Harry watched the tennis ball bounce back after it hit the wall, catching it with a soft thud before throwing it again. Each impact was a repetitive echo in the otherwise silent room. Asher, nearby, tossed a dart lazily at the dartboard, the soft thump of its landing the only other sound. The C3 playroom, typically a haven of lively banter and friendly competition, felt more like a graveyard—a place where the energy had been sapped away, leaving only an uneasy quiet.

The room was a testament to luxury: plush furniture, a vast array of gaming equipment, and even a well-stocked library. But none of that seemed to matter now. The usual camaraderie had been replaced by a thick tension that none of them knew how to break.

Harry exchanged a worried glance with Asher before they both turned their eyes back to Aiden. He sat slouched on a cushioned chair, his expression distant, holding a bag of ice to the spot on his forehead where Anne-Marie had headbutted him. The cotton buds stuffed up one of his nostrils to stop the bleeding only added to the comedy of the situation. He hadn't said a word since the incident.

How could he? Embarrassment mingled with disbelief still clung to him, as it did to both Harry and Asher. No one knew how to break the silence, how to address the elephant in the room. Asher exhaled softly, glancing once more at Harry, who silently urged him to say something, anything.

"Your Highness—" Asher began hesitantly.

Aiden inhaled sharply, sitting up a little straighter.

"Weird," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the room.

Asher and Harry exchanged another glance, this one filled with confusion. Aiden was known for his coolheadedness, but given everything that had happened, they wouldn't have been surprised if he had lashed out. The fact that these were his first words since the incident, especially after the video had gone viral, was unexpected.

Aiden finally raised his head to look at them, his expression one of deep contemplation. "What do you guys think about Paris?" he asked, his voice laced with an unsettling curiosity.

"Asher blinked. "A-about Paris?"

"You see it, don't you?" Aiden continued, his voice more certain now. "She's a completely different person since she woke up."

Asher let out a slow breath, the weight of Aiden's words pressing down on him. He had noticed the changes too, but hearing Aiden vocalize them made everything feel more real, more alarming.

"You're closest to her, Ash," Aiden said, his tone carrying the weight of expectation.

Harry's attention snapped to Asher, while Asher, taken aback by the intensity of Aiden's stare, tried to piece together what Aiden was getting at. The unease in the room grew as Aiden's gaze dropped slightly, as though he was steeling himself to voice something even more troubling.

"If she was physically abused, you'd know," Aiden said, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Ph—"

Asher squinted, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard.
"Abused?" His voice was laced with disbelief, hoping Aiden would explain further.

"By the Prime Minister," Aiden added, his tone flat but the implication heavy.

"Woah," Harry muttered, turning away. This was a conversation he wasn't sure he wanted to be part of. The weight of Aiden's words hung in the air, suffocating the room. Asher was completely thrown off, struggling to process the suggestion that Paris, of all people, could be a victim of abuse.

"You think Paris is being physically assaulted by her father?" Asher asked, his voice barely steady.

Aiden shrugged, though his mind was anything but indifferent. The scars he had seen on Anne-Marie's body haunted him, demanding an explanation he couldn't yet find.

"Your Highness, that's—" Asher began, but Aiden cut him off.

"Impossible, isn't it?" Aiden's voice was laced with frustration, but also a desperate need for someone to tell him he was wrong.

"The Prime Minister would never hurt Paris," Asher said firmly. "He never did, not even when she did the silliest things."

"She always does silly things," Harry chimed in, bouncing the ball off the wall once more, but his voice lacked its usual playful edge. He stopped mid-throw and turned back to Aiden, exhaling slowly.
"Your Highness, you know Paris and her weird obsession with her skincare. She was always careful never to scar herself, and her father was just as protective. Remember how she missed school for three days back in junior school when she got stung by a bee? Spent two days getting it treated at the hospital?"

Asher nodded.
"The Prime Minister loves Paris more than his own life. I doubt he'd ever do anything to hurt her physically. If he did, the Queen would have known during the selection process."

"That's right," Harry agreed. "Isn't physical evaluation one of the criteria in the selection process? The Queen handled the process herself, together with the doctors at the royal infirmary. You said it yourself—she made sure not to miss a single thing. She would never have missed it if there were signs that Paris was being physically abused."

Harry's reasoning was sound, and Aiden knew it. The scars he had seen were too obvious for the Queen to have missed during the selection process. They were old, indicating that whatever had caused them had happened long before Paris woke up. This realization only deepened Aiden's concern, his suspicion gnawing at him with relentless persistence.

Asher could see the turmoil in Aiden's eyes, the way his thoughts were spinning, trying to connect dots that didn't seem to align. "Your Highness," Asher said cautiously, "did something happen?"

"Of course, something happened," Harry interrupted, his tone lighter, trying to break the tension. "He's still in shock from getting headbutted after Paris caught him staring at her boobs," Harry's laughter filled the room, but it was a hollow sound, met with cold stares from both Aiden and Asher. Harry quickly sobered, his laughter fading as he realized his mistake. "I didn't mean that."

