Chapter Eleven
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Aria
The first thing she registered was the weight of his arm slung across her waist—solid, warm, possessive even in sleep.
His breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck in slow, even puffs.
The sheets were tangled around their legs, still carrying the musky, intimate scent of last night: sweat, sex, the faint cedar of his shower gel clinging to her skin like a brand.
Her eyes snapped open.
Sunlight cut through the narrow gap in the blackout curtains, a thin blade of gold slicing across the pillow. Qatar morning light—already too bright, too accusing.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
What the actual fuck had she done?
She lay perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid the smallest shift would wake him and force her to face what she’d started.
Last night played in merciless detail behind her closed lids: the silk robe pooling at her feet, the way his pupils had blown wide when he saw her naked.
His hands lifting her like she was weightless, her legs locking around his waist as she ground against the hard length of him through his boxers.
The endless, devastating slide of his tongue—slow circles, soft flicks, long deliberate licks that had her thighs shaking and her fingers twisting in his hair.
The stretch when he finally pushed inside her, the burn giving way to fullness so perfect it stole her breath.
The way she’d come—twice—clenching around him like her body had been waiting years for exactly that.
She’d never felt anything like it.
And that terrified her.
Because she still loved Min-Jae.
She did. She had to. They’d been together since she was nineteen—six years of firsts, of promises, of building a life around each other.
He was all she’d ever known. No one else had ever touched her.
No one else had ever made her feel safe, wanted, understood.
The curated Instagram posts, the staged affection with Jax, the entire performance—it had all been built on the certainty that Min-Jae would see her thriving, see her desired, and realize what he’d thrown away.
That he’d come back. That they’d fix it.
That she’d never have to learn how to be without him.
Then that photo had appeared on her feed right as Jax crossed the finish line.
Min-Jae’s arm around the actress’s waist. Her head on his shoulder.
She’d wanted revenge. She’d wanted to feel wanted. She’d wanted to erase the humiliation with something reckless and consuming.
So she’d gone to Jax.
Used him.
The shame rolled through her in hot, suffocating waves. She pressed her lips together to keep from making a sound.
How was she supposed to look Min-Jae in the eye now?
How was she supposed to meet him in Seoul, sit across from him, and pretend she hadn’t betrayed everything they’d built?
He’d given her his firsts too. His trust. His future.
And she’d thrown it away for one night of anger-fuelled pleasure with a man who wasn’t him.
Worse—she couldn’t stop thinking about how good it had felt. How Jax had taken his time, how he’d made her come undone in ways Min-Jae never had. Min-Jae had been gentle, careful, loving—but never like this. Never relentless. Never so focused on her pleasure that she forgot her own name.
She felt disloyal. Dirty. Like she’d crossed a line she could never uncross.
Jax stirred. His arm tightened reflexively, pulling her closer for a sleepy second before loosening again.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick and gravel-rough. He nuzzled the curve of her shoulder, lips brushing skin in a lazy, contented kiss. “You want breakfast? Room service does those ridiculous French toast things you like. With the berries and the stupid amount of whipped cream.”
Her throat closed so fast it hurt.
She forced a small, brittle laugh. “I… can’t. I’ve got an early call with the studio. Online meeting. They want a full progress update on the album. Like, now.”
He lifted his head just enough to squint at her through one eye. “It’s barely seven.”
“Time zones,” she said quickly. “Seoul’s ahead. They’re already in the office.” The lie tasted sour.
She slipped out from under his arm before he could argue, the cool air hitting her bare skin like a reprimand. She scooped the robe from the carpet—crumpled, smelling faintly of last night—and shoved her arms into it, tying the belt with fingers that refused to cooperate.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” She kept her back to him. Couldn’t look at his face. Couldn’t risk seeing confusion, or worse—hurt.
The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
Her own room felt colder. Sterile. The bed untouched, sheets still crisp.
She locked the door. Leaned against it for a long second, breathing too fast.
Then she tore the robe off again—threw it across the room—and walked straight into the bathroom.
The shower came on scalding. She stepped under it without waiting for the temperature to adjust, gasping as the heat hit her skin.
She stood there, arms wrapped tight around her middle, letting the water pound against her shoulders until her skin flushed red.
She couldn’t believe she’d ruined everything.
