"Paris!"

The door slammed shut just seconds after Paris stormed into the house, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she made a beeline for the grand staircase. Denise had been calling after her ever since they left the car, her voice trailing behind in a desperate attempt to bridge the growing chasm between them, but Paris was too furious to listen, too humiliated to stop. The air around her crackled with tension, her anger radiating in waves as she headed toward the stairs.

"Paris, please wait!" Denise's voice was pleading, laced with concern and regret. She could see how much her comment at dinner had wounded Paris. It wasn't the first time Paris had given her the silent treatment, but this—this was different. Paris was beyond upset; she was deeply hurt, and Denise knew why. For nine long years, Denise had tried to win Paris's approval, to earn even a small measure of her acceptance, but nothing ever seemed to be enough. Still, she couldn't give up—didn't give up—on trying to reach her.

Paris abruptly stopped halfway up the stairs, her back still turned to Denise. Her shoulders were tense, and her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts as she fought to rein in her emotions. She was sick of this—sick of Denise, sick of her constant interference, sick of her trying to play the role of her mother. All she wanted was to be left alone, but Denise just wouldn't let up.

Denise halted as well, sensing the storm brewing within Paris. Her heart ached, knowing she was the cause of it, but she couldn't let things end like this.

"Paris, I know you're upset and disappointed by what I said to the Queen about your marriage to the Prince—"

Paris turned slowly, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and disdain. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her stance defiant.

"Disappointed?" she snapped, her tone cutting like a knife.

Denise hesitated, taking a small step forward, trying to close the distance between them.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Paris. I wasn't trying to stop your wedding. I was just looking out for you—"

"Looking-" Paris interrupted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Looking out for me? You have got to be kidding me."

"I had to be honest," Denise insisted softly, her voice wavering.

"Honest?" Paris let out a bitter laugh, her expression twisted with contempt. "You were trying to look out for me by sabotaging everything I've worked so hard for? You must really think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"Paris, marriage is a huge responsibility, especially when it's to the royal family," Denise tried to explain, her voice trembling slightly. "As much as you think you're ready, there's so much you still don't understand—"

"And this is exactly what I hate about you," Paris hissed, cutting her off sharply. "You never know when to keep your mouth shut. I'm not just upset, Denise—I'm disgusted by you. You're a hypocrite. You pretend to care, to want what's best for people, but all you do is stab them in the back."

"Paris, that's not true!" Denise's eyes widened in shock, her voice growing more desperate. "I've never stabbed you in the back—"

"Oh really?" Paris's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Just like how you never stabbed my mother in the back? You pretended to be her friend all those years, and then you just couldn't wait for her to die so you could take her place, take her family, take her husband."

"Paris, please—" Denise's voice broke, a pained expression crossing her face.

Paris's lip curled in disgust, her voice rising with each word.

"Your pretense is sickening, Denise. It makes me want to gouge my eyes out. How dare you give your worthless opinions about my marriage-especially to the King and Queen? How dare a useless, lowlife like you—"

"Paris!" Oliver's voice thundered through the hallway as he strode in, his presence commanding immediate attention. He moved swiftly toward them, his face a mask of fury. "You will watch your words when you speak to your mother!"

"Why?" Paris shot back, her voice laced with venom. She turned to face him fully, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Did I say anything that isn't true?"

Denise, feeling the sting of Paris's words, took a step back, her breath shaky. She reached out, trying once more to calm the storm. "Paris—"

"Don't you dare touch me," Paris snarled, recoiling from Denise's outstretched hand. "How dare you act like my mother? How dare you try to take her place? How dare you, a filthy commoner, presume to interfere in my marriage? How dare a barren, worthless scum like you—"

"Paris!" Oliver's voice boomed, his patience snapping as he advanced on her, his face red with anger. Denise turned away, tears brimming in her eyes, the weight of Paris's words crushing her.

"A conniving thief," Paris spat, her voice growing louder, more vicious. "A leech, a nobody—"

"Enough!" Oliver's voice reverberated through the hall as he closed the distance between them, l"If you don't stop this instant, I will not hesitate to teach you how to hold your tongue right here and now!"

Paris froze, her breath catching in her throat. She could see the rage simmering in his eyes, the fury that he was barely holding back. She had pushed too far, and she knew it. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the tension palpable.

"What has gotten into you?" Oliver demanded, his voice still shaking with anger.

"Oliver," Denise pleaded, gently grabbing his arm in an attempt to calm him down, to stop him from saying something he might regret.

