Chapter 100
Taylor’s POV
The camera crew returns the way a storm creeps in–quiet at first, barely there–then suddenly the whole world tilts in their direction. No warning. No heads–up,
Just the faint whir of lenses locking in and the subtle shift of bodies angling toward us, and everything between Aiden and me goes still.
He feels it before I even turn. I watch it move through him, a slow inhale tightening his ribs, his posture straightening like someone pulled an invisible string, His shoulders settle into that perfect, photogenic line he knows the world expects from him.
His expression smooths out until all that fragile honesty from minutes ago slides behind something polished.
Controlled.
Closed.
And the moment I sense that change in him, something inside me pulls back too. A quiet door clicks shut. The knowing I held–the grief he trusted me with–folds itself away like a fragile piece of stained glass I’m not allowed to show anyone.
Then, suddenly, none of it happened at all.
Smiles appear. Lights angle toward us. Crew members float around catching footage of kids laughing and reaching for the paint table, tiny hands smearing bright colors across cardboard wings.
Aiden’s name drifts in the air like the hum of a familiar song. And we stand there, just a little too perfectly side by side.
They don’t tell us to move. They don’t have to. One camera tilts to the left. One nod from a crew guy. And I already know what it means.
Closer.
I shift. Aiden shifts with me.his hand brushes mine before finding the small of my back. A casual touch for the lens. Something soft and camera–friendly.
Except it doesn’t feel casual at all.My heartbeat kicks in a way the camera definitely isn’t supposed to pick up.We smile like nothing is complicated.
Laugh like it comes easily.
Stand like there isn’t a truth trembling between us, fragile as a match flame.
It surprises me, how quickly I slide back into the role. The warm, steady presence at his side. The girl who fits neatly beside him in sunlit charity tents while kids run around with glitter on their cheeks. The kind of girl the cameras look at and think, Oh, she belongs next to him.
In some alternate universe, maybe she does exist–this polished, photogenic version of me who is effortless and confident and exactly right for the life orbiting around Aiden.
1/4
Chapter 100
+25 Bonus
But in this one?
My smile is a tool.
Aiden’s smile is armor.
And the space between us is a line we pretend not to see.
We move through the motions anyway.a little girl with purple face paint tugs on Aiden’s sleeve and shows him her butterfly wings.he crouches to her level with practiced charm but the way his hand steadies at my back tells me hes still somewhere else.
A boy with paint–smudged hands shoves a cardboard rocket at me, asking for tape, and I help him reinforce the edges while cameras follow every angle of it.
No interviews.
No one asks questions.
Just footage.
Just the quiet performance of two people who’ve learned to act without direction.It’s almost convincing.
Almost.
the cameras drift again waiting for something interesting.i feel my throat go dry a mix of nerves and leftover emotion pressing against my chest.i dont know why i speak. Maybe it’s the weight of what he told me. Maybe it’s the heaviness of pretending. Maybe I’m tired of letting the cameras write a story I don’t recognize.
“I used to play football.”
I hear myself say it before the thought even forms. The words tumble out like I’ve stepped on a loose stone. Aiden’s head snaps toward me.his hair moves with the quick turn brushing his forehead.his eyes narrow not in suspicion but in that startled way someone looks when a puzzle piece appears out of nowhere.
One of the cameramen swivels toward us, drawn to the flicker of motion the way bees zip toward the smallest
hum.
“You did?” Aiden asks. “Like, for fun?”
“No.” I keep my tone even, almost bored, hoping it fades into the background noise. “On a team. Girls‘ school league.”
I try to make it sound tiny. Barely worth a footnote. Something the documentary won’t bother to use.
But Aiden’s face doesn’t match the story I’m trying to spin.
“You… played?” His voice drops into something quieter. Softer. The kind of tone meant for small rooms and closed doors. “why didnt you ever say that?”
his words wrap around me warm and unexpected. Not a challenge. Not disbelief. Something gentler, almost protective.
2/4
+25 Bonus
my heart knocks against my ribs in a clumsy rhythm.
i lift one shoulder in an easy shrug giving the cameras the neat simple line they can edit into a montage. “I quit.”
The truth slips out right behind it, raw and sharp–edged.
“The other girls… they didn’t like me much. They bullied me.”
The air shifts. Not loud, not dramatic. Just a tightening, like the world pulls a silent breath through its teeth. Aiden stills beside me.even the shadows seem to lean in.
Aiden notices.
he freezes mid step the last trace of his smile fading as if someone reached over and wiped it clean.for a moment the world presses pause.his eyes lock onto mine steady and sharp seeing far more than the words hanging in the air between us.
a prickling rush crawls up my arms because somehow he hears everything i never said aloud.
The shoves that landed with that extra bit of intention.
the clang of the locker door slamming behind me too loud too final.
the snickers that sliced thin lines across my pride invisible but felt all the same.
The slow walk off the field when the truth sets in that you’re the one no one wants around.
I don’t speak any of it, but his gaze moves over my face like he’s reading every chapter anyway. And then it softens, almost painfully gentle, like he’s afraid I might crack under something too heavy.
“You loved it,” he says.
Not a question. A truth he pulls straight out of me without laying a hand on me.
My throat tightens. I swallow, keeping my voice from shaking loose. “I did.”
A small breath slips out, thin and uneven. There’s a little break in my chest I try hard to hide. “But I learned to stop missing it.”
Aiden looks at me then. Fully. Not like a fake boyfriend for the camera.not like a teammate or a coworker or someone bound to me by a contract, neither of us can seem to keep straight anymore.
he looks at me like he sees a part of me i never offered him.like he understands the girl who stood on a field once wide eyed and hopeful before life pushed her out of it.
His expression isn’t pity.
It isn’t sadness.
It’s something quieter. Warmer. Something that makes my stomach draw tight, because it feels too real for the cameras hovering around us.
The lenses keep rolling.
3/4
Chapter 100
But between us, in this split second?
We’re not pretending anymore.
And the truth of that lands quietly, like a secret we both heard at the same time.
