A Taste of the Mistress' Revenge

The day I was discharged from the hospital, Hera and Hector took me to a secluded estate—Hector’s secret place, as he called it. The drive was silent, tension thick in the air. I could barely process what was happening. I was no longer Alicia Costa. I had agreed to bury her.

Inside the house, Hector and Hera sat me down and told me about Francheska Falcon.

“Everyone still believes she’s alive,” Hector said, his voice steady but cold. “She died while we were abroad, but no one knows the truth except me and Hera.”

I swallowed hard. “How did she die?”

Hector’s jaw tightened. “Her death is tied to the debt the De Santis family owes me.”

He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. Instead, Hera took over, describing Francheska in detail.

“She was timid, reserved, always hiding from the crowd,” she said. “She loved flowers, just like you. And she was a painter.”

My breath hitched. “She painted?”

Hera nodded. “She found solace in it.”

Just like me. Memories of my mother encouraging me to paint when my father died flashed in my mind. Francheska and I were eerily similar. It was almost as if fate had placed me in her shoes before I even realized it.

Hector leaned forward, his dark gaze piercing. “Your resemblance to her is uncanny, but it’s not enough. If you want revenge, you need to fully become her.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You need to change your face.”

The words slammed into me like a blow. I stared at him, frozen.

Hera sighed. “It’s the only way. The De Santis and Russos know Alicia Costa. If you go after them with this face, they’ll find you before you can even make your move.”

My stomach twisted. Changing my face meant erasing every trace of Alicia Costa. There would be no turning back.

Hector watched me, his expression unreadable. “It’s your choice. But if you truly want to destroy them, this is the only way.”

I clenched my fists, my heart hammering in my chest. This was the price of revenge. The final nail in Alicia Costa’s coffin.

I exhaled sharply and nodded. “Do it.”

Hera squeezed my hand. “We’ll go to Bay City. I have a private clinic there. No one will know.”

The next day, Hera and I left. The journey felt surreal, as if I were being transported into someone else’s life. In a way, I was.

The surgery was brutal. Darkness consumed me, and when I woke, a searing pain engulfed my face. My entire body felt heavy, as if I had been buried alive.

Blinking through the haze, I turned my head slightly and froze. Hector was sitting beside me.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Why are you here?”

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “I needed to see if it worked.”

I wanted to scoff, but the pain was too much. I shut my eyes, exhaustion pulling me under again.

Days passed. The recovery was slow, and Hector and Hera were there through it all. It was strange, seeing Hector—cold, ruthless Hector—handling me as if I were fragile. He barely spoke, but his presence never wavered.

The day the bandages were removed, my heart pounded violently in my chest. I took a deep breath and faced the mirror.

I gasped.

Hera had done it. The face staring back at me wasn’t mine. It was hers. Francheska Falcon.

I reached up with trembling fingers, touching my new features. The same high cheekbones, the same delicate lips. The same woman Hector had once loved.

I turned to him, searching his face for a reaction. His eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Hector—”

Before I could finish, he grabbed me and pulled me into a crushing embrace. His body trembled slightly against mine.

“Alicia,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair. “We need to make this worth it. You and Francheska deserve justice.”

His words sent a shiver through me, but the intensity in his voice, the raw, restrained fury, made my breath hitch. There was something dark, something deeply personal in the way he said it, as if every syllable carried the weight of his torment.

“It was Sergio De Santis,” he whispered, his voice thick with something unspoken, something lethal. “He forced himself on her. Again and again. He broke her in ways no one could see, made her feel powerless, worthless.” His grip on my arms tightened, his fingers digging into my skin, as if grounding himself in the present, as if stopping himself from completely unraveling. “He didn’t just hurt her,” Hector continued, his tone laced with venom. “He destroyed her. He made her feel like nothing, like she was just another pawn in his twisted games. And when she had no way out… she ended it herself.”

I stilled, my heart stopping for a beat, the weight of his words crushing down on me like a collapsing building. My mind reeled, flashes of my own suffering intertwining with hers. And then another realization struck—Sergio wasn’t just any monster. He was the father of the woman who had orchestrated my ruin, Serena De Santis-Russo. My mind screamed at me to process, to react, but all I felt was an overwhelming numbness spreading through my veins.

“She was his niece.” The revelation was a dagger to my gut, twisting deeper with every second. My breath hitched, nausea coiling in my stomach. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. This was about the tangled web of power and cruelty that had ruined both Francheska and me. Sergio had destroyed his own niece, and his daughter had ensured my downfall. The De Santis family had orchestrated both of our tragedies.

My stomach lurched. If I became Francheska, I wouldn’t just be playing Hector’s wife—I would be walking straight into the den of the family that had stolen everything from me. Sergio had tormented Francheska until she took her own life, and Serena had torn mine apart without a second thought. Now, I would be playing the role of a woman who had suffered at the hands of the very man whose daughter had helped orchestrate my destruction. I would be walking into the lion’s den, living the life of a woman who had been violated by the same man who had ruined mine.

And there was no backing out now. The stakes had shifted. My revenge was no longer just about me—it was about Francheska, about Hector, about justice for the innocent lives Sergio had shattered.

I clenched my fists, my resolve solidifying like steel.

I wasn’t just going to take them down.

I was going to make them suffer. Sergio. Serena. And Antonio.