Not her type. Not even close.
“Thank you. That’s kind,” she said politely, keeping her tone neutral, sunglasses still shielding her eyes.
His grin softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shifted his weight, helmet dangling from one hand. “Nah, just honest. You make the whole night sound better before the cars even start. Turns this concrete jungle into something almost poetic.” He tilted his head, casual but observant, like he was reading the airaround her. “You okay though? You look like you’re a million miles away. Is the jet lag hitting hard?”
The question caught her off guard—perceptive, almost kind. She gave a small, polite smile—distracted, already drifting mentally back to her set list, to Min-Jae's silence. “Long flight. Yeah.”
“Fair enough. Singapore’s a long way from anywhere—feels like the edge of the world sometimes.” He stepped half a pace closer—not crowding, just easy, like closing the gap in a conversation. His cologne cut through the fuel smell faintly—something fresh and woody. “If you ever want a ride—on track I mean, not just watching from the side—let me know. Passenger laps are a rush. Might shake off that jet lag.”
She nodded once, noncommittal. “Sure thing.”
“Good luck with the show tonight,” he added, grin easy again, flashing white teeth. “I’ll be listening—assuming I survive the first corner intact.”
“Thanks,” she said softly, a hint of amusement creeping in despite herself. “Good luck with the race. Stay out of the walls.”
She turned and headed off toward the artist area to get ready for the concert, heels clicking steadily against the asphalt, not looking back. The interaction lingered, though—a spark of normalcy in her storm. Jax's easy charm was a contrast to Eddie's polished flirtation, Lucas's distracted politeness. But she pushed it aside. Focus on the performance. The music. That's what would get her through.
???
Jax
Jax watched her walk away—small, sleek, black silk catching every floodlight like liquid shadow, swaying with each step. She was tiny, barely coming to his chest even in those heels. She had a small, heart-shaped face that made her look younger than her years, with a soft jaw that tapered gently. Her skin was soft and silky, glowing under the artificial lights, dark hair falling in loose waves down her back.She had curves that made a man take notice, the dress hugging them just right without trying too hard.
For a split second, he pictured it—picking her up easily with one arm, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, back pressed against the cool metal of the garage wall, breath catching as he moved in close, her sunglasses pushed up to reveal those dark eyes.
The thought flashed hot and quick, unbidden, stirring something low in his gut.
Then it was gone, shoved aside as reality crashed back.
He took a long breath of the humid night air, thick with anticipation, eyes shifting back to his car. The scarlet Ashworth machine gleamed under the lights, engineers swarming around it for last-minute checks. The race was coming. Lights out in minutes. That was what mattered—the strategy brief from earlier replaying in his head: push hard on the start, manage tires through the heat, watch for safety cars on this unforgiving track.
Still… he wouldn’t mind seeing her perform later. That sexy little body moving on stage, voice cutting through the night with the kind of power that could rival an engine's roar. Yeah. That’d be worth watching, a perfect cap to the adrenaline high of the race.
He grinned to himself, the earlier meeting with Marcus fading just a bit, pulled his helmet on, and climbed into the cockpit. The seat molded to him like a second skin, controls at his fingertips.
Focus.
Race first.
Show later.
???
Chapter Three
Aria
The crowd roar still echoed in her ears as Aria slipped backstage — the fans screaming her name in waves that crashed against the Marina Bay skyline, the bass still vibrating through her bones like a second pulse, the lights so bright they’d left persistent spots dancing behind her eyelids even in the dim corridor.
She’d killed it.
The sequined bodysuit — black, cut high on the hips, glittering like shattered glass under the stage floods — had moved with her like a second skin, every roll of her hips, every deliberate grind, every drop low and rise drawing fresh screams from the audience. Thigh-high boots had clicked across the polished stage as she commanded the space, voice soaring clear and powerful over the humid night air, cutting through the distant hum of the city below. The crowd had lost their minds — phones aloft, bodies swaying, that electric moment when the music took over completely and the heartbreak didn’t exist, even for a second.
But now the high was fading fast, the adrenaline draining away like water through fingers, leaving her hollowed out and raw.
She pushed into her private dressing room, the heavy door clicking shut behind her with a finality that muffled the distant cheers to a dull throb. The sequins caught the soft vanity lights as she sank onto the padded stool, peeling off the boots one by one, toes flexing in relief against the cool floor. Sweat clung to her skin — Singapore’s relentless humidity plus the furnace of stage lights had left her glistening, the bodysuit sticking uncomfortably in places. She reached for her phone on the vanity, screen lighting up her face in the mirror.
No new messages.
