His Savior Was Never My Sister
My father called me to his study to deliver an order.
I, Victoria Castellano, was to take my illegitimate half-sister Isabella’s place, to marry the comatose heir of the rival Moretti family and secure a truce.
I didn’t cry.
I laid my kid gloves on his polished desk and made my three demands.
Sever all ties.
My mother’s entire legacy.
And give my bodyguard, Nicholas, to Isabella.
Everyone knew my obsession with him.
I loved him until I overheard the truth.
He was the hidden Rossi heir, undercover only to protect his precious Isabella.
Every time he’d saved my life, he was just guarding his link to her.
So I let him go.
I won’t tell him I’m marrying someone else.
And I’ll never tell him that three years ago, in Lake Tahoe’s freezing depths, the lips that breathed life back into a drowning man—the memory that haunts him—weren’t Isabella’s.
They were mine.