Tim stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. His hands clenched at his sides.
And then, after a beat, his voice was quiet but sharp. "Why did you use that name?"
Aurora's breath hitched. She hadn't expected that.
Her fingers dug into the car door as she forced herself to stay composed. "Because it's hers," she said simply.
Tim took a step closer, and this time, there was something almost desperate in his expression. "You know what I'm asking, Aurora."
She did. And she hated that he still knew exactly where to strike. She walked out of the car, and stood a few steps away from him.
Aurora's throat tightened. She had known this moment would come—the moment he questioned her choice, the moment he realized just how deeply she had held on to the past despite everything.
She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Because once, a long time ago, you told me you wanted your daughter to have that name."
Tim stilled. He remembered, but refused to admit that he meant this much to her.
The street noise around them faded, drowned out by the weight of her words. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but for once, Timothy Carter was speechless.
Aurora let out a shaky breath. "You probably don't even remember," she said, almost bitterly. "It was just one of those offhand comments you made, something casual, something you never thought twice about." She looked away, jaw clenched. "But I remembered."
Tim exhaled sharply, something raw flashing in his eyes.
Aurora hated the way it made her chest ache. Hated the way he looked at her. Like she had done something that shattered him.
"She was born, and I…" She swallowed hard. "I couldn't call her anything else."
Tim let out a low breath, running a hand down his face. When he spoke, his voice was rough, strained. "You gave our daughter the name I wanted?" he still couldn't believe it.
Aurora didn't answer immediately. Her silence was enough.
Tim stepped closer. "You hated me, Aurora." His tone was careful, but there was something behind it, something vulnerable. "You left. You never wanted me near her. So why?"
Aurora's hands curled into fists at her sides. "Because the little things mattered," she whispered. "Even when I wanted to forget you."
Tim exhaled sharply.
Aurora shook her head, suddenly needing to break whatever this was. "It doesn't change anything, Tim. Just because I—" She cut herself off, inhaling sharply. "She's mine. She's always been mine."
Tim's expression darkened at that, his posture tightening. "She's ours."
Aurora's stomach twisted.
"No," she bit out. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to claim her just because you suddenly decided to show up."
Tim's jaw clenched. "I didn't decide to show up, Aurora. I've been looking for you. For her." His voice was dangerously low now. "You think I wouldn't have come for you if I knew?"
Aurora flinched.
He took another step closer, his presence overwhelming. "You think I didn't tear the world apart to find you? I should have known someone as powerful as my Dad was behind this, and that's why I couldn't find you."
She hated how much she wanted to believe him. She forced herself to shake her head. "It doesn't matter now."
Tim's gaze flickered, as if he could see right through her. "Doesn't it?"
Aurora's breath hitched.
She had said too much. Given too much away. And the look in Tim's eyes told her he knew it.
He took a step closer, and she instinctively took one back, but her spine met the cold surface of the car. Trapped.
Tim's eyes flickered down to her lips, then back up. "You remembered," he murmured, almost to himself. His voice was low, rough, and it sent a shiver down her spine. "Even when you hated me. That fucking mean something."
Aurora clenched her jaw. "It doesn't change anything."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was a puzzle he was finally piecing together. "You're lying."
She scoffed. "I—"
But before she could finish, he moved.
His hand slid to her jaw, tilting her face up, and in the next breath, his mouth was on hers.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. It was everything five years of separation had built up—anger, longing, desperation.
Aurora gasped against his lips, her hands flying up to push him away, but the moment she touched him, her fingers curled into his shirt instead.
Damn him.
Damn him for still knowing how to break through her defenses like this.
Tim pressed closer, deepening the kiss, and for a brief, reckless moment, she let herself drown in it. Let herself forget.
Then reality came crashing back.
With a sharp inhale, Aurora shoved at his chest. "Tim," she rasped, her voice unsteady.
He didn't resist. He stepped back, but not far enough. His forehead nearly brushed hers, his breathing just as uneven.
Her lips tingle, her heart hammered against her ribs.
She hated him.
She hated herself more.
"You bastard," she whispered, voice shaking.
Tim smirked, slow and infuriating. "You always did have a problem with me kissing you silently." He licked his lips in satisfaction. He felt excited.
Aurora's hand twitched. She wanted to slap him but not as much as she wanted to kiss him again.
She did neither.
Instead, she shoved past him, gripping the car door handle so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Stay away from me, Tim."
She yanked the door open, but his voice stopped her cold.
"Tell me to stay away from her then."
Aurora froze.
Tim took a step closer, his tone softer now. "Say it, Aurora. Say you don't want me in her life."
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't.
Tim exhaled slowly. "That's what I thought."
Aurora swallowed hard, and gripped the door like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
She had to get out of here.
Without another word, she slipped into the car and slammed the door shut.
Tim didn't stop her. He simply touched his lips, and relished how alive the short kiss made him.