Chapter 4: The Proposal 

Daphne's POV 

I sat stiffly in the luxurious chair across from him, my hands folded tightly in my lap to hide the fact they were trembling. The room was grand—too grand. The scent of leather, cologne, and something expensive I couldn’t name filled the air. It was a world I didn’t belong in.

Yet somehow, I was here.

Oliver sat across the desk, his expression blank and unreadable. He hadn’t stopped staring since I walked in. Not in a way that felt intrusive or lecherous—but intense. Like I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, 

“You’re her mirror image. It’s why I… reacted the way I did that night. I thought I was hallucinating. In case you doubt me, allow me to show you something.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but what could I even say to something like that?

Before I could gather my thoughts, he stood up and walked to a cabinet behind his desk. I heard the soft clink of metal as he opened a drawer, then he turned back to me, holding something in his hand.

A picture frame.

He set it down in front of me without a word.

Curious—and honestly a bit unnerved—I leaned forward.

My breath caught.

The woman in the photo could’ve been me. She had the same wide, almond-shaped eyes. The same full lips, heart-shaped face, and slender nose. Her skin tone, the way her long dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders—it was all mine.

But it wasn’t me.

I swallowed hard and blinked, willing my eyes to make sense of what I was seeing. I even reached out to touch the edge of the frame, half expecting the image to disappear like some illusion.

“Who… who is this?” My voice was a whisper.

“My wife,” he said. “Daisy.”

I looked up at him, heart thudding violently against my ribs. “This… this can’t be real.”

“It is.”

We were identical. From the arch of our brows down to the curve of our collarbones. Even our builds matched—slim but soft, with the same height and posture. It was like looking at a ghost version of myself, one draped in wealth and perfection.

“But I don’t have a sister,” I said, more to myself than to him.

He raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

“I… I was raised by a woman named Agnes. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known.” I sat back slowly, still shaken. “She told me I was sick as a baby… abandoned. I don’t know anything else.”

He leaned forward, studying me. “Did she ever mention your birth parents? Anyone?”

“No. And I don’t want to talk about it.” I met his gaze firmly, drawing a boundary I wasn’t ready to cross. “Please don’t ask me that again.”

Silence stretched between us for a few seconds before he nodded. “Alright.”

He sat back down, folding his hands together. “Then let’s talk about something else—my proposal.”

“Why me?” I finally asked, my voice shaky as I broke the silence. “Why not someone else? Why not a professional actress or a model? What makes me the right choice?”

Oliver’s eyes flicked to mine, his gaze unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, in a low, calm voice, he said, “Because you look like her. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to Daisy. And you need me just as much as I need you.”

My heart pounded. He was right. I needed him—needed the money, needed the security. But was that enough?

I stared at the contract again, the words on the page blurring as my mind raced. I'd spent my whole life trying to survive, trying to do what was right. But this… this was different. This was sacrificing a part of myself. My dignity. My independence. It felt like a betrayal, even if it wasn’t. 

But if I didn’t do this, what would happen? Would my mother die? Would I continue living in a broken marriage with Jonah, trapped in the same cycle of abuse and hopelessness?

“I already told you,” I said, finding my voice again, “I don't think I can do it.”

“Why not?”

I scoffed lightly, the ridiculousness of the situation finally catching up to me. “Look at me, Mr. Whitaker. I’m a baker from a forgotten village. I spend my days covered in flour, earning just enough to survive. I’ve never owned a designer bag, I don’t know which fork is for salad, and I barely made it through community college.”

“You’re educated,” he said quickly. “That’s more than enough.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not. Your world is… it’s silk gowns and gala nights and cameras in your face. I wouldn't fit in.”

“You can learn.”

“I don’t want to be someone I’m not.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “You wouldn’t be pretending to be anyone. You are her twin. That’s not fiction—it’s fact. The moment you walked into that room, I knew.”

I looked away, unable to meet the intensity in his gaze any longer. The room was starting to feel smaller. The air heavier.

“This isn’t just about you,” he added, voice softer now. “There are two little girls. My daughters. They need a mother. And this... this might be the only way to protect them, and everything I’ve built.”

I closed my eyes.

The photo of the woman—Daisy—burned behind my eyelids.

My mother was still in the hospital. I had just walked out of a marriage with a man who never saw me as anything more than a tool. And now… now I was standing on the edge of something that felt bigger than I could handle.

Part of me wanted to run. But another part… the quieter part… wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something I never dared to imagine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I placed the pen to the paper. I could feel my heart racing in my chest, my hands sweating as I signed the contract. Each stroke of the pen felt like a decision I would never be able to undo. 

When I finished, I sat back in my chair, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me like a shroud. I had made my choice.

“This is the beginning of a new life for both of us,” he said, his tone steady, devoid of emotion. “I’ll have my lawyers prepare everything. Tonight, you’ll move into my house.”

I nodded but didn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. The reality of what I had just agreed to was beginning to settle in.

I couldn’t afford to make mistakes. I had signed away my freedom, and now, there was no turning back.