Chapter 2 Ghosts and Gibberish
Olivia: POV
I answered. "Hey."
"Olivia, I'm so sorry," Jason began, his voice full of practiced regret. "Something just came up at work—emergency client meeting Friday night. Can we reschedule our dinner?"
I met Charlotte's eyes across the table. She was grinning now, and I felt an answering smile tug at my lips.
"Of course," I said sweetly. "Work comes first. I understand completely."
After I hung up, Charlotte raised her coffee cup in a mock toast.
"So he chose me," Charlotte said flatly. "Bastard."
"Yeah, well, enjoy your dinner with him Friday 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 and floor-to-ceiling windows 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.
Before they could press further, I heard the click of designer heels on marble. Emma appeared in the kitchen doorway, fresh from wherever she'd been. 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 carrying just enough sweetness to mask the poison underneath. "Rough night?"
"Emma," Dad warned.
"What? I'm just concerned about my dear sister." She moved past me to grab a water bottle, her eyes never leaving mine. "You look like you've had quite the evening."
"That's enough," Mom said firmly. "We don't talk to family that way."
Emma's perfect eyebrows shot up slightly. "Of course not. We're all about family here, aren't we?" She turned on her heel. "Well, I have plans tonight that actually matter."
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.
'We're all still adjusting,' I thought but didn't say. At least Mom and Dad still treated me like their daughter. Emma made sure I never forgot I wasn't.
"Don't let her get to you," Dad said softly. "She's still adjusting."
"Honey, are you sure everything's okay?" Mom's maternal radar was pinging. "You seem really upset about something."
I almost laughed. Upset didn't begin to cover it. The weight of the day—discovering Jason's betrayal, meeting Charlotte, planning revenge—suddenly felt crushing. "Just work stuff. And Jason and I... things are complicated right now."
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, setting down her smoothie. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dad reached over and squeezed my shoulder gently. "Whatever's going on, we're here for you. You know that, right?"
I nodded, suddenly feeling like I might cry. "I know. I just... I need some time to process everything."
"Of course," Mom said softly. "Take all the time you need."
There was a brief pause, then Mom added almost absently, "Oh, I heard Blake Westwood is back in town. Started some kind of garden center business."
"That's nice," I replied, though something tightened in my chest at his name. I hadn't let myself think about Blake in years.
Dad squeezed my shoulder again. "Why don't you get some rest? Things might look clearer in the morning."
I nodded and escaped to my room. 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 combination of emotional turmoil and exhaustion was making me feel reckless and nostalgic.
Blake had always been easy to talk to, back before Jason made me cut off all my male friends. Back when things were simpler.
I wanted to say something—anything—but my brain was too fried to form coherent thoughts. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, then started typing without any real direction. Random letters appeared on the screen as exhaustion made my movements clumsy: "hjkl;dfgh jkl;sdfg hjkl;wert"
I stared at the gibberish message in horror, my finger hovering over the delete button. But I was too tired to care anymore. Too tired to explain, too tired to fix it.
Great. Now he'll think I've completely lost it.
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.
I cracked one eye open just enough to see the screen. Blake Westwood. Of course. He must have gotten my gibberish message and was calling to check if I'd had a stroke or something.
But I was too exhausted to care, too emotionally drained to explain. My head was pounding, my heart was broken, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with explaining my embarrassing 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 fully opening my eyes, 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 could wait. Tomorrow night, Jason Chen was going to learn what happens when you play two women at once.
But as sleep finally claimed me, my last thought wasn't of Jason or Charlotte or revenge.
It was of Blake's name on my screen, and the fact that after four years of silence, my first instinct in crisis had been to reach out to him.