Asher rubbed his hands together for warmth, his breath visible in the cold night air. He checked his watch again, the minutes dragging by, each one feeling like an eternity. Three hours—that's how long he'd been standing outside, waiting for her. The chill was biting, seeping into his bones, but he couldn't bring himself to go inside. The tension in his chest kept him rooted to the spot, his thoughts swirling like the mist around the Vutron mansion.

He tried to focus on the sound of the fountain, the gentle splashing of water as it cascaded down, but even that soothing sound couldn't calm the storm inside him. Denise had offered to let him wait inside, but he couldn't. Not after everything that had happened. The air outside, though frigid, felt more bearable than the oppressive silence that would greet him indoors.

Asher's eyes snapped to the gate when he heard the low rumble of an approaching car. The sleek, black vehicle glided into the compound, its headlights cutting through the darkness. His heart quickened. It had to be her. He found himself moving instinctively, standing straighter as the car rolled to a stop near the front door. The driver, efficient as ever, opened the door, and Anne-Marie stepped out.

"Welcome home, Miss Vutron," the driver said.

"Thank you, Victor," she replied, her voice steady despite the surprise that flashed in her eyes when she saw Asher waiting for her.

She had noticed him even before the car had pulled up, but seeing him now, up close, brought a fresh wave of anxiety. What was he doing here at such a late hour? And why did he look so—she struggled to find the right word—damaged? His usually calm demeanor was marred by bruises under his left eye and at the corner of his lip. She gripped the straps of her backpack tighter, her eyes flickering over his injuries as she tried to steady her breathing.

"Hey," Asher said, breaking the silence as she reached him.

"Hey," she responded, her voice more tentative than she'd intended. She felt awkward, out of place, especially after everything she'd learned about Paris and Asher's relationship. The weight of playing this role, of being Paris in everyone's eyes, pressed heavily on her. She couldn't even meet his gaze without feeling a rush of guilt and discomfort.

Silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy.

"You've been gone the whole day," Asher said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like disappointment.

"Yeah," she nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was with Noa and Aubrey." The explanation felt unnecessary, but she offered it anyway, trying to fill the awkward gap. Asher nodded, accepting her words, though a part of him had hoped she would have noticed his absence—noticed him.

"Had fun?" he asked, though his tone was flat, devoid of any real curiosity.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice lacking conviction.

What was she so afraid of? Why did she feel so cornered in his presence? Anne-Marie rolled her eyes at herself, annoyed by the nerves gnawing at her. She took a deep breath, trying to summon the confidence that seemed to elude her.

"Why exactly are you here, Asher?" she finally asked, keeping her tone as polite as possible. The tension between them was thick, especially after what she knew had transpired between him and Aubrey. She wasn't sure she wanted to delve into any of that, but she couldn't ignore the bruises on his face.

Asher shrugged, a gesture that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"I don't know," he admitted. "To talk, I guess."

Talking had never been his strong suit, especially not about personal matters. He had always kept his struggles to himself, his bruises both physical and emotional hidden from the world. Paris had never pried, never asked about the marks on his skin or the scars he carried inside. So why did it matter to him now that she wasn't asking? Why did he crave her concern, her care?

"Are you okay?" Anne-Marie asked, her eyes finally lifting to meet his.

Asher swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. He wasn't okay, not by a long shot. But how could he say that? How could he admit that he was barely holding it together?

"To tell you the truth, I don't know why I'm here," he repeated, his voice rougher this time. "I don't know a lot of things lately."

Anne-Marie could see the pain etched into his features, the way his tongue flickered nervously across his lower lip, the way his shoulders slumped as if carrying an invisible burden. She wanted to ask more, to push for answers, but something held her back.

"Well, do you want to come in?" she offered, rubbing her arms to fend off the cold. "It's freezing out here."

But Asher wasn't ready to be sidetracked. "Are you really going to do it?" he asked, the question hanging heavy in the air. Anne-Marie blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. "Are you going to go through with your engagement to the prince tomorrow?"

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she froze, the weight of the impending event crashing down on her. How could she explain to him that this engagement was bigger than her, bigger than anything she could control?

"Asher..." she started, but he wasn't done.

"Can I really not stop you?" he pressed on, his voice filled with a desperation that cut through her. "Do I really have to be there and pretend that I'm fine with it? Do I have to lose you too? Do I really have to watch?"

She wished she could tell him, could somehow make him understand that the engagement wasn't something she could just walk away from. But the words stuck in her throat, the truth too complicated, too painful to voice.

