The Billionaire's Replacement Wif

Elena's pov

There's a rhythm to my survival.

Wake up before dawn. Open the boutique by seven. Smile at the rich women shopping who never smile back. Pretend I'm not tired, not hungry, not terrified that today might be the day my whole world caves in.

I'd mastered that rhythm. Perfected it, even.

Twenty-six years old and already burnt out. But I'm proud of how well I've held my own. Not everyone gets dealt the same hand. Some people are born into silk sheets and scented candles.

Others, like me, claw their way through life with blistered palms and hope that's paper-thin.

London always felt colder when you were broke. The cold wind sliced through my coat like it knew how little I'd paid for it. The cheap fabric, secondhand, barely clinging to usefulness.

My fingers were numb from the walk to work, and my heels ached already from the twelve-hour shift that lay ahead.

I hated mornings like this. The kind that reminded me that no matter how hard I tried, I was always one paycheck away from drowning.

The high-end boutique on King's Road sparkled with luxury. Rows of silk gowns, glass cases of diamond-studded accessories priced higher than my rent, and carefully curated playlists humming through hidden speakers.

Everything displayed in the boutique screamed opulence.

Inside the boutique was warm, at least. It was extremely lavish. There were gold-trimmed displays, marble floors, and racks of designer clothes I couldn't afford even if I sold a kidney.

Still, I wore the uniform, packed my wavy chestnut - brown hair into a bun, and put a smile on my face. I prayed no one would notice how hollow my soul was behind it.

My paycheck was due, and I needed to send some money to my brother. I may need to pick up extra shifts or look for more part time jobs.

"Elena, window refold. Pronto." My manager, Zara, snapped her fingers in front of my eyes, interrupting my thoughts. She walked away not bothering to make eye contact or engage in any further conversation.

I nodded at her and moved toward the display, already feeling the weight of the day begin to settle on my shoulders.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of heels clicking against the boutique floor towards where I stood.

I didn't look up at first, busy restocking a jewellery display case. But the sound was distinctive. Not hurried. Not clumsy. Each step was deliberate, echoing through the boutique like a slow crescendo.

Then came the scent. It filled my senses almost immediately. Jasmine and power. The smell of the rich.

"Elena Morrell?" the woman asked, her voice smooth and unmistakably sure of itself.

I turned to look at her and she was... striking. Her beauty was unbelievable. She looked like she was plucked out of a Vogue magazine. She didn't look like she was very young, but not old either, so maybe late twenties.

She wore a flowing, moss-green maxi dress and a brooch that sparkled with diamonds in the shape of a swan, the dress highlighting her warm brown skin. My monthly wage couldn't dream of affording such a dress.

I noticed that she wasn't browsing through the boutique. She didn't seem interested in shopping at all. Her eyes were sharp, and were focused on me from the moment she walked up. She pushed her dark curls out of her eyes. Her black pupils pierced my green ones. Her makeup was flawless, her jewellery... real.

I straightened my back instinctively, running a hand down my uniform to smoothen it. "Good afternoon. Welcome to..."

"No. I'm not here to shop." The woman interrupted me and smiled faintly. "I'm here for you, Elena. And only you."

I fell silent, holding my breath. I blinked in confusion.

"I'm Serena Austen. I represent a private firm," she continued, handing me a black card.

'Serena Austen & Blake Private Consultancy' was written on it in gold letters. "I believe we may have a... mutually beneficial opportunity."

I blinked rapidly. My first thought was scam. The second, why me?

As if she read my mind, Serena leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. "I can't discuss it here. But I'd appreciate a moment of your time. Join me for coffee. Somewhere discreet."

"I'm working," I said, uncertain. My eyes scanned around my colleagues, and they were all busy. No one paid attention to me.

"Ten minutes," Serena said. "And I'll make sure you don't lose a pound of today's pay."

That shouldn't have been enough to sway me, but Serena's gaze held something else, urgency wrapped in steel. She was definitely a woman used to getting her way.

What if she's real? Still, scams were designed to look real.

I stared at the card. It didn't look fake, but the situation sure felt like it.

Nope, I'm turning her down. I wasn't getting scammed today.

"I don't..."

"Your brother's tuition," she interjected quietly, her voice just above a whisper. "Your overdue rent. The loan you took to cover his medical bills three months ago."

Umm, what?

"How do you..."

"We do our research. You're not in trouble. This is an opportunity," she cut in again. "A legal one. Lucrative. You'll be well compensated for your time."