Aiden rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. The heaviness in his chest didn't lift as he stood up, reaching for his blazer with a resolute expression. He needed answers—needed to understand what was happening, even if it meant confronting uncomfortable truths.

"You're leaving?" Asher asked, his concern evident as he watched Aiden move towards the door.

Aiden paused, nodding. "There's something I've got to do, something I've got to get to the bottom of."

"Right now?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with unease.

"Mhm." Aiden's tone was firm. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

As he walked out, flanked by the royal guards who had been stationed at the door, Harry and Asher were left behind, the weight of Aiden's words settling over them like a dark cloud.

Harry exhaled deeply, folding his arms as he watched Aiden's retreating figure. "He's upset with me, isn't he?" he asked, turning to Asher with a slight frown.

Asher raised an eyebrow, offering a small, understanding smile. "It was a misunderstanding. You know the Prince would never do something like that, especially not to Paris. And she wouldn't react like that either—not if she's in her right mind."

"Of course," Harry replied, though his voice carried a hint of sarcasm.

Asher could sense the unease in Harry's tone, but before he could offer any more reassurance, Harry's mind had already wandered off into wild speculation.

"What if the Prince is right and there's something definitely wrong with this Paris?" Harry's eyes widened as he voiced his thoughts. "What if this isn't the Paris we know? What if the real Paris is dead and was switched by her father with an evil zombie twin she didn't know she had?" He gasped dramatically, noticing Asher's incredulous look.
"I mean, how can you explain what just happened today? And also at the entrance when that scholarship girl got coffee all over her? The real Paris would never have let it go that easily."

Asher sighed, exasperated but amused despite himself. "Look there." He pointed towards the door.

"Where?" Harry asked, turning just in time for Asher to slap the back of his head gently.

"Stop being delusional," Asher said, shaking his head.

"Ouch." Harry rubbed the back of his head, giving Asher a wounded look. "What did you do that for?"

"You could get into a lot of trouble—and cause even more trouble—if someone else hears that. Secret twin? Evil secret twin? Really? What do you think this is?"

Harry rolled his eyes, exhaling in defeat. "I'm bored," he muttered, as Asher tried to ease the tension with a small smile. He walked away from the corner where they stood, motioning towards the gaming area.

"Good, Let's play a video game," Asher suggested, his tone lightening as he tried to shift the mood.

Harry watched him for a moment, still rubbing the back of his head, before following with a resigned sigh.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

"Welcome, Your Highness."

"Welcome, Your Highness."

"Welcome, Your Highness."

The greetings echoed down the corridor as Aiden strode purposefully through the royal infirmary. Doctors and nurses bowed their heads in deference as he passed, their voices respectful but tinged with an undercurrent of curiosity. Today, the infirmary was busier than usual, but none of the activity distracted Aiden from his singular focus—the white door at the far end of the hallway. His eyes remained locked on it, his pace steady and unyielding.

The royal guards flanked him, their presence a silent but formidable barrier as they neared the door. One guard stepped forward, opening it for him, and Aiden walked into the cold, sterile laboratory without hesitation.

The hum of quiet activity in the lab came to an abrupt halt as every nurse and lab technician inside rose to acknowledge his arrival. They bowed deeply, including the older man at the front, his round glasses glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. It was clear they had been expecting him—Aiden had called ahead to ensure they were ready.

"Please," Aiden said quickly, his tone clipped, "there's no need for formalities. I'm only here for a moment." His gaze settled on the man in the round glasses, who straightened up at the prince's words.

The older man nodded in understanding and turned to the others.
"The Prince acknowledges your greetings. You may return to your duties." With that, the lab workers resumed their tasks, though Aiden could feel their glances flickering towards him, curiosity still evident in their demeanor.

"Your Highness," the older man said, bowing again before looking up at Aiden with concern etched on his features. "I received your call and understand that you have questions about the daughter of the Prime Minister." His eyes lingered on Aiden's face, narrowing as he took in the red mark on Aiden's right cheek, the faint imprint of fingers still visible.

"Your Highness, your face—"

Aiden's hand drifted to his forehead before he quickly dismissed it.

"It's nothing," he said, his voice firm, though the man's concerned expression remained.

The older man hesitated for a moment but then nodded, sensing Aiden's urgency.

"I understand you have some questions," he said, the smile fading from his face as he shifted into a more serious tone. "You can ask whatever you need, Your Highness. I answer only to the royal family."

Aiden nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His mind was racing, filled with doubts and suspicions that he needed to clarify, and this man—the best in the royal infirmary, renowned across the kingdom—was his best chance at getting some answers.

"I want to know," Aiden began, his voice measured but edged with tension, "how possible is it for a coma survivor to exhibit a significant change in behavior upon waking?"

The older man squinted slightly, considering the question.

"By change in behavior, Your Highness, do you mean—?"

"Acting strange, forgetting certain memories, developing new fear to favourite items like flowers, fears that were never present before," Aiden clarified, the words coming out in a rush as if the urgency behind them couldn't be contained.

