Chapter 2 Echoes of the Past

Olivia: POV

I stared at my phone after hanging up on Jason, Charlotte watching me across the coffee shop table with a mixture of sympathy and rage.

"So he chose me," Charlotte said flatly. "Bastard."

"Yeah, well, enjoy your dinner with him tomorrow night," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll be there for dessert."

Charlotte's smile was sharp as a blade. "This is going to be fun."

But as I drove home an hour later, the adrenaline was wearing off and reality was setting in. Three years. Three fucking years of my life wasted on a lie. Every "I love you," every future plan we'd made, every time I'd defended him to my friends who thought he was too smooth—all of it bullshit.

The familiar gates of the Parker estate appeared ahead, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Home—though after everything that came out three years ago about Emma and me being switched at birth, the word still felt complicated sometimes. No need to bring this drama inside.

The house was lit up as usual—all 8,000 square feet of modern architecture nestled in one of San Francisco's most exclusive neighborhoods. I parked my Tesla next to Mom's Porsche and dragged myself inside, hoping to sneak upstairs without conversation.

No such luck.

"Olivia! You're home early. How was your evening?" Mom called from the kitchen. Catherine Parker, ever the multitasker, was reviewing documents while preparing her nightly green smoothie. Her casual designer outfit probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

"Fine," I said, dropping my bag on the marble counter with more force than necessary.

Dad looked up from his tablet, his businessman's instincts immediately picking up on my mood. "Everything alright? You seem tense."

"Just tired." I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, avoiding their concerned looks.

"Is Jason still coming to the charity gala next weekend?" Mom asked, and I nearly choked on my water.

The mention of his name made my stomach clench. "I don't know. Maybe not."

Before Mom could press further, Emma sauntered in, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor. My not-really-sister-but-actually-their-biological-daughter had perfected the art of dramatic entrances since returning to the Parker fold three years ago.

"Well, well, the golden child is home early," Emma said, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Emma," Dad warned.

"What? I'm just asking." She grabbed a water bottle, her eyes never leaving mine. "You look like someone kicked your puppy."

"That's enough," Mom said firmly. "We don't talk to family that way."

Emma's perfect eyebrows shot up. "Family? Right. I forgot how flexible that term is around here." She turned on her heel. "Whatever. I have actual plans tonight."

The tension followed her out like a toxic cloud. Three years since the DNA test that revealed we'd been switched at birth, and some wounds still hadn't healed. The Parkers had raised me for twenty-two years thinking I was their daughter, while their real daughter Emma grew up across town. One hospital mistake that changed everything.

"Don't let her get to you," Dad said softly. "She's still adjusting."

We're all still adjusting, I thought but didn't say.

"Honey, are you sure everything's okay?" Mom's maternal radar was pinging. "You seem upset about something."

I almost laughed. Upset didn't begin to cover it. "Just work stuff. And Jason and I... we might be taking a break."

The words came out before I could stop them. Mom and Dad exchanged one of their married-couple looks.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mom said carefully. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." I headed toward the stairs. "I think I just need some space to figure things out."

"You know," Dad said, making me pause, "I ran into William Westwood at the club yesterday. Blake is doing remarkably well with that garden center of his."

"Bloom Haven," Mom added. "It's quite the sensation. Elizabeth says they can barely keep up with orders."

I kept my face neutral. "That's nice."

"You two were inseparable as children," Mom continued, and I could hear the wheels turning in her head. "We always thought..."

"What?"

"Well, that you might end up together," she admitted. "You were so close until he went away to school."

I actually laughed this time. "We were kids, Mom. We played house a few times."

"He used to tell everyone he was going to marry you someday," Dad said with a fond smile. "William and I found it quite amusing."

"We were eight," I protested. "Kids say stupid things."

"Sometimes children see things more clearly than adults," Mom said cryptically.

I escaped to my room before they could psychoanalyze my love life any further. The emotional exhaustion hit me like a truck once I was alone. I barely managed to change into pajamas before collapsing onto my bed.

My phone sat on the nightstand, and I stared at it for a moment. Part of me wanted to call Victoria or Rachel, but what would I even say? That I'd spent the day plotting revenge with my boyfriend's other girlfriend? That my entire relationship had been a lie?

Instead, I opened my messages and scrolled to Blake's name. We hadn't talked in almost four years—not since Jason made it clear he didn't like me having male friends. The lingering caffeine and emotional turmoil were still making me feel reckless and nostalgic.

Before I could think better of it, I started typing something, but exhaustion made my fingers clumsy. Random letters and symbols appeared on the screen: "hjkl;dfgh jkl;sdfg hjkl;wert"

I stared at the gibberish message in horror. Great. Now he'll think I've lost my mind.

Too tired to figure out how to explain that mess, I tossed my phone aside and let sleep pull me under. Tomorrow I'd deal with Jason, with Charlotte's plan, with the embarrassing text to Blake. Tonight, I just wanted to forget everything.

I was deep in a dreamless sleep when my phone started buzzing on the nightstand. The vibration against the wood was persistent, pulling me slowly back to consciousness. I tried to ignore it, burying my face deeper into the pillow, but it kept going.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Then it stopped, only to start again a few seconds later.

The caller ID showed Blake Westwood, but I was too exhausted to care. My head was pounding, my emotions were shot, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with explaining my embarrassing drunk text to my childhood friend who I hadn't spoken to in years.

The buzzing was getting on my nerves. Couldn't he take a hint?

Without even looking at the screen again, I fumbled for the power button and held it down until the phone went silent. Finally, blessed quiet.

I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head, letting sleep drag me back under. Whatever Blake wanted to say about my gibberish message could wait until I was ready to face the world again.