The kitchen was a bit busy. You could hear the chop sounds from the chopping board if you stood right outside and the sizzling sound of oil from the frying pan each time a chicken was gently thrown inside. Cooking was Denise's safe space. It was the only way she knew how to vent out her worries and frustration, the only thing that truly kept her calm.

It had been a rough couple of days for the Vurtons and Paris' predicament had to be the hardest they had ever faced. Everyone had their fingers crossed even the extended families. It was crazy.

"Add salt to taste." Denise told the little lady in a chef uniform across the counter after she returned the small spoon to her. She turned back to the cooking pot to carry out Denise's command encouraging Denise to keep chopping.

"I really don't know how to feel about any of this."

Denise let out a breath she didn't know she was holding when she heard the lady beside her start to speak again

"I mean, it just feels like it was yesterday when she stopped by the shop to pick up flowers for the queen and now, she won't even open her eyes? How on earth is that fair? Paris was such a sweet child."

Denis stopped chopping immediately. She froze refraining from taking a breath.

"Is."

The lady pushed herself closer to her, feigning confusion on her face. Denise turned to her.

"She is a sweet child." Denise repeated. "My daughter is not dead, don't act like she is."

Denise eyed her for a second and then turned back to chopping the carrots. The lady let out a really embarrassed chuckle.

"You know I didn't mean it like that." She said in her defense. "Paris was like a child to me too- is." She corrected immediately. "She is a child to me too."

Denise shook her head, it was hard saying anything else at that point. It wasn't exactly like she was in the mood to start up an argument with the lady beside her. The woman could see it, she could see how Denise looked like she was barely interested in having a conversation with her or anyone. The awkward silence stretched on, thick and stifling. Her friend cleared her throat, her discomfort worsened as she struggled to find a way to ease the tension. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath to relax her muscles, leaning her upper body closer to Denise.

"You know," she started in a vain attempt to brighten the mood. "Something really strange happened the last time Paris stopped by to pick up flowers for the queen."

Denise emptied the chopped carrots into a bowl her movements slow and deliberate as she picked up another batch to chop. "What did?"she asked, her tone flat, devoid of curiosity.

"There was a girl." The lady went on, furrowing her brows as she recalled the incident. "A girl that stood outside my shop, just staring at Paris."

Denise stole a quick glance at her, her expression carefully neutral. "That's odd but I won't say I'm surprised, Paris gets that a lot."

"In this neighborhood maybe, but not in mine. Crystal lake is a small town, Paris isn't quite popular around there."

Denise's knife paused briefly, but she continued chopping with a faint sigh. "Maybe someone recognized her from the engagement announcement. It's not unusual for people to be surprised to see a familiar face in an unexpected place."

Her friend shook her head, leaning closer. "It's not just that. This girl... she looked just like Paris. It was eerie."

Denise's chopping slowed, her brow furrowing. She looked up again, this time more intently.

"People resemble each other all the time, Octavia. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"No, you don't understand," Octavia said, her voice trembling slightly as she turned fully to face Denise. "She didn't just resemble Paris—she looked exactly like her.. I mean the colour of her hair was different-"

Denise's knife came to a stop once more. She turned to her friend, rubbing her forehead as if trying to ward off a headache.

"What exactly are you saying?"

"This wasn't just a vague resemblance," Octavia insisted, her voice rising with urgency. "I'm talking about identical twins kind of resemblance. The same age, the same face... it was like looking at Paris herself."

Denise scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"That's impossible, Paris doesn't have a twin, you know that."

"Exactly," Octavia said, her eyes wide as she leaned in closer. "If Paris had a twin, we'd know. We've been friends with Natasha for years, you were there when Paris was born. If there was a twin, you would know. But this... I've never seen anything like it. Paris saw her too. She rushed outside to get a closer look, but the girl just... disappeared."

Octavia slapped the counter with frustration. "She ran away."

Denise's gaze narrowed as she tried to make sense of what Octavia was saying.
"What are you implying? That this is some kind of supernatural occurrence? That Paris has a doppelgänger?"

Octavia shrugged, clearly flustered.
"I don't know, but aren't doppelgängers are supposed to be fictional, right? They're not real. But I saw her," Octavia insisted, her voice shaking with conviction. "I know what I saw."

Denise's patience was wearing thin.
"Maybe you were mistaken."

"Paris saw her too," Octavia shot back. "Could we both be wrong? Could we both have imagined the same thing?"

Before Denise could respond, they both jumped at the sound of a cold, measured voice behind them.

"Where did you say you saw this person?"

Both women turned abruptly toward the doorway, their eyes widening as they met Oliver's intense gaze. He stood there, his face a mask of seriousness, a deep frown etched into his features. It was clear he had been listening for some time, his suit still crisp and his briefcase in hand, as if he had just arrived.

"Oliver," Denise began, taking a cautious step toward him, but Oliver moved quickly, closing the distance between them with purposeful strides. His eyes were locked on Octavia, his expression unreadable.

"The girl you saw," he asked, his voice low and insistent, "where exactly did you see her?"

Octavia hesitated, glancing nervously at Denise before answering. "In front of my flower shop," she replied, her words slow and deliberate. "Paris was there too."

"And Paris saw her?" Oliver pressed, his gaze never wavering.

She nodded, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "Yes, she did."

"And you're absolutely certain this girl looked exactly like my daughter?"