"I know I sound selfish right now," Asher continued, his voice breaking slightly, "but what about me? Do you not care what happens to me after you get married to the prince? How could you even send me an invite?" He scoffed, the sound bitter and hollow. "You're really heartless, you know that?"

Anne-Marie felt a sting at his words, but more than that, she felt worry—worry for him. His face, his bruises, the pain he was clearly in... It consumed her thoughts more than the words he was saying.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly, her eyes drifting back to the bruises on his face.

"What?" Asher's tone was laced with confusion. Wasn't that what they were doing? Talking?

"Your bruises," she clarified, her gaze steady. Asher sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the shift. He glanced away, the walls he had built around himself rising higher. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now, not ever.

Anne-Marie saw the resistance in his eyes and knew better than to push. She took a deep breath and turned toward the door, deciding to change tactics. But Asher's hand shot out, grabbing her arm.

"Are you just going to walk away? You really are heartless, you know that."

She met his gaze, her voice calm despite the turmoil inside.

"I'm not walking away. I'm sure there's a first aid kit somewhere inside. I'm just going to get that and treat your wound."

Asher blinked, stunned into silence. Had he heard her right? Did she just offer to take care of his wounds? The Paris he knew would never have done that, never have shown this kind of softness. He let her go, his mind reeling from the unexpected turn.

Anne-Marie felt the release of his grip and exhaled in relief. Without another word, she turned and walked into the house, leaving Asher standing there, more confused and conflicted than ever.

Ten minutes later...

"Ouch." Asher winced as the cotton ball dabbed against the cut on his lip, the sting causing him to pull back instinctively.

"Stay still," Anne-Marie instructed gently, her eyes focused intently on the task. She reached for a band-aid from the first aid kit, carefully peeling it open before turning back to him.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," she continued softly, "but you really shouldn't get into fights anymore."

Asher inhaled sharply, the words hitting a sensitive nerve.
"That's like asking you not to marry the prince."

"My engagement with the prince can't be called off, Asher. You of all people should know that."

"Why not?" His voice was a mix of frustration and desperation. "He doesn't love you. I know how much he fancied you after that time he ran into you at the piano class," Anne-Marie froze at the mention, her hand hesitating.
"But things changed after Niyagra. You know the prince, you know how he feels about your father, about your family. He's going to do everything he can to make sure this wedding doesn't happen. You could get hurt in the end."

Anne-Marie exhaled, her breath shaky as she tried to hold herself together.

"Why won't you just give up? What's so great about being Queen? Even at the detriment of your own life."

She forced a small, sad smile, but the truth was, she didn't have the right words to answer him. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the first aid kit, closing it with a snap before standing up.

"I guess we're done for the night," she said, trying to shift the conversation. "All you need is a good night's rest, and the swelling will be gone by morning." She turned to leave, but Asher was on his feet in an instant, grabbing her hand.

Anne-Marie flinched, her heart racing as she looked back at him. His grip was firm, almost desperate.

"Don't get engaged to the prince tomorrow." His eyes locked onto hers, pleading with her, silently begging her to change her mind.

"Asher..."

"All you have to do is not show up at the engagement party. I could take you somewhere, somewhere no one would find us the whole day—"

"Asher, I can't just not show up. What about my family? What about yours? What happens when the King gets upset? Who would take responsibility for that?"

Asher let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. His relationship with Paris was the only thing in his life that wasn't planned, wasn't dictated by others. It was the one thing that felt real, and he couldn't bear to lose it.

Anne-Marie saw the torment in his eyes, the raw vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide. She exhaled deeply, turning fully to face him. Gently, she took his hand in hers, pulling it away from her wrist.

"Let it go," she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet sadness. "I know how much you're devoted to making this work, devoted to me, and as much as I want to say I do, I don't deserve it. You're good, Asher, and you deserve someone who actually cares about your feelings and reciprocates them. I'm not that person. I can't be the person you want me to be."

"Paris..." He tried to argue, but she cut him off.

"I really want you to be happy, to be truly happy. But to do that, you have to let me go."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. His eyes bore into hers, refusing to accept her words. "I don't want to. I told you, didn't I? I told you not to tell me what to do with my feelings."

"But Asher—"

"I love you," he blurted out, cutting her off before she could say another word. The air between them grew thick with tension, the night suddenly silent and still. Anne-Marie felt her heart skip a beat, her breath catching in her throat.

"I love you, Paris Vutron," Asher repeated, his voice steady but filled with emotion. Anne-Marie stood frozen, her mind reeling from the unexpected confession. It was the first time anyone had ever said those words to her, and it wasn't even to her.

