The main party carried on past midnight—louder, looser, more people filtering in and out—but around 1 a.m., when the energy finally started to thin and the DJ turned the volume down, Lucas caught Jax’s eye and jerked his head toward the exit. Mia was already beside him, slipping her hand into his.
“Rooftop pool,” Lucas said quietly. “Just us. Champagne. No cameras. You two in?”
Jax glanced at Aria.
She should have said no. Should have cited jet lag, vocal rest, early flight tomorrow.
Instead she heard herself say, “Sure.”
The rooftop terrace felt suspended between earth and sky—warm desert air carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the hotel gardens below, the infinity pool glowing an electric turquoise that bled into the black horizon. Stars glittered overhead like scattered diamonds, sharp and close enough to touch. A low table between the loungers held an ice bucket sweating gently, champagne flutes catching the pool light in tiny, liquid sparks every time someone lifted one.
Lucas was already half-reclined on the widest lounger, long legs stretched out, one arm draped lazily around Mia’s shoulders as she curled against his side. His race suit was long gone; now he wore only a loose white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top few buttons undone. He looked loose-limbed andtriumphant, the kind of relaxed that only comes after clinching a second world championship.
He was mid-story, voice carrying that easy drawl he fell into when the adrenaline finally ebbed.
“…so there I am, watching Jax come out of the tunnel in Monaco—full send, like always—and the rear tyres just let go. Bang. Spins across the track, kisses the barriers, sparks everywhere. I’m thinking, ‘That’s it, he’s in the wall for good.’ But no. He somehow keeps it out of the Armco, limps the car back around, crosses the line P10. P10! From dead last to points on a street circuit. I nearly had a heart attack in the garage.”
Jax snorted from the lounger opposite, champagne glass balanced on his knee.
Mia rolled her eyes dramatically, nudging Lucas in the ribs. “Don’t listen to him, Aria. Lucas was ten times worse back then. Hostile doesn’t even cover it. He growled at mechanics like they’d personally offended his bloodline. Gave reporters the death stare until they stopped asking questions. Barely spoke to his own teammates unless it was to tell them to get out of his way.”
Lucas tilted his head toward her, mock-offended. “I was focused.”
“You were a prick,” Mia said cheerfully, sipping her champagne. “A very talented prick, but still. Remember Silverstone? You wouldn’t even look at the data engineer who’d stayed up all night fixing your setup. Just grunted and walked off.”
Lucas laughed—low, unrepentant. “He fixed it, didn’t he?”
“Barely.” Mia leaned forward, conspiratorial, stage-whispering toward Aria and Jax. “The whole garage had a secret betting pool on how long it would take before someone punched him.”
The stories flowed easily after that—Champagne loosening tongues, the warm night wrapping around them like a blanket. Lucas recounted the Gold Coast surf lesson disaster in vivid detail: Jax on a borrowed longboard, overconfident, wiping out spectacularly on a head-high wave, board catching him square across the face. Black eye for a week. “Looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a kangaroo,” Lucas said, miming a boxer’s stance. “And still tried to play it off like it was nothing. ‘It’s fine, just a love tap from the ocean.’”
Jax shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re never letting that one die, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Mia’s laughter rang clear across the terrace, bright and unguarded. She glanced at Aria, eyes soft with something like affection. “See? They’ve always been like this. Brothers who pretend they hate each other.”
Aria smiled—small at first, then wider—feeling the knot in her chest loosen just a fraction. The stories painted Jax in new colours: reckless, stubborn, quietly determined. Not the polished driver she saw on track, not the careful fake boyfriend she’d been performing with for months. Just… Jax.
The champagne was cold against her lips, the stars endless above, and for a few minutes the weight of Min-Jae, the guilt, the complicated mess she’d made—faded to background noise.
She let herself listen.
Let herself laugh.
Let herself pretend, just for tonight, that this was real.
Lucas grinned, tugged Mia into his lap. “Okay, well, I need to take this one to bed if you know what I mean.”
He kissed her—deep, unhurried, like the rest of the world had fallen away.
Then they were gone, leaving Jax and Aria alone on the loungers, the night suddenly quieter.
Silence settled, comfortable but charged.
She stared up at the stars—so many, so clear. “How did they… figure it out? Mia and Lucas.”
Jax exhaled. Took a slow sip of champagne. “Took them forever. Lucas was a prick for years—closed off, angry at everything, convinced he didn’t need anyone. Mia just… kept showing up. Being kind. Being real. Eventually he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Took a lot. A lot of almost-walking-away. But they got there.”
