Chapter Twelve
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Jax
The next couple of days were a masterclass in avoidance.
Aria vanished into her suite. Studio meetings, emergency vocal coaching sessions, last-minute tour negotiations. She answered his texts with single words—“Busy.” “Later.” “Okay.”—or sometimes just a heart emoji that felt more like punctuation than affection.
He didn’t chase her.
He didn’t need to.
He let the silence grow.
Abu Dhabi arrived like a deadline.
Private jet. Just the two of them, a discreet flight attendant who disappeared into the galley after take-off, and enough unresolved tension to make the cabin air feel thick.
She boarded last—oversized hoodie swallowing her small frame, oversized sunglasses hiding half her face, AirPods in like armour. She chose the seat across the aisle from him, buckled in without a word, and turned her body toward the window. The desert unrolled below them in endless gold and shadow.
Jax waited.
He waited until the seatbelt sign dinged off, until the cabin lights dimmed to a soft amber, until the steady drone of the engines swallowed every other sound.
“Aria.”
She flinched—small, almost imperceptible—but didn’t turn.
“I know why you came to my room the other night.”
Her shoulders locked. After a long beat she finally looked at him. Sunglasses pushed up into her hair now. Eyes wary, cheeks already blooming with colour under the low light.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry to the galley.
“Min-Jae’s post. The timing lines up perfectly. You saw it right as I crossed the line.” He paused, letting the engine hum fill the space between them. “You wanted to feel something—anything—else. I get it.”
She swallowed so hard he saw the ripple in her throat. “Jax, I—”
“I’m not mad.” The words came out steadier than the ache twisting under his ribs. Hurt lingered, sharp and quiet, but the flash of anger had burned down to something clearer, heavier. “I’m fine. Really.”
She searched his face—eyes flicking over his mouth, his jaw, waiting for the crack, the accusation, the thing that would let her run.
He didn’t give her that.
“Do you still want him back?”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. Delicate fingers found the drawstring of her hoodie and twisted it slowly, methodically, until the fabric bunched and the cord turned white under her knuckles.
“He’s… he’s all I’ve ever known,” she said, voice barely above the low rumble of the engines.
“Since I was nineteen. He was there when the label said my voice wasn’t strong enough for lead.
When the group fell apart and we all had to smile for the goodbye photos like nothing hurt.
When I launched solo and spent every night convinced one bad headline would end me.
When my parents announced the divorce and I had to answer questions about ‘family values’ with a straight face while my chest felt like it was caving in.
” She exhaled, small and shaky. “We’ve fought.
Broken up twice—once for three months, once for six weeks.
Screamed in hotel corridors. Blocked each other.
But we always… found our way back. I’ve loved him so long it feels like part of me. I don’t know how to just… take it out.”
Jax nodded once. Slow. Let the weight of it settle between them like dust after a storm.
Then he asked the question that had kept him staring at the hotel ceiling until dawn.
“What did the other night mean to you?”
She exhaled—shaky, almost a laugh with no humour in it. Her fingers stilled on the drawstring.
“At first… revenge.” The word came out quiet, guilty.
“I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt me. I wanted to feel wanted. Desired. Like someone actually saw me and couldn’t wait to touch me.
Like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
” She finally looked up, eyes raw, shining a little too bright.
“I just wanted… to feel taken. Completely. For once. And then I wanted to forget his name while someone else said mine.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed her lips together hard, cheeks flushing deep pink.
She swallowed hard, cheeks burning, staring at a spot between them instead of meeting his eyes.
“I… I lied to you about why I was there.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I feel sick about it. Every time I remember standing outside your door, knowing exactly what I was planning to do… I just want to vanish. Like, crawl under the bed and never come out.”
She dragged in a shaky breath, fingers twisting the edge of the sheet. “But I also…”
She faltered, cheeks going from pink to scarlet.
“I really… enjoyed it. More than I thought I would. Way more than—than anything before.” She risked a quick glance at him, then looked away again fast. “You… you looked at me like I was enough. Just… me. Not like I had to perform or fix something or be someone else. You took your time. You actually listened when I made a little sound, like it mattered. And you… you made me feel good. Like, really good. The kind of good I’ve never…
I didn’t even know it could happen like that.
