out a chuckle. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Then he yanked the blanket over my head, cutting me off from the world. Muffled from beneath the covers, I barely caught his voice.

“Go to sleep. Stop messing around.”

The next morning, I opened my eyes. Russell was long gone from my bed. He must’ve gone back to his own room in the middle of the night.

That’s just how he is—calculating in business, always scheming. His mind is restless, his insomnia chronic. Sleeping somewhere unfamiliar just makes it worse.

“Where is he?” I asked while eating my breakfast—cabbage, bacon, and cheese egg pancakes, specially prepared by Mrs. Dunst, the housekeeper.

Of course, this was Russell’s doing too. I was only allowed to eat low-carb meals to maintain the figure of a Hollywood star.

Speaking of which, I can’t help but complain.

That Best Actress has everything going for her, but she refuses to look ugly. Even when playing a poor small-town woman, she has to keep that hourglass figure intact. She wouldn’t gain a single pound for a role, which is why some people criticize her for being too image-conscious and unrealistic.

But she has her reasons. As she gets older, her metabolism slows down. If she puts on weight, what if she can’t lose it again?

I respect her discipline. But it’s also my suffering.

I actually haven’t touched junk food in ages!

If someone waved a roasted chicken leg in front of me right now, I’d probably do anything for them.