He didn’t call her. He couldn’t. She’d gone back to Min-Jae. Of course she had. That had always been the plan, hadn’t it? The whole arrangement — the "relationship", the trackside appearances, the nights in hotel beds — was supposed to make Min-Jae jealous enough to come crawling back. And now he had.
Jax felt the last thread of hope he’d been clinging to snap. Nan was dying. Aria was gone. And he was alone with both truths, miles from anyone who might understand.
He just sat in the silence and let it crush him.
???
Aria
Aria had rushed back to her apartment just in time for the race start, settling in with the TV on, heart racing as the lights went out at Silverstone. She'd been in the studio all Sunday—pushing to wrap the track before watching Jax, hoping to surprise him with the finished file after his podium. But now, with the missed calls lingering in her mind, the race felt heavier. She kept her phone close, glancing at it between laps.
He'd tried her so many times before the race. Something must be wrong. She'd called back, texted, but got nothing—voicemail, no replies. He was probably deep in prep, she told herself. He'd call after.
The race blurred by—Jax holding strong, defending like a wall, crossing in P3. She cheered alone in her living room, pride swelling despite the worry. As the podium celebrations wrapped, she tried him again. Voicemail.
He'll call after media,she thought.He's busy.
She waited—pacing, refreshing socials absentmindedly. No call.
Confused, she tried again. Still nothing. Why wasn't he picking up? The race was over; media couldn't takethislong.
She opened her socials fully—scrolling through notifications, race highlights popping up. Then she saw it: the photo from Min-Jae, trending now, tagged in fan posts speculating about her and Jax.Just like old times. Heart emoji
Her stomach twisted.
Oh god.That was why he'd called so frantically earlier. He'd seen it. And with her phone dead during the session, she hadn't explained.
She texted again:Jax, please pick up. We should talk.
No read receipt. No response.
She kept trying—calls going to voicemail, more texts:Call me when you can.
Worry gnawed at her. Why hadn't he called back? Had he gotten the wrong idea? Was something else going on?
She sat there—phone in hand, the post-race coverage droning in the background—heart pounding as the silence stretched into the early hours.
Finally—after what felt like an eternity—her phone rang.
His name on the screen.
She answered on the first ring. “Jax—”
“Let me explain,” she started, voice trembling. “The photo—”
A long silence on the other end.
Then his voice—low, flat, exhausted. “It’s okay.”
Her heart stuttered. “No—it’s not okay. I need you to—”
“I’m glad things worked out for you,” he said quietly, cutting through her words. “With Min-Jae. Really. I always knew that was the endgame.”
“Jax, no—”
He kept going—gentle, but final. “I’ve been thinking… maybe this has run its course. You got what you needed. I got what I needed. The team feels I’m on a good trajectory now—consistent podiums, points lead in hand. The pressure of keeping up this… fake thing… probably isn’t needed anymore.”
The wordfakelanded like a slap.
