Page 11 of Ava After Midnight (Chaos and Chemistry #2)

Chapter Eleven

AVA

T he woman in the mirror looks like a stranger. They’ve transformed me into the perfect bride—hair sculpted into glossy curls, veil cascading in angelic waves, my skin flawless under layers of expensive foundation and strategically placed concealer. Every trace of last night erased.

Except for my eyes.

My eyes still hold echoes of lightning and Spanish whispers.

“Hold still, darling.” The makeup artist dabs another layer of concealer onto my neck, hiding the evidence of something I’m not sure I want to forget. “Almost done.”

Jade groans from the couch, nursing her third coffee. “Why is everything so loud?”

“Because some of us decided tequila was a good idea.” Zoe adjusts my veil, but her eyes keep flicking toward the door, her phone gripped tight like a lifeline.

I barely hear them. My scalp aches from hours of heat and tension, from the desperate attempts to smooth and tame. But it rained last night. I danced in the rain last night. The curls didn’t hold, and in the end, the stylists gave up. My hair is pinned up in an elegant bun, soft tendrils escaping the edges. Not perfect. Not pressed. Not how Matthew likes it.

And yet, when he steps into the room to check on me, his smile doesn’t waver.

“You look beautiful,” he says, eyes skating over my face, my body, skipping over my hair like he refuses to acknowledge the disappointment.

A strange, bitter amusement rises in my throat.

He sees what he wants to see. He always has.

Matthew’s fingers smooth down the lace of my sleeve before landing lightly on my wrist. “I thought we agreed you’d wear it down,” he murmurs, as if it’s a joke. As if my hair is a minor inconvenience and not something he’s actively resented since our engagement photoshoot.

“I changed my mind,” I say, voice tight.

He exhales through his nose, a patient smile curling his lips. “It’s fine. You’re fine like this.” A quick glance at my mother. “Right, Mrs. Williams?”

Her approving gaze sweeps over me, lingering on the high bun, the carefully pinned veil. She likes me like this. Controlled. Composed. “Much better,” she agrees, smoothing my dress, adjusting my veil like I’m a doll on display. “Now, let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

Matthew leans in, pressing a dry kiss to my cheek. “Almost perfect,” he murmurs before disappearing back into the chapel.

I swallow the lump in my throat, but the taste lingers—regret and something dangerously close to self-loathing. I should run. I should fucking run.

But I don’t.

“Ava?” Zoe’s voice slices through my spiral. “You okay? You look a little...”

“Fine.” The lie tastes like ash. “Just nervous.”

She squeezes my shoulder. Her phone buzzes, and she practically jumps, checking it with a barely concealed urgency.

“What’s going on with you?” I whisper as my mother drags Mia off to handle some crisis.

“Nothing!” Too quick. Too bright. Her gaze darts to the door again.

Before I can press, Jade staggers over, looking marginally more human. “We need to talk about last?—”

“Places!” The wedding coordinator’s voice rings out. “Five minutes till processional!”

My heart seizes. This is it. This is happening.

Unless…

“Wait.” I grab Jade’s arm. “What were you going to?—”

“No time!” My mother materializes, herding bridesmaids like glamorous sheep. “Positions, girls!”

Zoe checks her phone again, muttering under her breath. Something like, Where the hell are you?

The chapel doors loom ahead, carved wood and an unspoken promise. Through them, the string quartet begins to play the same sterile, classical selections Matthew and his mother painstakingly chose.

It’s music fit for a perfectly curated life.

Nothing like the thundering bass, the sweat-slick skin, the whispered Spanish of last night.

“Ava,” Jade tries again, her voice clearer now. “Before you do this?—”

“Ready, ladies?” The coordinator cuts her off, ushering us into formation. “Remember, on the third measure...”

But I’m not listening. I’m somewhere else. In a dimly lit bedroom, tangled in sheets. In strong arms that felt like a sanctuary.

Domingo’s voice echoes in my mind. Tell me something real, Ava.

The truth is, nothing about this moment feels real. Not the designer dress. Not the perfect aisle. Not the carefully planned future waiting for me like a cage wrapped in lace.

The quartet swells.

One by one, my bridesmaids glide forward. Mia first, then Jade, both carrying bouquets that cost more than my first car.

“Last chance,” Zoe whispers, squeezing my hand before taking her position. Her eyes keep darting to the chapel’s side door, like she’s expecting...

No. Don’t hope. Don’t wish. Don’t dream of dark eyes and calloused hands.

My father steps beside me, clearing his throat. “You ready, princess?” His hand, warm and grounded, wraps around mine, threading it through his arm.

The bridal march begins.

Through the doors, Matthew waits at the altar, polished and perfect in his designer tux. Everything I’m supposed to want.

So why does it feel like I’m walking to my execution?

The chapel doors swing open.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I take a step. Another. Each click of my heels on marble feels like a countdown to catastrophe.

My father’s grip tightens on my hand as we reach the altar. He hesitates just for a moment, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he wants to say something. Like he’s waiting for me to bolt.

