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 lotteryhimself. 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 thebedside 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.
