Blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale [Taylor x OC]

{62} this is the last time

Taylor's POV:

I stand in the doorway of the bathroom, my reflection catching the dim lighting in the mirror. Aurora stands at the sink, her head tilted down as she splashes water on her face. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even think about this. But there's something magnetic about the way she's here, in my orbit again, as if the universe itself keeps shoving her back into my life.

Before I know it, my feet move on their own, the soft click of my heels barely audible over the hum of the fluorescent lights. I stop just behind her, close enough to feel the faintest warmth radiating from her.

"You are everywhere, aren't you?" My voice is low, clipped, carrying an edge that betrays my anger—and something else I don't want to name.

Aurora startles slightly, straightening and meeting my gaze in the mirror. Her lips part as if she's about to say something, but instead, she stays quiet, staring back at me with that mix of defiance and something raw that's always been her trademark.

"I don't know what you mean," she finally says, her tone calm but her eyes giving her away. She's rattled, though she's doing her best to hide it.

"You show up at my photoshoot, you show up at the hospital then you're at this event, sitting there with your girlfriend like you have literally nothing better to do." My voice drips with bitterness, but there's an ache underneath it. "What is this, Aurora? Some kind of game?"

The distance between us is negligible, a breath at most. Her jaw tightens, and her eyes narrow. "You think I planned this? That I somehow orchestrated your meteoric rise to fame and conveniently ended up here?" She scoffs, shaking her head. "Not everything is about you, Taylor. This is just my job."

My pulse pounds in my ears. The fire in her voice, in her eyes—it pulls me in even as it pushes me away. I step closer, each movement deliberate, predatory. She doesn't back down, not even as I'm mere inches from her.

"You sure about that?" I ask, my voice dropping lower, softer, almost a whisper. "Because it feels like you've made it your mission to haunt me."

Her breath hitches, and I can see it—the faint tremble in her composure. She's trying so hard to stand her ground, but I've always known how to get under her skin. And maybe, just maybe, she knows how to get under mine too.

"Taylor—" she starts, but her voice falters as I lean in, my breath brushing against her ear.

"Don't," I murmur. "Don't say my name like that."

She stiffens, her hands clenching at her sides. "Like what?"

"Like you still feel it. Like you still remember."

Her breath comes faster now, shallow and uneven, and I can't tell if it's anger or something else—or both. I'm so close now, the faintest hint of her perfume filling my senses. My hands itch to touch her, but I hold back, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter between us.

"You have no idea what I feel," she says finally, her voice barely audible, a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

I let the silence stretch, my lips hovering just near her ear. "And it doesn't matter," I whisper, my tone both a challenge and a plea.
Her body shifts slightly, her back brushing against me, and it's enough to snap whatever fragile thread of restraint I have left. My hands move instinctively, gripping her wrist as I turn her toward me, forcing her to meet my eyes. There's a storm brewing there, something deep and unspoken that's been building for years.
Before I can think, before either of us can speak, I pull her toward the nearest stall, closing the door behind us. The small space feels suffocating, the air heavy with tension. I press my back against the door, blocking her escape, my eyes locked on hers.
"Why do you keep coming back if all you ever do is leave?" I ask, my voice breaking slightly, though I try to mask it with frustration.