Chapter Nine #2
That the only thing that felt real was the way his body reacted to her—like it had forgotten this was supposed to be pretend. Like the intent Lucas had seen wasn’t acting at all.
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaled hard.
Then he straightened, pushed off the wall, and headed toward the car.
Fake or not, he still had a qualifying to nail.
◆◆◆
The race was tight—hot track temperatures pushing 50°C, tyres degrading in half the usual time, drivers fighting to stay on the black stuff as the margins for error shrank to nothing.
Jax started P6, the car hooked up perfectly in the high-speed sections but twitchy on the kerbs.
Lights out came with a roar that shook the grandstands; he got a decent launch, slotting into P5 through Turn 1, wheels kissing the white line but holding.
The opening stint was chaos—cars sliding on the abrasive surface, overtakes happening everywhere, the pack bunching up behind the safety car after an early spin from a backmarker.
He pitted on lap 18—undercut strategy—emerging in P7 but on fresher tyres.
The second stint was where he came alive: patient in traffic, waiting for gaps, then pouncing.
He passed a struggling Ferrari on the outside of Turn 10, held off a charging McLaren through the long back straight with DRS open, and nailed the second pit stop—clean, 2. 3 seconds. Back out in P5.
The final stint was survival. Tyres graining, oversteer biting on every exit, fuel light.
He defended hard against a Williams on the penultimate lap, blocking the inside line into Turn 1, forcing the overtake to the outside where grip was thin.
The Williams backed out. Jax held his nerve.
The chequered flag waved. P4. Solid points.
No podium, but consistent. The team radio erupted—engineers whooping, mechanics clapping, Marcus’s gruff voice cutting through: “Solid mate. Bloody solid.”
He pulled into parc fermé, killed the engine, and sat there for a second—chest heaving, hands shaking on the wheel from the G-forces and the adrenaline. Then he climbed out.
He jogged to the barriers. The team was there—high-fives, back-slaps—but his eyes scanned past them.
Aria wasn’t waiting.
He felt the absence like a punch.
He signed autographs, posed for photos, answered the media pen with clipped answers, but his mind was elsewhere. Where was she?
◆◆◆
Aria
Aria watched the final lap from the garage, arms wrapped tight around herself, staring at the monitors with unseeing eyes.
Jax crossed the line in P4. The garage erupted in cheers—high-fives, back-slaps, Marcus grinning like he’d won the lottery himself.
She should have felt proud. Relieved. This was success.
Consistency. The kind of result that kept him safe in the seat he’d just re-signed for.
But the screen blurred through hot tears she blinked back furiously.
She slipped her phone out of her pocket. The notification had come in during the last stint—Min-Jae’s Instagram post. She’d seen it pop up and had meant to just glance, but the image had frozen her.
The photo stared back at her: Min-Jae and a Korean actress—tall, elegant, both smiling at the camera in a rooftop bar with city lights behind them. His arm around her waist. Her head tilted toward his shoulder. Caption: New chapter. Grateful for new beginnings.
The comments were already flooding in. Congratulations. Heart emojis. Speculation. Finally moving on? She’s gorgeous. Good for him.
Aria’s thumb hovered over their text thread.
Her last message: I thought you wanted to meet. To talk things out.
His reply, 5 minutes ago: I told you I wanted to talk. I wanted to let you know I was seeing someone. Great—we’ve both moved on.
She stared at the words until they swam, fury rising like bile in her throat.
He hadn’t even waited for her to respond. Hadn’t bothered to call. Just posted the photo like a public execution, like she was yesterday’s news to be discarded in front of the world.
Her chest burned. Not with sadness. With fury. White-hot, choking fury.
She locked the phone. Shoved it back into her pocket. No one in hospitality noticed her standing there, frozen, breathing too fast. She forced her expression smooth, walked out like nothing had happened.
Jax found her later in the corridor outside the team area, still in his race suit, hair damp from the post-race debrief.
“Hey,” he said, slowing when he saw her face. “You disappeared after the race.”
She managed a tight smile. “Just needed air. Congrats on P4. Solid drive.”
He studied her. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she lied. “Just tired.”
He didn’t push. Just nodded. “Party’s starting soon. You coming?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”
◆◆◆
The after-party was quieter than Vegas—hotel rooftop, low music, team members and a few sponsors.
Aria stayed close to Jax, but she was distracted.
Steaming. Drinking faster than usual. Laughing too loud at things that weren’t funny.
Jax kept an eye on her, trying to read the anger rolling off her in waves.
They left early.
She walked beside him down the corridor in silence. When they reached their rooms—adjacent suites—she stopped outside hers.
“Goodnight,” she said, voice tight.
Aria shut the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard. The room was cool, dark except for the low glow of the bedside lamp. She dropped her clutch on the dresser, kicked off her heels.
She crossed to the mirror. Stared at her reflection—silver dress clinging to her curves, hair slightly mussed from the night, cheeks still flushed from the alcohol and the anger and something else.
Her phone sat on the dresser like a grenade.
She picked it up. Opened Instagram again. Min-Jae’s post stared back at her. Him and the actress—smiling, close, happy.
The anger came fast—white-hot, choking. It burned in her chest, her throat, low in her belly. She felt humiliated. Used. Discarded.
And underneath it all—hot. Restless. The gin hadn’t dulled it; it had sharpened it.
She closed her eyes.
The memory of the Vegas kiss crashed over her like a wave.
Jax’s mouth on hers—firm, then hungry. His tongue stroking deep.
The way he’d pulled her in until there was no space left, until she could feel every hard inch of him pressing against her.
The growl in his throat when she tugged at his shirt.
The way her body had responded—liquid heat pooling low, thighs clenching, nipples tightening under her dress.
She’d been wet then. She was wet now.
Her breath hitched.
She wanted to make Min-Jae pay. Wanted to erase the sting of his casual cruelty with something reckless, something that would feel good. Something that would make her feel wanted. Desired. In control.
She knew exactly what would do it.
She changed quickly, stepped out of her room barefoot, crossed the corridor in three strides, and knocked on Jax’s door.
He opened it almost immediately—changed into boxers, hair damp from a quick shower, expression shifting from surprise to concern.
“Aria? You okay?”
She didn’t answer.
She stepped inside. Pushed the door shut behind her.
He reached for the minibar. “Want a drink? You look like—”
She let her robe drop completely.
It hit the carpet with a soft whisper.
She stood naked in front of him—skin glowing under the low lamp light, curves soft and shadowed, nipples tight, thighs pressed together against the insistent ache between them.
Jax froze. Glass halfway to the counter. Eyes dark, pupils blown wide.
She met his gaze. Voice low. Steady.
“Not at the moment,” she said. “But you’re going to make me feel better soon.”
He exhaled roughly, set the glass down.
The door was already closed.
He crossed the room in two strides.