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Aria
Her penthouse in Gangnam smelled faintly of hairspray and jasmine. Aria sat at the vanity, stylists hovering—one pinning the final curl, another touching up her smoky liner. The silver gown clung like liquid mercury, low back dipping to the small of her spine, high slit flashing leg with every shift. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and ears.
She looked polished. Beautiful. Ready.
Inside, nerves twisted tighter than usual. Min-Jae would almost certainly be there tonight—his new single had dropped, and the event was prime visibility. She hadn’t seen him since the breakup texts. The thought of crossing paths made her stomach knot, but the unease felt different now, layered with something quieter she couldn’t quite name.
While the stylists worked, she kept her lyric notebook open on the vanity, pen moving across the page in small, deliberate strokes. She was rewriting the bridge again—the same one she’d first touched up the morning after the London gala.
She smiled faintly at the memory. She’d woken tangled in hotel sheets, city light striping the bed, and found Jax still asleep beside her. Hair messy, lashes dark against his cheeks, one arm flung across the pillow like he’d reached for her even in dreams. She’d lain there watching him, chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the arrangement, and the words had simply changed under her pen. A line that once ached with absence had become something steadier, more intimate—about the quiet safety of someone who showed up, who stayed.
Now, weeks later, the shift had only grown clearer. The verses she kept revising carried warmth instead of bitterness, presence instead of loss. They felt like Jax. The way he made her feel seen. The way her body responded to him.
She thought about the first time they’d fucked—how completely he’d blown her away. The intensity of it, the way he’d drawn pleasure from her like he’d studied every inch of her just to watch her fall apart. She’d never felt so undone, so powerfully wanted. And then London… riding him in the dark, city lights painting his skin, seeing his control fracture beneath her, his hands gripping her hips like he was the one losing his mind. Thatmoment had shifted something deep inside her. She had felt powerful in her own body for the first time in years—confident, desired, in control. She wanted more of that feeling. More of him.
The pen paused.
Was that why the thought of seeing Min-Jae tonight unsettled her so much? Not because she was afraid of old feelings rushing back, but because she wasn’t sure she was still the girl who had once been shattered by him. That girl had needed to win him back to feel whole. This version of her—the one who laughed uncontrollably at ridiculous late night memes, who rewrote songs with someone else’s steady heartbeat in her chest—felt like she might already be moving on.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to be that girl anymore.
And she definitely wasn’t sure what it meant if seeing Min-Jae tonight only confirmed it.
The realization settled low and warm and terrifying all at once. She closed the notebook with a soft snap, telling herself the changes were just the music evolving. Nothing she had to name tonight.
Lena appeared in the mirror. “Car’s downstairs. Five minutes.”
Aria nodded, stood, and smoothed the silver fabric. The elevator ride was silent. When the doors opened into the lobby, she stepped out—and froze.
Jax stood near the entrance, tall and impossibly handsome in a midnight tux, hair still a little messy from travel, hands in his pockets. Dark circles under his eyes, but that slow, devastating grin spread across his face the second he saw her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She crossed the marble floor quickly and threw her arms around his neck. He caught her, lifted her just off the ground, and kissed her—deep, hungry, like he’d been starving for it the entire flight.
“You’re here,” she whispered against his mouth, voice cracking.
“Couldn’t miss it,” he murmured back, setting her down but keeping her close. “Red-eye from Bahrain. Barely slept.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him—eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “You look exhausted.”
“I look like I just flew fourteen hours to see you in that dress. Which is exactly what I did.”
She laughed—shaky, relieved—and kissed him again, slower this time, fingers threading into his hair.
They slid into the back of the waiting car. The moment the door closed, Jax hit the button for the privacy screen. It rose smoothly, sealing them in.
He looked at her—really looked—taking in the silver gown, the way it caught the passing streetlights, the nervous energy still humming under her skin.
“You’re tense,” he said quietly.
She exhaled. “Just nerves. Big night. Cameras. Everything.”
He studied her for a beat.
Then he smiled—slow, wicked.