Paris sneered, her lips curling in disdain.

"It's been nine years," Oliver continued, glaring at Paris. "Nine years Denise has tried to be a good mother to you, and you've done nothing but reject her. When are you going to give her the respect she deserves? When are you going to stop being such a spoiled brat?"

"Dad, did you even hear what she said to the Queen?" Paris shot back, her voice rising in desperation.

"So what if she spoke her mind?" Oliver retorted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Her opinion was asked as your mother."

"She's not my mother-"

"What did it change? How Is that an excuse to be so vile and disrespectful? How do you expect to be married into the royal family with an attitude like that?"

"Oliver, please," Denise whispered, tugging at his arm again, her voice filled with pain.

"It's because of this attitude of yours that the prince can't stand you!" Oliver continued, his anger escalating. "It's because of the way you behave that you haven't been able to win him over in eight years—"

"And whose fault is that?" Paris screamed, her voice cracking as she finally let out the fury that had been building inside her.

"What?" Oliver's voice dropped, his anger momentarily replaced by disbelief.

"Whose fault is it that I'm like this? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it? I'm your daughter, after all!" Paris's voice was laced with bitterness, her words dripping with accusation.

"What did you just say to me?" Oliver took another menacing step toward her, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Paris met his gaze, unflinching, but she knew she had crossed a line she couldn't uncross. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to regain control.

"You two deserve each other," she said, her voice quieter but no less filled with contempt. "You were made for each other, and I'm glad I won't have to live with either of you for much longer."

"Go to your room," Oliver ordered, his voice cold and final. "Go to your room and think about your behavior. You won't be leaving until you show remorse about how you have behaved today."

Paris arched an eyebrow at him, her face a mask of indifference. She didn't care. She wasn't afraid. She turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs, not bothering to look back.

As her footsteps echoed through the hallway, Oliver's anger slowly ebbed, leaving behind a heavy silence. Denise wiped away the tears that had escaped, trying to compose herself, but the sting of Paris's words lingered, cutting deeper than she wanted to admit.

Oliver sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as the weight of the confrontation settled over him.

"What are we going to do with her?" he murmured, more to himself than to Denise, his voice filled with frustration and sorrow.

Denise didn't respond. She simply stared after Paris, her heart aching with a mixture of love and hopelessness, wondering if things would ever change.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

"Red or blue?"

"Uhhh, you always look adorable in red, Noa, but you know what they say—blue is the color of royalty."

"I just want to look like I put in actual effort to dress up, Aubrey," Noa said, holding up the dresses and studying them. "I don't care much about looking like royalty." She sighed dramatically, her eyes lighting up at the thought.

Aubrey took a sip from her coffee mug, her brow furrowing in concentration.

"I don't know, Noa. I'm not the best at picking outfits for big occasions—that's my mom's department. Plus this isn't just any event; it's a Royal engagement. Maybe you should your dads, or Paris, It's her engagement party, after all."

Noa glanced at the screen, noticing how distant Paris seemed. She was pacing back and forth across her bedroom, her expression far away, like she was lost in a maze of thoughts.

"She's doing it again, isn't she?" Noa murmured, her gaze shifting between Paris and Aubrey.

"Paris?" Aubrey called out, trying to catch her friend's attention. "Is everything okay?"

Paris stopped mid-step, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she turned to face the screen. She let out an exasperated sigh before flopping down on her bed, her eyes betraying the turmoil swirling inside her.

"Paris, what's wrong?" Aubrey pressed gently. "You've been off ever since you got back from the palace. Did something happen?"

"Maybe she's getting cold feet," Noa suggested, her tone light but laced with concern. "Dad says it happens before a big day, it happened at his wedding."

"Cold feet?" Aubrey frowned. "But Paris has been preparing for this her whole life—"

"Guys," Paris interrupted, her voice edged with frustration. She couldn't stop thinking about what she had seen earlier, before dinner. That girl, the one who looked exactly like her... Who was she? Why did she look so much like her? The questions wouldn't leave her alone.

"What's up?" Noa asked, leaning in closer to the screen.

"Do you two think doppelgängers exist?" Paris asked, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "Do you think it's possible for someone to look exactly like you—like, exactly—and not be related to you?"

"How exactly are we talking?" Noa tilted her head, curiosity piqued.

"I'm talking everything, like twins kind of identical."

Aubrey and Noa exchanged glances, both of them clearly thrown by the question.

