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?”