"I need you," he continued, his voice softening as he closed the distance between them, each step bringing him closer until he stood directly in front of her. Anne-Marie's heart pounded in her chest, her body numb from head to toe.

"And before you say anything, or ask me not to, I won't. I won't stop reminding you, and I won't stop trying to save you. I don't care what it takes, or how far I have to go, but I won't stop."

He exhaled, the sound heavy with the weight of his emotions. He took one final step, closing the small gap between them, and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, desperate embrace.

He didn't let go.

He needed this, more than anything. Asher's grip on her didn't loosen, as if he were afraid that if he let go, he would lose her forever. She stood still, her mind racing, while he struggled to hold in his emotions, to keep from breaking down completely. He tightened his hold on her, and Anne-Marie could feel the slight tremor in his body as a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek.

He could take his time.

Anne-Marie didn't move, didn't speak. She simply let him hold her, let him take whatever comfort he could from the embrace. He could take all the time he needed.

Was he crying?

She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to comfort him. All she could do was stand there, letting him take the time he needed.

And he did. Asher held on, trying to hold back the tears that were now impossible to stop.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡
Anne-Marie closed the refrigerator, taking a long sip from her water bottle. It was eleven PM, and sleep seemed impossible. Her mind was a whirlwind of nerves, anxieties swirling about her engagement the next day.

Her engagement.

If anyone had told her a few years ago that she would be engaged, let alone to the prince of Breton, Anne-Marie would have laughed in disbelief.

"It's for Paris. It's part of your job. Paris is the one getting engaged, not you—you're just a temporary replacement."

She repeated those words to herself, but they brought no comfort. She needed a distraction, something to keep her from thinking about tomorrow. Her room was out of the question, with its dressing area crammed with outfits for the big day. Maybe a movie would help, something to watch until sleep finally claimed her.

She headed toward the sitting room, closing her water bottle as she walked. The house was eerily quiet, not a soul stirring at this late hour. But as she neared the room, the soft murmur of voices from the television reached her ears. Someone was awake.

Curiosity piqued, she continued on. Denise's laughter, loud and infectious, greeted her as she reached the door. Anne-Marie froze, momentarily taken aback by the sight of Denise laughing so freely, her eyes crinkled with mirth as she tossed a fistful of popcorn into her mouth. Anne-Marie found herself chuckling softly, drawn in by the warmth of the scene.

Denise, ever sharp, noticed her presence and turned, her laughter subsiding as her gaze met Anne-Marie's. For a moment, Anne-Marie wondered if she was intruding, if Denise minded her being there.

"Mrs. Vutron," she greeted, feigning surprise.

"Anne," Denise responded, acknowledging her with a nod but not breaking eye contact. There was something in the way Denise looked at her, something that made Anne-Marie's nerves flutter all over again.

"I, uh," Anne-Marie stammered, suddenly nervous. "I'm sorry, I heard the television and thought—" She trailed off, unsure of how to explain herself, her words tumbling over each other. "I'll just go."

But before she could leave, Denise's voice stopped her.

"Having trouble sleeping?"

It was more than trouble sleeping. It was the weight of the world pressing down on her, cold feet that refused to warm. Anne-Marie hesitated, then slowly turned back to face Denise. She saw the warm smile that had replaced the laughter on Denise's face.

"Me too," Denise said softly, as if she had read her thoughts. "Oliver's out handling business, and I hate sleeping alone." She pouted slightly, lifting the bowl of popcorn in invitation. "I've got some really tasty popcorn."

Was that an invitation? Anne-Marie didn't need to be asked twice. A smile broke across her face as she eagerly joined Denise on the couch, needing the distraction and the comfort of another's company. Denise, sensing her need, pulled up the blanket to make room for her, wrapping it around Anne-Marie as she settled beside her. She passed the bowl of popcorn, and Anne-Marie took a handful, her gaze shifting from Denise to the television. Denise's laughter filled the room again, infectious and bright, but Anne-Marie's thoughts were elsewhere.

After a moment, she turned to Denise, a question weighing heavily on her mind.

"Mrs. Vutron," she began hesitantly, "Can I ask you something?"

Denise, sensing the seriousness in her tone, paused the movie and turned fully to face her.

"Of course," she said, concern softening her voice. "What's wrong?" She exhaled, a knowing look in her eyes. "Is this about tomorrow? Are you nervous?"

Exactly.

Anne-Marie wrung her fingers together, her eyes avoiding Denise's.

"How was it for you?" she asked, her voice small. "Your engagement with Mr. Vutron?"