“Take care of my daughter,” he says instead, voice composed but eyes sharp as he looks at Matthew. A warning. A test.

Matthew nods, smiling like it’s all a formality. Like my father’s words don’t actually mean anything.

My father sighs and releases me, stepping back as the priest clears his throat. The music fades, the murmurs settle. This is it.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest begins, his voice carrying through the chapel. “We are gathered here today?—”

Jade sways beside Mia, her face going a ghastly shade of puce. “I don’t know if it’s the guilt or the tequila…”

Before anyone can react, she doubles over and vomits spectacularly on the pristine white runner.

Gasps ripple through the church. My mother makes a strangled sound of horror. Matthew’s grip tightens in mine, but I barely feel it.

Jade wipes her mouth, grimacing. Straightening, she takes a breath and looks directly at me. “Well. Since I already ruined the wedding... might as well finish the job.”

Mia stiffens beside her. “Jade you’re still drunk?—”

“Don’t marry him, Ava,” Jade says, voice certain now. “He’s been screwing Mia.”

Time fractures.

Zoe’s bouquet slips from her fingers, landing with a soft thud. "Excuse me?" Her voice is eerily calm, but her entire body tenses, like a coil about to snap. She turns to Mia.

Mia takes a step back, hands raised. “Zoe, I?—”

She never finishes.

Because Zoe swings.

The crack of knuckles meeting cheekbone echoes through the chapel. Mia stumbles back, clutching her face, gasping.

“You bitch!” Mia shrieks, voice warping into something raw, ugly.

Zoe shakes out her hand, flexing her fingers like she’s debating whether to swing again. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

The church erupts. My mother is screeching. Matthew’s family looks horrified. Mia whimpers, mascara streaking as she turns to Matthew for help. And he steps away.

Zoe lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, look at that. Big, bad Matthew, suddenly a ghost. Funny how that happens.”

Mia wipes at her face, voice shaking. “Zoe, please?—”

“Please?” Zoe’s nostrils flare as she steps closer, voice dropping into something sharp and lethal. “Please? You stood beside Ava. You held her hand through fittings, helped plan this—” she waves an arm toward the lavish display of perfection crumbling around them. “And the whole damn time, you were screwing her fiancé?”

Mia swallows hard. “It just... happened.”

Jade snorts, arms crossed. "Women like you don’t let things ‘just happen.’ You make them happen and then cry when you get caught.”

Mia’s lips tremble. “I didn’t mean?—”

“Oh, fuck off, Mia.” Zoe shakes her head, a bitter smile on her lips. “I speak for all of us when I say we’re fucking done with you. You’re out. Blocked. Group chat access revoked.”

Mia’s mouth opens, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps before she screams. “He was supposed to be mine!”

The entire chapel stills.

Mia clutches her bruised cheek, eyes blazing, her voice breaking as she points at me. “We were friends first. I introduced them. I had the history. But she—” her lip curls, her carefully crafted mask slipping, revealing something ugly beneath. “She took him. Like she always does. Ava gets everything handed to her! And you all just—just let her!”

Zoe lets out a low, cold laugh. “Oh. Oh. So that’s what this is? Some pick-me bullshit because Matthew didn’t choose you?”

Mia’s chest rises and falls rapidly, hands trembling at her sides. “You don’t get it?—”

“Oh, no. I get it perfectly now.” Zoe’s eyes are sharp as a blade, her voice dripping with disdain. “This was never about love. It was never about loyalty. It was about you wanting to win something Ava didn’t even want in the first place. And now you’re standing here, looking stupid, crying over a man who won’t even look at you.”

Mia turns toward Matthew, desperate now. “Tell them! Tell them we have something real!”

Matthew steps back again. “Mia, stop. Just—stop.”

Jade cackles, shaking her head. “Oh, this is embarrassing. I’d almost feel bad if you weren’t a terrible person.”

Mia’s shoulders slump, realization washing over her. She’s lost. She’s truly alone.

Jade sighs, clapping her hands together. “Well, that was cathartic. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some water.”

Zoe turns to me, chest heaving. “Ava. Do not let this be your life.”

The side door slams open.

Gasps. A ripple of movement. Heads turning.

And then?—

Him.

Domingo steps through the doorway like he owns the place, draped in a black suit that clings to every broad muscle, the sharp cut of the jacket emphasizing the controlled, lethal way he moves. Power and promise coil in his stance, a dangerous elegance that sucks the air from the room. He’s the opposite of everything in this polished, curated world.

And yet, he commands it without trying.

His eyes lock onto mine instantly—burning, branding. Everything else, the chaos, the ruined wedding, the shattered illusion, fades into static. It’s just him and me. The only real thing in this whole damn room.

A hush ripples through the crowd, the weight of his presence suffocating, undeniable.

His lips curl into a slow, wicked smile, dark amusement flickering in his gaze as he takes another measured step forward. Like he’s savoring the destruction he walked into.

“This little white lie doesn’t suit you, mi cielo ,” his voice is a sin-drenched whisper, wrapping around me like silk and steel. He tilts his head, gaze dragging over me with possession, with certainty.

“…but my mark did.”