Her gaze didn't waver from mine. If she was lying, she was damn good at it.

"I'm not interested in scams."

Serena smiled again, this time with a trace of amusement. "Scams don't come with NDAs and six-figure payments."

What?

"Six figures?" My voice came out small. Disbelieving. "For what, exactly? Identity theft?"

She smiled slightly and tilted her head to the side nudging her head towards something, and I mirrored her movement to see what she was hinting at.

A car was parked outside the boutique entrance. Black. Tinted. Silent.

My gaze went back to Serena whose eyes remained on me, watching my every move.

Well, shit. She had me at six figure payment. Here goes nothing.

I took permission from Zara to have a lunch break, and she easily agreed because Serena ended up shopping heavily. Almost as if she knew that would please my boss.

Zara smiled at me, giving me a thumbs up as the purchase made by the elegant woman was enough to pay everyone's salary for the next month comfortably.

And despite every voice in my head screaming no, I followed Serena to her car and climbed in.

***

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in a quiet café two streets over, both of us tucked into a corner booth far from curious ears. Serena slid a folder across the table.

"You're not in trouble," she began, as if anticipating the question. "This isn't illegal. It's... unconventional. But legal."

I picked up the folder and opened it. The first thing I saw was a photograph of a woman. Her face was hauntingly similar to mine, though hers was finer-boned, glossier, polished.

I glanced up at Serena, brows furrowed in confusion. "I look like her."

"Enough to be convincing, yes. With minor surgical enhancements and a believable backstory, no one will question the difference," she said plainly, like she was addressing the weather.

"What do you mean? Why?"

"She's in a coma."

My jaw hung open slightly. I wasn't expecting that.

I stared at her, a bit shocked. "What?"

"She's the wife of Cassian Grey. I assume you've heard of him."

The name hit like a thunderclap.

Cassian Grey, CEO of Grey Dominion, tech mogul, billionaire, and Europe's most ruthlessly private man.

Of course I had heard of him. He's a billionaire. Tech genius. Cold as ice. The media's golden boy with a secretive streak.

Serena continued. "His company is on the edge of a major merger. Investors need reassurance especially about his personal life. Camila Grey was in an accident three months ago. The investors want stability. They want the image of a devoted couple. The longer Camila lays unconscious, the longer we lose deals and mergers. Cassian needs Camila... present. Unfortunately, she's not. The public believes she has woken up and is recovering privately. We need you to play her. Appear in public. Smile. Say nothing. Be Camila."

I stared at her in disbelief, my mind rushing to assimilate everything she just said.

"Hold up. You want me to pretend to be her?" I asked slowly, voice just above a whisper. The whole conversation felt illegal already.

"For six weeks. Live in her home. Attend functions. Look perfect. That's it."

I shook my head, already feeling my heartbeat accelerate. "You want me to impersonate a billionaire's wife? Do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"Not crazy," Serena said, folding her hands. "Necessary. You'll be protected and compensated with a small fortune, enough to take care of you and your brother for years."

I flinched slightly at the mention of Scott.

Serena didn't miss it. She leaned in slightly, staring at me with what looked like pity.

"We know about your situation. We also know you're smart, careful, and loyal. You'll be briefed, trained, and fully supported. Your safety is guaranteed."

I shook my head vehemently. "This is insane. It's illegal."

"It's not, actually. You'll be under contract. You'll have security. A private estate. We will train you. Dress you. Coach you. And in under 2 months, you walk away with half a million or more."

My breath hitched. "Half a million?"

She nodded.

"What if I say no?" I asked, glancing back down at the photo of Camila Grey.

"Then you go back to your boutique. Back to saving every penny. Back to watching your brother sacrifice dreams you can't afford."

I opened the rest of the folder, reading through the rest of its content. My eyes scanned the contracts, medical releases and the NDA.

"What of the people that know me? Won't that be a problem?" I glanced up at her, worried about my brother, neighbours and colleagues.

"That won't be a problem. They would all be handled. Your brother is away, so there won't be any issues," Serena said, with a reassuring smile playing on her lips.

My gaze left her face and went to the papers. Then, back to the photo of Camila Grey. Then I glanced back back up at Serena who was studying my reaction.

This felt wrong. It had to be wrong.

But it felt like the only way out.

I heaved a deep sigh and reached for the pen, my hands shaking slightly.

For Scott, I told myself.

And then, I signed the lie that would change everything.