004

SCARLETT

I didn't bother getting out of the car.

The moment the impact settled and I realized I was still conscious, I simply sat there with both hands gripping the steering wheel.

For a while, I didn't move.

The front of my car had collided with another vehicle hard enough to leave my heart racing, but I barely registered the damage. My head rested against the steering wheel as the first sob escaped me.

Then another followed.

And another.

Before I knew it, I was crying so hard that my entire body shook.

My life was a complete mess.

There was no better way to describe it.

One moment, I had been dead. Or at least I remembered dying.

I remembered every second of it with a clarity that made it impossible to dismiss as a nightmare. Valentina's body. Matteo's grief. His hands around my throat. The knife.

God.

The knife.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I could remember the pain.

That was the worst part.

I could remember the exact terror of realizing that Matteo wasn't going to stop. I could remember begging him. I could remember telling him I was pregnant. I could remember the look on his face when I said it.

And then he had laughed.

A broken, horrible laugh.

‘You're always the drama queen.’

‘Always competing with Valentina.’

‘But you can never be her.’

I lifted my head from the steering wheel and wiped my face, only for more tears to replace the ones I had cleared.

"Why?" I whispered.

My voice sounded pathetic inside the quiet car.

"Why am I here?"

Two years.

Two years before I married Matteo.

Two years before everything went wrong.

I let out a shaky laugh.

It sounded almost hysterical.

Of all the things that could have happened, life had apparently decided to play some cruel, sick joke on me.

I was alive.

I was somehow back in the past.

And the worst part was that I remembered everything.

Every fight.

Every lie.

Every betrayal.

Every time Matteo had made me feel like I was the problem.

Every pain he had ever inflicted on me.

I remembered loving him.

That hurt too.

I remembered exactly how much I had loved him before everything became complicated.

Before Valentina.

Before resentment.

Before I started wondering whether I had ever truly known the man I married.

My forehead dropped back against the steering wheel.

"Fuck my life."

A knock sounded against the driver's window.

I ignored it.

Maybe whoever was outside would leave.

Another knock came. More insistent this time.

I still didn't move. My tears continued falling.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

"For God's sake," I muttered.

Can't a girl cry in peace? I was just murdered!

Whoever it was had apparently decided that leaving me alone was not an option.

The knocking continued.

I finally lifted my head, looking around for my card.

My face was probably a disaster. My eyes burned, my nose was running, and I was wearing a robe and a baseball cap like someone who had escaped a psychiatric facility before breakfast.

Perfect.

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my robe and pressed the button to lower the window.

"I'll handle whatever damage there is," I said immediately.

I didn't look at the person standing outside.

I reached for my cardholder, pulled out one of my cards and held it toward the window.

"Here's my card. Call whoever needs to be called. My insurance will deal with it."

The card remained in my hand. No one took it.

I frowned.

"Are you alright?"

I froze. That voice.

My fingers tightened around the card.

I knew that voice.

I had heard it too many times.

That thick Italian accent.

Slow.

Smooth.

Annoyingly calm even when the entire world around him seemed to be falling apart.

My head slowly turned toward the window and my heart nearly stopped.

"Raphael?" The name escaped me with a gasp.

He was standing beside my car.

Raphael.

He had always corrected me. ‘It's Ra-ffa-ele.’ He'd always say. ‘It's not American.’

For several seconds, I could only stare at him.

He looked exactly the same.

Tall. Dark hair pushed back carelessly. A face that was unfairly attractive for someone who had spent most of his life being an absolute menace. There was something effortlessly composed about him, even now, standing beside a damaged car on the side of the road.

But he looked younger. Of course he did.

We were two years in the past.

Still, seeing him there felt like someone had reached into my memories and physically dragged a person out of them.

Raffaele's lips curved into a small smile. "You recognize me too."

I continued staring.

He tilted his head. "Such a small world."

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

His smile faded slightly. "That's either the nicest reaction I've ever received or you're about to faint."

I still couldn't speak.

Raffaele glanced at the card in my hand and gently pushed it back toward me. "Keep that."

"I hit your car."

"Yes. I noticed." His eyes briefly moved toward the damage before returning to me. "Cars are replaceable."

I blinked. "What?"

"What isn't replaceable is the person driving one." His expression became more serious. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head automatically. Then paused.

Was I hurt?

Physically, no.

But that question suddenly felt almost ridiculous.

"No." My voice came out hoarse.

Raffaele leaned slightly closer. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You don't look very convincing."

I swallowed. "I'm fine."

He stared at me and I stared back.

Neither of us said anything.

Then Raffaele sighed. "Do you need a doctor?"

My eyebrows pulled together. "No."

"Painkillers?"

"No."

"Water?"

"No."

"Food?"

I stared at him.

His lips twitched. "I'm trying to figure out which one of those questions will get you to stop looking like you're about to either cry or commit a felony."

Despite everything happening inside my head, a weak, confused sound almost escaped me.

Raffaele nodded slightly. "There she is."

I looked away immediately.

Why didn't he recognize me?

That was what my mind kept returning to.

He knew me.

Didn't he?

In my life, in the future I remembered, Raffaele knew exactly who I was.

He hadn't been around, not constantly, but enough for me to recognize his voice without even seeing his face.

Yet he was looking at me now like I was a complete stranger.

Of course he didn't recognize me. He hadn't met me yet.

The realization hit me all over again.

This wasn't a dream.

This wasn't a memory.

I was actually here.

I looked down at myself.

My robe.

My slippers.

The baseball cap.

I had left my house like this.

I suddenly wanted to disappear.

Raffaele followed my gaze.

His expression remained completely neutral. "I've seen worse." He smiled.

I stared at him.

Under normal circumstances, I might have rolled my eyes.

Instead, I felt tears burning behind mine again.

Raffaele's smile disappeared. "Hey."

I looked away.

"Scarlett."

My heart stopped. Slowly, I turned back to him.

"What did you call me?"