A man lay beside Olivia in bed, his arms wrapped around her, their hands entwined. Yet, as he murmured softly in his sleep, he wasn’t calling her name. “Naomi, Naomi,” he whispered.
Olivia’s heart sank, but she didn’t speak. She just stared at him, her voice trembling when she finally dared to say, “I’m not Naomi. I’m Olivia. It’s Olivia.”
But did it even matter?
Tyler Harris, still half-conscious, gazed at her face—a face so eerily similar to her sister’s. His eyes lingered, almost studying her, before he leaned in and kissed her, the moment heavy with unsaid words.
The morning came too soon. Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, the blanket clutched tightly in her hands, her head down, eyes fixed on the floor. Tyler, however, had already dressed. He sat beside her, his expression unreadable, his gaze cool and distant. His sharp features and imposing presence made him seem almost indifferent to the chaos of the night before.
Tyler Harris. The man who was supposed to be Naomi’s husband. Olivia’s older sister. Naomi, the woman who had been Olivia’s idol, her inspiration, her world, until everything came crashing down.
Olivia Jones was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy man, someone who had only acknowledged her existence when she was fifteen. She had lived her life in the shadow of her sister Naomi, who was six years older, and who had everything Olivia wanted: a family, love, stability.
When Olivia was eighteen, Naomi became engaged to Tyler Harris, a man from a prestigious family in Tide City. Naomi’s love story was everyone’s dream. She was the one who had it all—Tyler’s devotion, his love, and the envy of everyone around her.