Octavia swallowed hard, her voice trembling slightly.
"I might be getting a little too old, but my eyes work just fine. I might not be sure about my other senses, but my eyes have never failed me. The resemblance was... frightening. With the way she dressed, you could tell she was from a humble background compared to Paris. Her hair was different—long black hair, and grey eyes. But that was the only difference I saw. I'm not making this up."

She turned to Denise, her expression earnest, almost pleading.

"Dee, you know me. I would never joke about something like this, especially at a time like this."

Denise slowly looked away from her and retraced her gaze to Oliver, searching his face for any hint of what he was thinking. His expression was unreadable, his mind clearly working through something that worried her deeply.

"Oliver," she began, taking a step toward him, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Baby, you can't possibly be thinking of—"

Oliver didn't respond immediately. His gaze dropped to the floor as if he was wrestling with a decision. Denise's frown deepened, and she hurried to him, gently grabbing his arm in an attempt to ground him.

"Excuse us for a minute, Octavia," she said, her voice tight with urgency as she led Oliver to a corner far away from the counter. She released his arm and folded her arms across her chest, trying to mask her rising fear.

"Oliver, you can't possibly be thinking of—" she whispered, her eyes searching his for any sign of reason.

"This could be it," Oliver said, his voice low but filled with a dangerous determination. "This could be the help we've been trying to find. The answers we've been looking for."

"The answers? We're talking about a stranger, Oliver. We can't just bring a stranger into our home. We can't just replace Paris."

"Temporarily." He corrected her. Oliver's eyes bore into hers, his voice edged with desperation. "This could be everything, it could buy us more time, give us the upper hand against the Westrovs."

"What?" Denise's voice wavered, disbelief flooding her features.

"It's been two weeks, Denise, Two weeks, and Paris hasn't woken yet. I know you can't see it, but we're running out of time. The Westrovs are going to make a move soon. Summer break will be over in a couple of weeks, and the Royal Academy will be back in session. If Paris isn't awake by then, they would know her injury was fatal and make their move. If what Octavia says is true, this might be our only chance to save our family, to save everything."

"Oliver!" Denise's voice was almost a plea, her hands trembling as she reached out to him.

"It would only be for a short time, just until Paris wakes up." His voice grew more intense, as though he was convincing himself as much as he was trying to convince her. "Think about it, if Fabian really did this, then he's trying to take out the competition, eliminate Paris and me. And if Paris isn't really dead, then it becomes a huge problem for him. He'll strike again, and we could use this girl, whoever she is, as bait. We could trap him, pin him down, and make him pay for what he did, he has to pay for what he did, Denise!"

"We're not just talking about some freaky Friday act here, Oliver. We're talking about deceiving the King, the royal family—we're talking about committing treason! How does this even make sense? How could this possibly end well? Treason is punishable by death in Breton, and you know that. If the King finds out, if King Albert finds out, he'll have us all executed, regardless of your relationships and past sacrifices and dedication to the throne."

"Not if we don't get caught." Oliver's grip on her arms tightened, his eyes pleading. "Denise, we can't just sit around and hope that Paris wakes up. We have to protect what she's sacrificed everything for, what we have worked so hard to build. This might be our only way. We could secretly fly Paris to Spain to get the treatment she needs, while this girl plays her part until Paris returns. When Paris is back, everything will go back to normal."

"And if she doesn't wake up?" Denise's voice cracked, her fear palpable. "What if Paris doesn't wake up, Oliver? What then? Are you planning to have this stranger pretend to be our daughter for life? And if this whole plan blows up in our faces, what then?"

"It won't." His voice was firm, but there was an undercurrent of desperation that Denise couldn't ignore. He reached up to gently cup her face, his eyes locking onto hers. "I need you to trust me on this, Denise."

"This is madness," Denise whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. "I don't like this at all. We don't even know if what Octavia saw is true. It's impossible for someone to look exactly like someone else, in every way. What if this is just a striking resemblance, nothing more?"

Silence,

Denise made a point with her concerns. For all he knew he was yet to meet this girl in question and confirm this resemblance for himself. This could have been nothing more than them sharing common features here and there.

He exhaled weakly.

"There's only one way to find out," Oliver said, his voice hardening with resolve. He pulled away from her and started walking back toward Octavia, his expression determined.

Octavia looked up at him, uncertainty written all over her face.

"This girl you mentioned," Oliver said, his tone clipped and urgent, "how do we find her?"

"Find her?" Octavia echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I—I have no idea. I never saw her after that day." She paused, thinking hard. Oliver's gaze stayed fixed on her, unyielding, until she finally looked back at him.
"But... I think I know someone who might."

"Who?" Oliver asked sharply.

"Sharon," Octavia replied slowly, as if testing the name. "She owns a pizza shop near the flower shop. I saw her talking to her that day. They seemed to know each other, maybe she works for Sharon, or knows where to find her."

Oliver pulled out his phone without hesitation, his fingers flying over the keys before he pressed it to his ear. He turned and strode out of the kitchen, his voice echoing down the hallway.
"I need you to find someone for me. More like someone, and I need it done today. I'll send the details to your email."

Octavia turned to Denise, her face a mixture of confusion and worry. "What's going on?" she mouthed.

Denise shook her head, feeling a deep sense of dread settling in her chest. She wasn't sure she knew the answer herself.