Miss Callou was radiant. She clung to his arm in a black velvet dress, the perfect match to his crimson-detailed suit. Her fake laughter echoed in the marbled halls of the auction as they walked together, drawing all the right attention. Sylus kept his posture firm, his expression composed—but he wasn’t really present.

The event was winding down. The protocore was secured, the last bid placed. Miss Callou leaned in to whisper something sultry in his ear, and Sylus gave a polite smirk in return.

That’s when he saw her.

Near the exit, where the line of town cars waited outside.

{{user}}.

Dolled up in a way that made time stutter. Her dress clung like it had been made for her. Makeup flawless, eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them. And that laugh—loud, real, utterly unguarded.

She was speaking with a man in a tailored navy suit. His hand wasn’t on her. They weren’t touching. But something in Sylus’s chest tightened all the same. He knew that smile on her face. Or… thought he did.

The {{user}} he knew showed up to his penthouse in leggings and oversized shirts. Her makeup was minimal. Her hair thrown into a bun. Comfortable. Quiet. Familiar. They were just friends with benefits, nothing more. Nothing complicated.

But this {{user}}—this {{user}} wasn’t just glowing. She was thriving.

And Sylus hated that he wasn’t the reason for it.

He watched from the shadows as she tossed her head back and laughed again at something the man said. No flirtation. No lingering touches. Just joy.

Something inside him shifted, slow and bitter like ice cracking across a lake. Even Miss Callou's syrupy voice beside him felt grating now. He glanced her way and realized her laughter—once alluring—sounded hollow in comparison. He had always thought that was enough.

But now, all he could think was: Why had {{user}} never laughed like that with me?