Chapter Eight #2
Jax excused himself to talk to a sponsor, and the three of them fell into easy conversation—Mia and Dana trading stories about past races (“Remember when that rookie tried to backflip off the podium? Nearly broke his neck”), Aria listening and laughing, feeling the knot in her chest loosen a little more each time one of them checked on her without making it obvious.
The friendship with Mia and Dana was growing—quiet, steady, real.
Late-night texts from Mia about song recommendations, Dana sending memes about “racing boyfriends and their egos,” small things that made the chaos feel less lonely.
They just… included her. Like she belonged.
Across the room, Jax caught her eye. He was deep in conversation with Lucas near the railing, both leaning against the high table with beers in hand, the city lights glittering behind them like a glittering backdrop.
Lucas was gesturing animatedly—probably breaking down an overtake from earlier in the race—while Jax listened intently, nodding, a smile softening his features.
Every so often his gaze flicked to Aria, checking on her through the thinning crowd, like he needed the quiet reassurance she was still okay amid the noise.
Aria stayed close enough to watch without intruding, drawn in by the easy rhythm between them.
It was obvious how much they cared about each other—brothers on the grid, really, even if they came from opposite ends of the personality spectrum.
Lucas carried himself with that serious, almost clinical focus, always analysing, always calculating the next move like the track was a chessboard.
Jax, on the other hand, wore his easy-going charisma like armour: quick grins, light teasing, the kind of effortless charm that made people gravitate toward him.
Yet somehow it just worked. Beneath the surface differences, they shared the same core fire—the pure, obsessive love of driving, of pushing a car to its absolute limit, of that singular moment when everything clicked and the world narrowed to tyres, apexes, and instinct.
It was the thing that bound them, stronger than any rivalry or team colours.
As the party wound down and the music softened to a low throb, their conversation deepened.
Lucas’s gestures slowed; Jax’s posture eased, shoulders dropping as he really listened.
Lucas clapped him on the back once, hard, then said something low and earnest that made Jax huff a quiet laugh and nod, the tension in his jaw loosening for the first time all night.
Whatever it was—probably the weight of the season, the fear of losing his seat, the exhaustion of performing “committed” every single day—it stayed between them.
Just like the proposal stayed between her and Jax.
Her phone buzzed against her hip—once, twice, insistent. She slipped it out just enough to glance: three missed calls from Robert in the last twenty minutes, plus a string of urgent texts: Call me ASAP. Clips are everywhere. Comments are turning. We need to talk.
Her stomach twisted. She caught Jax’s eye and raised her phone slightly, gesturing with a small tilt of her head toward the quieter corner near the railing—one second.
He nodded immediately, eyes tracking her with that steady concern as she wove through the remaining crowd, the city lights sprawling below like scattered diamonds.
She hit Robert’s name and pressed the phone to her ear. He answered before the first ring finished.
“Aria—thank God. You seeing what’s blowing up right now?”
She pressed a finger to her free ear to block the bass. “I saw the missed calls. What’s going on?”
“The podium hug clip. That kiss after qualifying. It’s everywhere—comments are all over the place.”
Her pulse kicked up. “All over how?”
“Half the fans are losing their minds—‘height difference goals,’ ‘they’re so cute,’ shipping you hard.
The other half’s calling it staged. ‘Too PG-13,’ ‘he’s dating his sister,’ ‘Jax likes to touch, but this looks performative.’ A few are defending it, saying the way you look at each other feels real. ”
She closed her eyes for a second. “I know.”
A small pause. Robert’s voice softened, careful. “Is there something I should know?”
She let out a shaky laugh—awkward, too high. “We’re… having fun. Still figuring things out. Nothing to worry about.”
Another beat of silence. “Just be careful, kid. The narrative’s fragile right now.”
She ended the call and stared at the city lights for a moment, blurring through the glass railing.
Robert was right. If Min-Jae kept seeing only careful, safe moments—cheek kisses, staged hugs—he’d convince himself it was fake.
The cracks she’d finally opened in his resolve would seal shut.
She’d lose the leverage she’d spent weeks building.
But it wasn’t just about Min-Jae anymore.
Her fans meant everything to her—the messages pouring in after every performance, the way they defended her online, the quiet support that had carried her through the hardest years.
They believed in her because she’d always been real with them: raw lyrics, honest interviews, no filters.
If the truth came out—that this whole thing with Jax was orchestrated for publicity, a calculated play to win back an ex—her brand would take a brutal hit.
The authenticity she prided herself on would shatter.