And then you did it again. And… again.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
She hugged her knees to her chest, hiding half her face behind them.
“I didn’t have to fake anything. I didn’t have to think about him, or what I was supposed to do, or…
anything. It just happened. And that—” She let out a small, shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“That scares me so much, Jax. Because if it can feel like that with you… what have I been letting myself accept all these years? What have I been missing?”
She finally looked at him—eyes wide, glistening, equal parts mortified and honest. “I’m not… I’m not good at this. Talking about it. I’ve never really… had anyone make me feel like that before. So I don’t know what to do with it now.”
The confession hung there, heavy and honest.
He let it sit. Didn’t rush to fix it.
Then he leaned back in his seat, giving her room.
“Here’s the deal.”
She waited, breath held, cheeks still flushed.
“If you really want Min-Jae back, I’ll keep playing the fake boyfriend. We up the ante—more hands on your waist in the paddock, more late-night stories with your head on my shoulder, more everything. We make it so convincing he can’t scroll without it stinging.”
Her brows lifted slowly.
“But we add benefits.”
She blinked.
“The other night was good for me too,” he said, keeping his tone deliberately easy, almost lazy, though his pulse still hammered from her words.
“Been a long fucking stretch of holding it together for cameras and sponsors while everyone else gets to let go. I’m not looking for your heart.
I’m not trying to be the next guy you circle back to.
I just want… more of that. Your skin. Your sounds.
The way you shake when you’re close and can’t hide it.
No strings. Just a physical outlet. You get to learn whatever you want—take it back to him when you patch things up. Everyone gets something.”
She shifted in her seat. Cheeks went from pink to deep rose. Her thighs pressed together—so subtly he might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching.
“Like what?” she asked, voice small, almost lost in the engine noise.
He let a slow, knowing smile curl his mouth—the one that usually got him out of (or into) trouble.
“I definitely haven’t shown you all my tricks yet.
There’s the way I can make you come just with my mouth until your legs won’t hold you.
The way I can pin your wrists and fuck you slow enough to make you beg.
The way I can flip you over, pull your hips back, and go so deep you forget how to breathe for a second. Pick one. Or all of them. Your call.”
Her breath hitched—clear even over the engines. She looked away fast, out the window at the darkening sky, but he caught the quick rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted like she was tasting the idea.
“I’ll… think about it,” she said finally. Voice barely there.
He nodded. “Take your time.”
They didn’t speak again until the wheels kissed the runway in Abu Dhabi.
Even then, the silence between them felt different—thicker, warmer, alive with everything still unsaid.
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Aria
The Yas Marina circuit glittered under floodlights like a floating jewel.
Lucas crossed the line first—second world championship sealed in a blaze of champagne and confetti.
The Ashworth garage erupted: screams, hugs, back-slaps, Marcus lifting Lucas off the ground like he weighed nothing.
Jax climbed out of his car in third—steady, consistent, the kind of drive that kept sponsors smiling and seats secure.
Aria stood at the back of the chaos, clapping until her palms stung, smiling until her cheeks ached, trying to look like she belonged in this world of carbon fibre and adrenaline.
The team party kicked off almost immediately in the hospitality suite—music thumping, champagne flowing, mechanics and engineers mixing with sponsors and a handful of friends from other garages.
Lucas was at the centre of it all, still in his race suit unzipped to the waist, hair damp with sweat and spray.
Jax found Aria near the edge of the crowd, slipping his arm around her waist as he leaned in close enough for only her to hear.
“Come with me?” he murmured, giving her a small, reassuring squeeze.
She nodded, letting him guide her forward through the bodies until they were near the front, where Lucas stood accepting congratulations.
When someone handed Lucas a fresh bottle of champagne and called for a toast, the room quieted just enough. Jax kept his arm loosely around Aria’s waist—thumb brushing her side in that absent, steady way he did when cameras were around—then raised his bottle with the other hand.