"Ah," the doctor exhaled, nodding slowly. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

"Your Highness, it's not uncommon for a coma survivor to experience what we call Post-Traumatic Amnesia, or PTA. This can lead to temporary memory loss, disorientation, and, as you mentioned, changes in behavior. While it's rare, I've also encountered cases where patients develop new allergies or sensitivities they didn't have before."

"So, it's possible?" Aiden pressed, his tone almost demanding.

"Yes, Your Highness," the doctor confirmed. "It is indeed possible."

Aiden's gaze sharpened as he moved to the next question, the one that had been gnawing at him ever since he saw those scars.

"And what about scars?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly as if the question carried a weight too heavy to be spoken aloud. "During her treatment, did you notice any scars on Paris Vutron's skin? The bullet wounds were no where near her shoulders were they?"

The doctor nodded again, this time with more certainty.

"That is correct, Your Highness. Miss Vutron survived a gunshot to the spleen. This would mean the bullet wounds would be located in the upper left quadrant of the abdomen, it should not extend near her shoulders."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Aiden's voice was insistent, almost desperate.

"Affirmative, Your Highness," the doctor replied firmly. But then his brow furrowed slightly as a thought crossed his mind. "Did you say you found scars on Miss Vutron's shoulders?"

Aiden nodded, his expression darkening.

The doctor's frown deepened.

"That is... peculiar. I personally examined Miss Vutron multiple times during her stay here, and I can assure you, there were no scars or old wounds on her shoulders or anywhere else, aside from the gunshot wounds, which we were treating to minimize scarring as per the Prime Minister's instructions. I even double-checked with the nurses, and they all confirmed the same."

Aiden's mind was racing, trying to piece together this puzzle that seemed to defy logic.

"So, there were no scars at all during her time here?" he reiterated, needing to be sure.

"None that we observed," the doctor confirmed. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "To be honest, Your Highness, I still find it remarkable—almost miraculous—that Miss Vutron woke up less than forty-eight hours after being transferred from our care. Whatever hospital she was moved to must have performed some exceptional work. The royal infirmary would certainly be honored to collaborate with them for research purposes in the future."

Aiden whispered under his breath,

"Wouldn't you?" The doctor's words only solidified the unease that had been gnawing at him. His instincts were screaming that something was amiss, something that couldn't be explained away by medical jargon or miraculous recoveries. The change in Paris, the unexplained scars, the sudden allergy to a flower she once loved—it all pointed to something far more sinister.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know, Your Highness?" the doctor asked, sensing that Aiden was on the brink of a revelation.

Aiden shook his head slowly, his mind already made up. "No, that will be all. Thank you." He turned, signaling the end of the conversation.

"It's an honor to be of service to you, Prince Aiden," the doctor said, bowing once more before returning to his work.

Aiden stood there for a moment, his thoughts whirling like a storm inside his head. He had come here looking for answers, but all he had found were more questions—questions that made his heart pound with a mix of fear and determination.

"Your Highness," came a voice from behind him. Aiden turned to see Elijah, his head of security, standing at attention, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Aiden took a deep breath, his decision made.

"I need you to find something—anything—that can prove Paris Vutron is not who she claims to be."

Elijah blinked, the shock registering briefly on his usually stoic face. "Y-your Highness?"

Aiden's voice was steady, but the intensity in his eyes left no room for doubt.

"I can feel it, Elijah. Something is wrong, and I have this sinking feeling that Oliver Vutron is behind it. It's one of his schemes, I'm sure of it—his way of protecting his claim to the throne. If that's the case, it means using Paris to further his own agenda, and I must stop him. If I can expose him, if I can show my father what kind of man he really is, maybe—just maybe—I can put an end to this ridiculous marriage before it's too late."

Elijah straightened, the seriousness of Aiden's words sinking in. "How far do you want me to go, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice firm and resolute.

"As far as a possible," Aiden replied, his tone unwavering.

Elijah's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Y-your Highness?"

Aiden nodded, knowing the gravity of what he was asking.

"I know it's extreme, and it might be too soon to make such an assumption, but I have to prepare for the worst-case scenario. When dealing with the Vutrons, I have to expect the unexpected. This will be our last resort—only proceed with it if you've gathered enough evidence to justify it. And Elijah, this must remain a secret. No one can know what I've asked you to do, especially not Oliver or my father."

Elijah took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he nodded in understanding.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Aiden looked at Elijah, knowing full well that this was the one person in the world he could trust completely. Elijah had been with him through thick and thin, and his loyalty was beyond question. If anyone could get to the bottom of this, it was Elijah.

Aiden's jaw tightened as he looked towards the door, his resolve hardening.

"I'm going to find out what it is you're hiding, Oliver," he whispered, his voice filled with quiet fury.
"And I'm going to stop you from whatever it is you're planning. I'll expose the Vutron family for the snakes they are, even if it's the last thing I do. Even if I have to die trying."

And Aiden meant every word. He was going to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.