Denise took a moment, her eyes growing distant as she recalled the memory. She exhaled softly, a gentle smile forming.

"Hmmm, well," she began, "I guess you could say it was old-fashioned, like every other engagement. Oliver isn't really a fan of crowds and parties. We went out," she paused, noticing how intently Anne-Marie was listening. "He took me to this beautiful yacht he had rented for the evening. Vincent Lawretti played 'Time After Time.'"

Anne-Marie gasped, her eyes lighting up.

"Vincent Lawretti? The Vincent Lawretti?"

"Yes," Denise chuckled, amused by her reaction.

"Oh my goodness, I love Vincent Lawretti. I learned to play the piano from watching his DVDs. He's a god."

"You play the piano?" Denise asked, genuinely surprised and impressed.

Anne-Marie blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I mean, I try. It's been a while since I played, so I'm not sure if I'm still any good."

"That's amazing, trust me, and a life-saver too. Paris learned to play when she was younger, especially after she started spending time with the prince, but she hates it now. I guess she outgrew her love for it. The last time I saw her play was on her engagement—she was shot right after." Denise's voice faltered, the memory casting a shadow over her features. Anne-Marie watched as the smile faded from Denise's face, replaced by a deep sadness.

Denise drew a deep breath, forcing a smile as she tried to shake off the gloom.

"I'm doing it again, aren't I?" she said, her voice apologetic. "You must be sick of hearing me talk about her all the time."

Anne-Marie pouted slightly, unsure of how to respond.

"Anyway, back to your question," Denise continued, shifting the mood back to the warmth they had shared moments before. "Vincent started to play. The mood was perfect—the scenery, the sea, the stars—everything was just right."

Anne-Marie chuckled, the image warming her heart.
"I never saw Mr. Vutron as the romantic type."

"Oh, you have no idea," Denise laughed softly. "Oliver can be incredibly thoughtful when he wants to be. Really creative too." She sighed contentedly, the memory bringing a soft glow to her face. "We danced, and then the fireworks started. That's when he pulled out the ring and asked me to marry him."

"And you said yes," Anne-Marie whispered, her smile widening.

"Without hesitation," Denise confirmed with a nod.

Anne-Marie couldn't help but smile. There was something so endearing, so heartwarming about Denise's story. She was a sucker for romance, and this tale was no exception. But it also made her think—think about how different her own engagement would be. The thought of standing before the world, of having every eye on her, made her heart race with anxiety.

"But trust me," Denise said, her voice drawing Anne-Marie out of her thoughts, "there's no engagement or wedding in the world that could ever match a royal one." She reached out, gently taking Anne-Marie's hands in hers, the touch warm and reassuring. Anne-Marie looked up, meeting her eyes.

"I know this is overwhelming, that this isn't the future you imagined for yourself, let alone getting engaged to the prince. This might not mean much to you, but to us—to Paris—this was everything. She spent her entire childhood dreaming of this moment, and it was stolen from her before she could live it. That's why, even though we don't say it enough, I want you to know how grateful we are that you're doing this, that you're looking after Paris' dreams and helping her fulfill them." Denise squeezed her hands gently, her eyes filled with sincerity.

"I hope that when this is all over, and Paris wakes up, you two will be great friends—sisters, even. I hope you'll learn to love each other and be inseparable. And if it's not too much to ask, I hope you'll consider being part of this family too. I'm already so fond of you, as if you were my own."

Anne-Marie's heart swelled with emotion. Denise's words were like a balm to her soul, filling her with warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. It had only been a few months, but this life, this family, these people—they were beginning to mean so much to her. She found herself hoping for the same things, that when all of this was over, she and Paris could be friends, maybe even sisters. She drew a deep breath, feeling an overwhelming need for closeness, for comfort. She shifted closer to Denise, seeking the warmth of a hug.

"Oh," Denise chuckled softly as Anne-Marie nestled closer, leaning into her. "Okay." She wrapped the blanket tighter around them, her arms enveloping Anne-Marie in a warm embrace.

It was comforting, more so than Anne-Marie had felt in a long time. Denise was warm, safe. Anne-Marie shut her eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Me too," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I really hope so too... Mum." The word slipped out naturally, a term she hadn't used in years but now felt right.

Denise froze for a second, the word echoing in her ears. It was the first time anyone had called her that since Paris. And hearing it from Anne-Marie, it felt... right. It warmed her heart in a way she hadn't expected. She lowered her gaze to Anne-Marie, her own smile growing as she held her close.

She really, really loved it.