Page 14 of Ava After Midnight (Chaos and Chemistry #2)

The Miami heat clings to my skin as I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the city skyline through the open window. The night hums with distant life, but inside this room, it’s just us. Just me, my body betraying me, and the woman I can’t bear to wake.

Ava sleeps behind me, tangled in the sheets, her bare back glowing under the soft city lights. Perfect. At peace. Like she belongs there. Like she belongs to me.

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the tremor in my fingers. My breath drags, not quite shallow, not quite controlled. Not good. I press harder, willing my body to obey. Not tonight. Not in front of her.

I exhale slowly, pushing back the ache sitting heavy in my ribs. This isn’t new. The dizziness. The exhaustion that sneaks up on me like a shadow. The way my limbs feel slower, heavier. But it’s worse now.

Ava shifts, murmuring in her sleep, her brow furrowing. Like she knows I’m slipping away.

My angel. My ruin. My salvation.

She doesn’t know. And she can’t.

If I tell her—if I let her see what’s happening—she’ll fight for me the way I’ve fought for everything in my life.

And I don’t want her love wrapped in the weight of grief.

I wipe a hand down my face, blinking back the blur at the edge of my vision. I need to sleep. I need to pull myself together.

For her.

For whatever time I have left.

I slip back under the covers, careful—so careful—not to wake her. But as soon as I settle, she moves, curling into me like she’s always belonged there.

Her arm drapes over my waist, her cheek presses against my chest, right over my heartbeat. Her touch is grounding. A lifeline I don’t deserve.

She sighs, her breath warm against my skin. "Domingo..."

She has no idea how much I need her.

Or how much time I don’t have.

I close my eyes, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her closer, memorizing the way she fits against me. The way she’s mine.

For now.

And as her breathing slows against me, as my own chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with my body’s betrayal, I make a vow.

She will never know what I’m hiding.

Because as long as I can hold her like this, as long as I can love her with every piece of me, she’ll never have to grieve me before I’m gone.

And if that means burning out in her arms instead of fading away?—

So be it.

The weight in my chest lingers long after the sun starts to rise, painting the sky in gold and violet. Ava’s breath is unhurried against my ribs, her body warm and soft against mine. Like she knows I need her close.

I slip out of bed, my movements slow, careful. Legs unsteady. My body feels sluggish, like I’m moving through water, every step heavier than it should be.

I press a palm to the wall, letting the dizziness settle before making my way to the bathroom. The light is harsh as I grip the sink, knuckles whitening. My reflection stares back, but I barely recognize it. Dark circles. Skin duller. A weight in my chest that refuses to ease.

I twist the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, breathing through the dizziness pressing in on me. Not today. Not yet.

I flex my fingers, watching the slight tremor. It’s barely there, but I feel it. The exhaustion isn’t creeping in anymore—it’s taking root.

I grip the edge of the sink, bowing my head as my breath comes too fast, too uneven. I just need a minute. Just need to catch my breath.

The floor creaks behind me. "Domingo?"

Her voice is soft, thick with sleep. I straighten immediately, wiping a hand down my face before turning toward the doorway. She’s standing there, wrapped in the white hotel robe, hair tousled, eyes searching mine.

I’ve seen her like this before—bare, trusting, beautiful. But today, she sees too much.

Her brows knit together as she steps forward, worry darkening her expression. "Why are you up?"

I should lie.

I should pull her into my arms, kiss her slow, distract her with a promise of pleasure—something I know she’ll chase like sin and salvation all at once.

But I hesitate.

And that’s all she needs.

“Domingo.” This time, my name isn’t just a question—it’s a demand. She slides her palm up to my jaw, tilting my face so I have no choice but to look at her. "What’s wrong?"

I swallow. I could still lie. I should.

Instead, I press a kiss to her forehead. "Just didn’t sleep well, mi alma."

It’s not a full lie. But it’s not the truth, either.

She doesn’t look convinced.

Her fingers skate down my chest, resting over my heart. "You’re warm."

I force a smirk. "That’s usually your complaint, princesa ."

She doesn’t laugh.

She watches me, eyes sharp, assessing. "Come back to bed."

I hesitate again. She notices. She always notices.

But I let her pull me back, let her tuck herself into my side, her fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over my skin.

Minutes pass in silence, but I know she’s not asleep. She’s watching me. Feeling the shift.

Ava is smart. She notices details before she even understands what they mean.

I can’t let her see this. Not yet. Not ever.

I bury my face in her hair, inhaling her scent, letting it anchor me. Letting her keep me from falling apart.

I’ve spent my whole life controlling my body. Perfecting it. Mastering it. Now it’s betraying me in ways I can’t fight.

But if I have to go out, I’ll go out like this—wrapped around the woman who makes me forget I ever feared anything.

And if I have to burn out, I’ll do it loving her so completely that the flames leave their mark on her forever.

She won’t know it yet.

But Domingo Reyes’ Devotion is endless.