Min-Jae had been comfort in the storm. He had been exactly what she needed at nineteen—when she was lost, grieving her group, her family, her own identity. He had held her gently. His kisses had been soft, his touches reassuring. He had never madeher pulse race or her skin burn. He had never left her breathless and aching in the best possible way.
Jax had.
Jax was fire.
The memory of Jax’s hands sliding low on her waist at sponsor events, thumb tracing slow circles that sent heat rushing straight between her legs. The way he’d kiss her like he was starving—deep, urgent, teeth grazing her bottom lip until she gasped into his mouth. Nights when the “fake” label had dissolved and he’d pressed her against a hotel door, body hard and insistent against hers, hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave faint marks she’d traced alone later with trembling fingers. The low growl in his voice when he said her name like a command. The way her body had responded instantly—alive, urgent, craving more. With Jax desire wasn’t quiet comfort; it was a blaze that left her trembling and wanting even after he was gone.
Min-Jae had been nice. Jax was necessary.
Min-Jae had been the crutch she’d needed when she was too young and too broken to stand alone. Jax was the man who made her want to run beside him—fast, fearless, heart pounding.
She had loved Min-Jae. Truly. But it had never been the kind of love that rearranged her entire soul. It had been gratitude wrapped in affection. Safety. Not fire.
“Aria-ya?” Her mum’s voice pulled her gently back. “You went quiet. Tell me about this other man. The F1 driver? I saw the pictures… the way he looked at you.”
Aria swallowed hard. “Jax. It’s different. Scarier. Bigger. Every time he touched me I felt it everywhere—like my body remembered him even when he was gone. With Min-Jae it was safe. He was good to me when I was falling apart. But Jax… hesets me on fire. And now he thinks I went back to Min-Jae. He let me go. Politely. Like it was always supposed to end.”
Her mum was quiet for a long moment—processing. Then she sighed, the sound full of a mother’s love and worry and years of watching her daughter chase dreams across oceans.
“Aria-ya… do you love this man?”
“Yes.” The word came out raw. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”
“Then listen to Eomma. Min-Jae was steady. He understood your world when you needed that most. A mother likes to see her daughter with someone kind, no extra hardship. But love isn’t always calm and safe, my girl. Sometimes it’s fire. And fire can burn, yes—but it can also keep you warm when the whole world feels cold. You’ve worked so hard since you were sixteen—no childhood, always smiling for cameras, always giving to everyone else. Eomma knows. Don’t settle for safe just because it’s familiar. If this Jax makes your heart race…..don’t let a misunderstanding take that away. Call him. Go to him. Tell him the truth: your heart chose him. Tell him that you’re not running back to anyone. A good man will listen. And if he doesn’t… you keep going. You’re strong enough. But Eomma wants you truly happy. Not just okay. Not alone.”
A small, watery laugh escaped Aria. “What if it’s too late?”
“Then you’ll know,” her mum said firmly, softly. “And you’ll come visit soon so I can cook for you properly—make sure you’re not too thin from all this worry. Eat something warm tonight. Sleep. And try. For your heart.”
They talked a little longer—about the LA garden tomatoes her mum was growing, the neighbour’s noisy dog, small ordinary things that felt like home. When they finally hung up, the apartment no longer felt quite so empty.
Aria stood slowly, walked to the window. The city lights blurred through the glass. She thought of Jax—sweat-slick after a race, that rare real smile he saved only for her, the way his hands had known exactly how to unravel her.
She opened a new message to him. The cursor blinked.
Not tonight.
But the words were already forming inside her.
Because her mum was right.
Some fires were worth chasing—no matter how fast they burned.
???
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jax
The season had narrowed to three punishing, dazzling races.
Las Vegas felt like stepping into a fever dream. Neon bled across the Strip, turning night into endless day, and the car responded like an extension of his body—alive, precise, hungry. He seized the lead early, carved through traffic with ruthless attacking, and crossed the line first. Fireworks shattered overhead. The team swarmed parc fermé in a wave of shouts and back-slaps; Marcus’s voice cracked over the radio, thick with pride: “P1. Title’s yours to lose now, lad.”
Lucas finished P4—steady, protective as always—and gripped Jax’s shoulder in the cooldown room. “You’re doing it, mate. But you look like you’re carrying the whole damn world on your shoulders.”
Jax managed a tight shrug. “It’s close now. Pressure’s on.”
Lucas studied him for a beat, then let it go. For the moment.