Their arrangement had been clean. Professional. Mutually beneficial. Fake touches for the cameras, no strings, no complications. Now she’d crossed every line. Turned him into a tool to soothe her bruised ego. Used his body to make herself feel powerful for five minutes.
And god help her—she’d loved every second of it.
The memories kept coming, uninvited and vivid: the low growl in his throat when she rocked against him.
The way his tongue had worked her so patiently, so thoroughly, never rushing, never letting her come down until she was shaking and pleading.
The slow, deliberate thrust of him inside her, the way he’d watched her face the whole time.
The second orgasm that had torn through her like lightning—harder, deeper, leaving her boneless and stunned.
Heat bloomed low in her belly again. Her thighs clenched.
She pressed her forehead to the tile. No. Stop.
The shame surged back twice as strong.
She thought of Mia and Dana—the way they’d welcomed her into their circle without question. The way they’d included her in drinks and laughter like she belonged. They’d trusted her with Jax. Trusted her to be good for him. Trusted her to be real.
And she’d lied to them. Used their friend. Turned their genuine friendship into collateral damage in her private war with Min-Jae.
How was she supposed to face them now?
She didn’t know what to do.
She only knew she couldn’t stay under this shower forever pretending the water could wash any of it away.
◆◆◆
Jax
Jax stayed on his back after the door closed, one arm flung over his eyes, the other resting low on his stomach.
The room still smelled like her.
Sweet perfume, sex, the faint salt of sweat on skin. The sheets were wrecked—twisted, carrying every evidence of what they’d done.
He was hard again just thinking about it.
Her small, tight body when the robe hit the floor—curves glowing in the low lamplight, nipples already peaked, thighs pressed together like she was trying to hide how wet she was.
The frantic way she’d rocked against him, legs locked around his waist, chasing friction with desperate little rolls of her hips.
The sounds she’d made when his tongue finally pushed her over—sharp, surprised, almost disbelieving.
The way she’d clenched around him the second time, walls fluttering, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks he could still feel stinging faintly now.
He smiled to himself—slow, satisfied, a little smug.
His hand drifted lower. Wrapped around his cock. Lazy, unhurried strokes. Not trying to finish. Just savouring.
Maybe she’d come back. Maybe she’d knock again in an hour, robe half-open, eyes dark with the same reckless hunger. He didn’t want to be spent if she did.
He reached for his phone instead. Unlocked it. Scrolled Instagram on autopilot.
Her stories—still nothing new.
Then the algorithm served him Min-Jae’s latest post.
The photo loaded in full colour.
Min-Jae and Ji-Yeon Park—tall, elegant, both smiling at some rooftop bar with Seoul glittering behind them. His arm snug around her waist. Her head tilted toward his shoulder like it belonged there.
Caption: New chapter. Grateful for new beginnings.
Posted yesterday, 16:47 Qatar time.
Jax’s thumb froze mid-scroll.
The race had finished at 17:22.
Aria hadn’t been in the garage when he climbed out of the car. She’d been missing from the barriers, missing from hospitality. When she finally reappeared in the corridor she’d been tight-lipped, eyes glassy, anger rolling off her in waves he couldn’t place at the time.
She’d drunk faster than usual at the after-party. Laughed too loud. Stayed close to him but felt miles away.
Then she’d knocked on his door.
Naked under the robe.
The realization landed like a cold fist in his gut.
It hadn’t been about him. Not really.
It had been about Min-Jae. About making him jealous. About proving something to a man who’d already moved on.
A revenge fuck.
Nothing more.
The lazy satisfaction in his chest twisted into something sharper—anger, yes, but underneath it a raw, unexpected hurt that caught him off guard.
He stared at the photo another second. Ji-Yeon’s perfect smile. Min-Jae’s easy confidence.
Then he dropped the phone onto the mattress like it burned.
If that was how she wanted to play it—using him as a weapon to hurt her ex—then fine.
He knew the score now.
He wasn’t going to be anyone’s rebound. Not even hers.
But he also wasn’t going to let her walk away clean.
Not after the way she’d come apart under him. Not after the way she’d said his name like it was the only word she remembered.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Shower first. Cold one.
Then he’d figure out how to handle the rest.
Because this arrangement?
It wasn’t fake anymore.
And the playing field had just changed.