"I'm not sure, Pee," Noa began, choosing her words carefully. "The odds of someone looking that much like someone else—seven or eight features the same—are like one in a billion, maybe even a trillion. To believe in doppelgängers, you'd have to believe in parallel universes."

"So you don't think it's possible?" Paris asked, her anxiety clear in her voice.

"Not in this universe, no. But hey, the world is crazy. A lot of impossible things have been happening lately, so I wouldn't be shocked by anything anymore."

"I read this book about doppelgängers once," Aubrey chimed in, her tone growing more serious. "And other books, too. They're often seen as harbingers of evil. Even if they do exist, I don't think they're meant to coexist peacefully. They're destined to bring about each other's downfall. One has to die for the other to live, to maintain some kind of cosmic balance. If they both exist at the same time, it could be catastrophic."

Paris exhaled sharply, her anxiety mounting. Was that true? Was it really impossible for two people to look so alike without some deeper, darker connection? But she hadn't imagined it; she had seen the girl, and the florist had seen her too. She couldn't be a twin, could she? Paris was certain she was an only child.

"What's really going on, Pee?" Aubrey asked, her concern deepening. "You look so flustered."

"Why are you suddenly asking about doppelgängers?" Noa added, her brow furrowing. "Did you meet one?"

Paris cleared her throat, trying to shake off the unsettling thoughts. Maybe Noa was right; maybe it was impossible. Maybe she was overthinking it. There was no need to worry them—or herself—over something so ridiculous.

"Don't be ridiculous, Noa," Paris said, forcing a small smile. "I was just curious, that's all. Now, what were we talking about?"

"Uh..." Noa hesitated, still holding the dresses. "I was asking what colour would suit me better? Red or blue?" She held the clothes up again so Paris could see.

Paris rolled her eyes, her irritation bubbling to the surface.
"I really don't care, Noa, just wear whatever you want. It's going to be a huge event with loads of more important people, trust me, no one's going to notice or care."

"Oh," Noa muttered, her excitement deflating as she tossed the dresses onto the bed. "Thanks, Paris."

"Hey, remember that lady I told you about?" Aubrey suddenly asked, trying to shift the mood. "The woman that reads the future?"

"The one you saw with your mom?" Noa asked, her interest piqued again.

Aubrey nodded eagerly. "Yeah, that one."

"What about her? Did she say you were ever going to swim again?"

"No," Aubrey said reluctantly. "But she gave us a prophecy," she drew a sharp breath and thought to herself for a minute.
"I didn't really understand it at first. I've been thinking, though—what if it wasn't just for me or my mum? What if it was meant for all of us?"

Noa raised an eyebrow.

"How could a seer read all of our futures by looking at your palm? It's like saying a mind reader could read my mind by reading yours."

Aubrey leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She said something about a sun and a moon, a fire and a dragon, and an eclipse—an eclipse that lasts forever, and how the sun is suddenly swallowed by the moon."

Noa's expression grew puzzled.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Think about it," Aubrey pressed, her eyes wide with conviction. "The dragon is often associated with the royal family, right? And the eclipse could be the lunar eclipse—the day Paris was born."

"You think the royal family is the dragon, and Paris is the eclipse?"

"No, I think one of the royal family members could be the dragon—maybe the Prince—and Paris is either the sun or the moon, one of the elements of the eclipse."

"What?"

"I know it sounds crazy," Aubrey admitted, her enthusiasm dimming slightly. "But hear me out. You know how every child in Breton is given an element on the day they're born? I got the wind, you got the anchor Noa, and Paris was given the sun—one of the elements of the lunar eclipse."

"So who's the fire, and who's the moon?" Noa asked, still skeptical.

"I'm not sure," Aubrey replied, frowning. "Fire usually symbolizes danger. It could mean something bad is about to happen. I haven't figured it all out yet, but I think they could be connected."

Noa let out a light chuckle, shaking her head.

"Seriously, Bre,"

"But guys—"

"Bre," Paris cut in, her voice sharp. "You're getting sillier by the day, and it's embarrassing. You sound ridiculous if you even slightly believe any of this."

Aubrey's face fell, the excitement draining from her eyes. She let out a soft, defeated sigh.

"Talking to you is exhausting," Paris continued, her tone growing more cutting. "You always find new ways to annoy me and this is exactly why no one loves to hang out with you—you freak people out with this nonsense. Keep it up, and even hair makeovers won't save you."

Noa pressed her lips together, awkwardly silent as Aubrey's expression crumpled. Paris rolled her eyes, feeling drained by the conversation. Her friends weren't helping at all, and she was too tired to keep up the act.

