Qatar arrived like a furnace. The desert heat turned the cockpit into an oven; tires degraded faster than anyone had modelled. He nursed them through every stint, pushed only when the window opened, and brought the car home P2. Lucas took P5—consistent, no mistakes. The points gap stretched so wide that only a DNF could cost him the title. The championship was his to lose.
All that was left was the physical trophy. The moment he could lift it overhead and look straight at Nan and say the words he’d carried for months:I did it. For you.
After the Qatar race, the team gathered in the hotel bar overlooking the glowing Lusail circuit lights. It wasn’t a wild celebration—Abu Dhabi still waited—but there was champagne, quiet toasts, laughter that echoed off the glass walls. Jax found a stool at the far end of the bar, still in his team hoodie, cap pulled low, nursing a single beer. The noise of the room felt muffled, like it belonged to someone else’s night.
Mia slid onto the stool beside him without preamble. She ordered sparkling water, waited until the bartender drifted away, then turned to him with that quiet, direct gaze she’d always had.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
He stared at the label on his bottle, peeling the edge with his thumbnail. “Yeah.”
She didn’t move. “Try again.”
He let out a slow breath. “It’s over. With Aria.”
Mia waited, giving him space.
“She loves Min-Jae,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Always has. I was… just there when she needed someone. A rebound, I guess. Until he came back around.”
Mia tilted her head. “You’re sure that’s what happened?”
He nodded once.
Mia turned her glass slowly between her palms. “I saw you two together, Jax. The way she looked at you—like you were the only thing keeping her steady. And I’ve listened toFalse Starton repeat since it dropped. Those lyrics… the silence, the echoes, the way love feels fast and terrifying and alive. They don’t sound like songs about Min-Jae. They sound like someone who got burned by something real.”
Jax kept his eyes on the bottle. “We hear what we want to hear sometimes. See what fits the story we’ve already decided on.”
Mia studied his profile. “Her socials have been completely quiet about Min-Jae. No posts. No stories. No couple shots. It doesn’t look like a big reunion.”
“That’s because I asked her to hold off on any public statement,” he said evenly. “For Nan. Didn’t want the media turning everything into a circus right now. Not while the season’s on the line.”
Mia’s expression softened, understanding settling in. “So she knows about Nan?”
“No.” His jaw tightened for a second. “I didn’t tell her. Didn’t want her staying around out of pity. Or feeling guilty. She deserved to go back to what she really wanted—clean, no strings, no mess.”
Mia was quiet for a long stretch. Then she said gently, “You’re deciding for her even now.”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re an idiot, Jax,” she said, but there was no heat in it—just quiet affection. “You’ve almost locked up the championship. You’re about to become world champion. You’ve carried Nan’sdiagnosis, the grief, every single lap without letting it break you. And yet here you are, convincing yourself she never felt it the way you did.”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s too late. She made her choice. I was never the one she wanted.”
Mia leaned in a little. “Or maybe you made the choice for both of you. You told her it was okay to walk away. You gave her permission to go back to Min-Jae. Maybe she’s respecting that. Maybe she’s hurting just as much as you are.”
He looked away, throat working. “Doesn’t change anything.”
Mia’s voice softened further. “Lucas told me what you did for him after I left. You sat with him when he couldn’t speak. You were there. Every day. Don’t shut this down before you know the truth. Nan’s fading. She wants to see you happy—not just victorious. Let her see you fight for something besides points and podiums.”
She stood, rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. “Think about it. Before Abu Dhabi.”
She walked away, leaving him with the low hum of celebration and the echo of her words.
He stayed until the bar thinned out, the beer long warm in his hand. Mia’s questions lingered, but they didn’t shift the certainty that had settled in his chest: Aria had gone back to Min-Jae. Whatever he’d felt—whatever he’d thought she felt—had been real only on his side.
He flew to Abu Dhabi carrying Nan’s latest call instead.
“One race left, love. You’re so close I can almost touch that silver.”
