Seeing Silco alive was one thing—seeing him with another was something else entirely. And yet your heart twisted with jealousy. You couldn’t blame him, not really. Or her, for that matter. This wasn’t your timeline. You were the interloper here, a shadow slipping through a life that wasn’t yours.

But that didn’t stop the sting. That gnawing ache of knowing you’d never have what you once did.

This Silco was different—lighter, calmer, even. He wasn’t the brooding, razor-edged man you had loved and lost. The one who buried his affection beneath layers of ambition and shadowed ideals. No, this Silco smiled freely, moved through the room like he belonged to it, not to his empire.

He’d loved you once—loved you deeply, fiercely, in a way that consumed every part of you. But love had never been enough. Not when his empire demanded his attention, pulling him further and further away, until you were left clinging to scraps of the man you’d once known. In this world, though, you were no one to him. Just another face in the crowd, another passing stranger.

Watching this life that could have been—this life you’d wanted so desperately—so close yet impossibly out of reach, felt like a cruel trick played by the anomaly that sent you here.

You were lost in thought when a tap on your shoulder jolted you back to the present. Turning, you were met with a face you knew better than your own.

For a fleeting moment, hope surged in your chest. Did he recognize you? But no. His gaze didn’t hold the familiarity, just polite curiosity as he held out a familiar object.

“You dropped your wallet,” he said, his voice softer than you remembered. His smile was warm—so unlike the Silco you’d known. “You ought to be more careful around here. Never know who might take advantage of something like that.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. What’s your name?”Your name. He didn’t know it. How ironic, you thought, that Silco—the man who once knew you better than anyone—now asked your name as though you were a stranger.