"Look, I'm having a really bad day, I need to go," Paris said, her voice weary.

"Yeah, me too," Noa added quickly, eager to change the subject. "I need to find something else to wear."

"Talk tomorrow?" Aubrey asked, trying to muster a smile despite the sting of Paris's words.

"Sure." Paris forced a smile in return. "Love you guys."

"Love you too," Noa and Aubrey chorused before Paris closed her laptop with a snap and collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling in frustration.

Knock knock.

Paris barely turned her head as the door creaked open, and she groaned when she saw Denise poke her head in.

"Can I come in?" Denise asked, her voice tentative.

"Oh, hell no." Paris shot up from her bed, her irritation flaring as she marched toward the door. But before she could shut it, Denise slipped inside.

"Get out," Paris demanded, her voice cold and hard.

"Paris, I'm not here to fight," Denise said, her tone gentle but firm. "I just want to talk."

"I don't care what you want. Get out."

"I just want to talk, Paris," Denise repeated, her voice calm but pleading. "Please, just hear me out."

Paris stopped, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She glared at Denise, her eyes burning with anger. "You have fifteen seconds," she snapped. "What do you want?"

Denise sighed, the weight of Paris's hostility pressing down on her. She stepped closer, wringing her hands nervously.

"Paris, I'm sorry for what happened at the palace. I know I spoke out of turn."

"Sorry?" Paris echoed, her tone mocking. "You expect me to believe that? You knew exactly what you were doing. You tried to sabotage my engagement to the prince."

"I was asked a question, and I answered honestly," Denise said softly, her eyes searching Paris's for any sign of understanding.

Paris scoffed, the sound dripping with contempt.

"Wow."

"Paris, I promise you, I wasn't trying to hurt you or interfere with your relationship with the Prince," Denise continued, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm part of this family too, and I only want what's best for you. I was trying to protect you."

"My best interest?" Paris's eyes narrowed into slits. "You were doing this for me? To protect me?"

"Believe it or not, it's the truth," Denise insisted, taking another step forward. "Everything I said back there was out of concern for you—"

"The only truth I see," Paris cut her off, her voice rising, "is that you're still the same meddling, jealous bitch who works so hard to remain relevant and useful to this family. You've been trying to come between me and everything that makes me happy from the day you set your feet in this house."

"Paris, that's not fair," Denise protested, her voice breaking. "You know that's not true—"

Paris's eyes blazed with fury.

"You've been bitter and envious ever since you wormed your way into this family. You pretend to care, but all you do is ruin everything. Everyone knows it—my grandmother, my uncles, my aunts—they all see you for what you are: a leech, a gold-digging parasite who tricked my father into marrying you. You don't belong here."

Denise's eyes filled with tears, but she fought to keep her composure.

"That's not true, Paris," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "I've done nothing but love and care for you and your father since I married him. I've tried to be a mother to you—"

"A mother?" Paris sneered. "You have jokes, but you won't be funny for long. You'll never have what you want, and you'll never, ever be part of this family."

Denise flinched as if she'd been slapped, her breath catching in her throat. She had heard these words before, endured Paris's cruelty countless times, but it never got easier. Each time, the pain cut deeper.

Paris, seeing the tears welling up in Denise's eyes, felt no remorse. If anything, her anger only intensified.

"Time's up," she said coldly, her voice like ice. "Get out of my room."

"Paris, please—"

"Get out!" Paris shouted, her voice ringing through the room. She pointed to the door, her eyes daring Denise to disobey.

Denise hesitated, her heart breaking as she saw the unyielding hatred in Paris's eyes.

"Paris, I—"

"Fine," Paris interrupted, her tone dripping with disdain. "If you won't leave, then I will." She grabbed her laptop and phone, brushing past Denise without another word.

"Paris," Denise called out softly, but it was too late. The door slammed shut behind Paris, the sound echoing through the room like a final, cruel punctuation to their argument.

Denise stood in the silence that followed, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She felt the sting of rejection, the hopelessness of trying to reach someone who refused to be reached. Slowly, she sank onto the edge of Paris's bed, her body trembling as she struggled to hold back the tears.

She placed a hand on her forehead, trying to steady herself, but the ache in her chest only grew. It was going to be a long, painful week.

Denise let out a shaky breath, feeling utterly defeated. She had tried so hard, given so much, and yet it was never enough. The weight of it all pressed down on her, and she couldn't help but wonder how much longer she could keep fighting this losing battle.