It was the Met Gala, the biggest night in fashion, and Taylor Swift was absolutely glowing. Her shimmering gold gown caught the light as she made her way down the red carpet, a vision of elegance and grace. But as she moved toward the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, her eyes landed on someone she didn't expect to see.
Jake Gyllenhaal.
He was standing at the entrance with his usual cool demeanor, chatting with a few people. But the moment Taylor saw him, everything around her seemed to slow down. The air grew thicker, her heartbeat louder in her ears. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as a rush of emotions washed over her. She hadn't seen him in years, and yet, it felt like the past was standing right in front of her.
As if sensing her gaze, Jake turned. Their eyes locked, and for a split second, the world felt like it had turned back in time. The tension between them was palpable, and without thinking, Taylor started to walk toward him, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
The crowd around them seemed to part, almost instinctively, as if they knew something was about to go down. And as Taylor got closer, her expression hardened.
Jake's lips curled into a half-smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Taylor," he said, voice low, his gaze cautious. "It's been a while."
Taylor stopped in front of him, so close now that she could hear his breath. Her eyes never wavered from his face. "Oh, it sure has," she said, voice icy but controlled.
There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other, the weight of history hanging between them. She took a small breath and, without warning, spoke up.
"I've got to say, Jake," she began, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I always wondered how you managed to slip away without any real consequences. How you were able to ghost someone, and then move on as if you hadn't shattered their world into a thousand pieces. But tonight, I think I finally understand."
Jake's face shifted slightly, something like guilt flickering in his eyes, but he didn't speak.
"I used to think that maybe it was me—that maybe I just wasn't enough for you," she continued, her voice rising now, louder and sharper. "But I've learned that it's not me. It's you. It's your pattern. You hurt people, Jake. You leave them in the dust, and then you just move on. And I'm not letting you get away with it anymore."
A murmur of surprise rippled through the people around them, and the cameras began to flash faster, capturing the moment. Taylor wasn't finished, though. She wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.
"You know what I realized?" she added, her voice dripping with calm fury. "I don't need your apology. I don't need your excuses. What I needed was for you to be honest with me. But you didn't do that, did you? You didn't have the courage to be upfront about who you are. You didn't have the guts to tell me that I was just a chapter for you, while I thought we were writing a story together."
Jake opened his mouth to say something, but Taylor held up a hand, stopping him.
"No," she said, her tone final. "I don't want to hear it. I'm done making excuses for you. I'm done pretending that you're anything but the guy who left me behind, who broke me and never looked back."
She took a step back, her eyes never leaving his. "So, congratulations, Jake. You got away with it. But not tonight. Not here."
And with that, she turned on her heel, walking away from him without a second glance. The cameras clicked furiously, but Taylor didn't care. She wasn't here to relive the past or make a spectacle of herself. She was here to remind herself—and Jake—that she was stronger than the hurt he'd caused.
As she disappeared into the crowd, her confidence radiated from her like a shield. Jake stood frozen, his face pale, caught in the weight of her words.
Taylor Swift wasn't just a pop star. She was a woman who had learned how to stand up for herself, to reclaim her narrative, and to make sure that everyone knew it.
Tonight, she'd made her point loud and clear. And no one would ever forget it.
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Author's note:
Me not touching this book for 3 months than double updating
I cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art