Could she even still claim to be genuine after convincing Jax to go along with this?
A momentary thought pierced through: This wasn’t like her. She didn’t lie to her fans. She never had. The guilt twisted sharp in her chest, cold and unfamiliar.
She shook it off, breathing out slowly. This was for Min-Jae.
Everyone wanted her to be happy—her team, her friends, even the fans who supported her with Jax so enthusiastically.
And who was she really harming? Jax was fully aware of what this was; he’d agreed to every step, eyes open, because it benefited him too.
The fans were getting a glamorous, heart-fluttering relationship to root for—something shiny and exciting in their feeds.
And she would finally get Min-Jae back, her soulmate.
It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t cruel. It was necessary.
She turned back toward Jax. He was still where she’d left him, leaning against a high table, watching her approach with that steady, unreadable gaze. When she reached him he straightened, hand automatically finding her waist again.
“Everything okay?” he asked, voice low enough to cut through the bass.
She met his eyes. Saw the faint concern there, the way he searched her face like he could read every thought she wasn’t saying.
“Yeah,” she lied, then corrected herself. “No. Not really.”
His brow furrowed. “Talk to me.”
She flicked her gaze sideways. In the corner of the VIP section, near a high-top littered with empty bottles, a girl in a sparkly top had been live-streaming most of the party for her fans—phone held high, panning slowly across the crowd, chatting excitedly into the camera.
She’d caught glimpses of them earlier, the girl’s lens lingering whenever Jax and Aria moved through the room.
Right now, the phone was trained their way again, hand steady, mouth slightly open in anticipation.
The moment she caught anything worth posting, it would be everywhere—Instagram Live clips, TikTok reposts—within minutes.
She took a breath. The music pulsed around them, but right here, in the small pocket of space between their bodies, it felt quiet. “I need you to kiss me,” she said.
He started to lean in—aiming for the usual safe kiss.
She caught his jaw gently, stopping him. “No. Really kiss me.”
He froze. Searched her eyes. Whatever he saw there made his pupils dilate, made his breath hitch.
Then he moved.
One hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her face exactly where he wanted it. The other arm banded around her waist, pulling her in hard until her breasts pressed against his chest, hips flush, no space left between them.
For a split second she stiffened—taken aback by the sudden heat, the sheer intent in the way he claimed her mouth.
Her breath caught, eyes widening against his closed ones.
Then instinct took over. She melted into him, hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him closer as she opened for him completely.
A soft, surprised sound escaped her throat as she arched into his body, meeting his hunger with her own.
His mouth was firm, deliberate, then ravenous.
Lips parted hers on the first pass; his tongue slid in, stroking deep and slow at first, then faster, matching the quickening rhythm of her breath.
She answered with equal need—tongue tangling with his, teeth grazing his lower lip, a quiet moan swallowed by the music and the crowd.
Her hands slid up to grip his shoulders; one leg hooked instinctively around his calf, pulling him tighter.
He growled low—barely audible, but she felt it vibrate through his chest.
The kiss stretched longer than it should have in public—wet, urgent, consuming.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.
Her lips felt bruised, slick. Jax’s eyes were nearly black, pupils swallowing the irises.
His hand stayed cupped at the nape of her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her.
Aria’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her skin felt too tight, too hot.
Every nerve ending buzzed. She could still taste him—champagne, salt, want.
Her thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the sudden, insistent ache low in her belly.
She was flustered—dangerously so—cheeks burning, breath uneven, fingers trembling where they still clutched his shirt.
She glanced sideways.
The girl was still filming—phone steady, mouth agape. The clip was already in the wild; she could practically see the notifications exploding.
Good.
That should drown out the sceptical comments. That should keep Min-Jae hooked. That should buy them more time.
She looked back at Jax. His expression was unreadable—jaw locked, breathing still uneven—but his hand hadn’t moved from her neck.
“That should do it,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. It came out husky, unsteady, betraying how rattled she really was.
He didn’t smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Should.”
But neither of them stepped away.
Dana’s voice cut through the tension from a few feet back—teasing, but fond. “Okay, lovebirds. Seriously. Get a room. Or at least move to the dark corner before security escorts you out for public indecency.”
Aria laughed—breathless, shaky—and finally eased back half a step. Jax’s hand slid down her arm as she did, fingers trailing until they laced loosely with hers.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again—dark, intense, no trace of the easy grin he usually wore for the cameras.
Aria still tried to steady her breathing, still felt the flush crawl across her chest and up her neck.
Whatever had just happened—it wasn’t PG-13.