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

Chapter Two

DOMINGO

S eventh Sin wasn’t built for the faint of heart. Mateo and I made sure of that. It was meant to be a sanctuary for those who craved indulgence, who needed a place to lose themselves in the music, the bodies, the escape.

Lately, it feels less like a kingdom and more like a cage.

I built this place with Mateo, turned it into something untouchable. Now? I just play the part, hand them their escape, and pretend I don’t miss mine.

The bass vibrates through my bones as I polish glasses, neon dancing across crystal like electric hallucinations in liquid form. Another Friday night, another parade of privileged princesses burning daddy’s money.

I knew it before the doctors said it. You don’t need a diagnosis when your own body tells you the truth. I was smart enough to invest before everything went to hell.

It’s been six months since Mateo convinced me to keep myself busy. Since then, I’ve been killing time at Club Seventh Sin, watching nights bleed together—laughter too loud, vodka overpriced, attention fleeting.

Until her.

She moves like silk over bare skin, like a whispered promise at midnight, wrapped in a red dress that stops my hands mid-polish. Her friends flank her—a standard bachelorette crew in their matching sashes and tiaras. But there’s nothing standard about her.

“Four shots of your top-shelf tequila,” the blonde one demands, a black Amex pinched between manicured fingers. “We have to get wasted so I can watch Ava marry the man my parents always thought I’d end up with!”

I keep my movements lazy, controlled, even as my heartbeat kicks against my throat. The bride-to-be hasn’t looked at me yet, too busy swaying to the music. Strobe lights catch in her hair, creating a halo effect that’s almost unholy.

“Having fun celebrating?” I ask, though the sash screaming brIDE TRIBE should be a warning sign—one I should pay attention to.

It’s a reminder of exactly why I shouldn’t be entertaining this, why I should pour her drink and move on. But the way she moves, the way she hasn’t spared a glance at the ring on her finger, makes me question if she’s thinking the same thing.

I just want to hear her voice.

“Of course I am. It’s my last night of freedom,” she says, but there’s something in her tone—something sharp, something bitter—like she’s daring herself to believe it.

The world tilts on its axis.

Her gaze cuts clean through the bullshit, yet her expression stays casual—it almost feels like she’s daring me to look away first. It’s the kind of hunger that comes from being restrained too long, from living within boundaries someone else drew.

I recognize it because I’ve felt it—felt that sharp edge, that restless, caged feeling, waiting for the right moment to break free.

And just like that, I have a feeling I’ll like how this night ends.

I pour their shots, letting my fingers brush hers as I slide hers across the bar. The contact is brief, but it’s enough. Enough to send a shocking jolt up my arm, enough to make me wonder if I should pull back—or if I even want to.

“Freedom’s overrated.” My voice is low as I break the silence, composed but edged with something I don’t bother hiding.

“Says the man with no ring on his finger.” Her words slur slightly, the liquor loosening her tongue, but her eyes stay sharp, assessing, like she’s analyzing every response.

“Rings are just pretty cages, princesa .” I shouldn’t say it. She’s not mine to save. But something in her expression cracks open at my words.

“I’m Ava,” she offers, ignoring her friend’s attempt to drag her to the dance floor. “Not princesa .”

Her tone is firm, but there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s correcting more than just my words, like she needs to hear herself say it out loud.

“Domingo.” I don’t usually give patrons my real name, but her tongue wraps around it like a caress as she repeats it.

“Domingo,” she says again, softer this time, testing it.

I grip the bar edge, fighting the urge to drag my thumb across her bottom lip—to feel what her mouth is doing to me. The way she says my name, like she’s already claimed it, and my cock hardens at the sound.

When Ava licks her lips, it twitches in response—like it recognizes the command before I do. Her friend—golden-brown skin glowing under the club lights, espresso curls bouncing over one shoulder—cuts through my fantasy. Hazel eyes glint with mischief as she tugs Ava away, lips curving into a smirk that promises chaos.

But there’s something else beneath her friend’s smile—like she’s watching a game unfold and already knows the ending.

I serve other customers, but my attention keeps dragging back to her like a compass magnet finding true north—inevitable, unstoppable. She moves with the kind of reckless grace that’s impossible to fake, fluid and untamed, like she’s spent a lifetime being perfect and has finally decided not to.

I can’t tell what gleams more—her skin under the neon lights or the dress clinging to her curves like it was painted on. She’s seduction wrapped in red, moving like a sin I already know I’ll commit.

Every shift of her hips dares me closer. Every roll of her body tests how long I can hold back.

Sorry, Abuela, pero this one’s worth a few extra Hail Marys.

Unfortunately, that ring on her finger stands out against her dark skin as she moves. It halts me, an unwelcome reminder of her engagements outside of this club. The diamond catches the light occasionally—another flash of a warning.

Fortunately, I’ve never been good at following warnings.

***

An hour passes in this exquisite hell. Each glimpse of her is torture, every movement a temptation I have no right to crave. I serve drinks, take orders, force a smirk in half-hearted flirtations. I should be working. Should be anywhere but here, watching.

“Another round?” A woman at the bar leans in, tracing a finger along the rim of her glass. I nod, already pouring without really looking.

My focus is elsewhere. Every time Ava moves, I feel it. Like my body registers her presence before my mind does.

The sound of her laugh cuts through the music, sharp and reckless. My grip tightens around a cocktail shaker. She’s drinking, dancing, losing herself.

I shouldn’t be watching. But I can’t help myself.

Another of Ava’s friends eyes flick toward me from across the room. Her smirk says she’s noticed.

“Tell me something true,” Ava demands as she returns for more, leaning across the bar. Whether she wants more of me or more of my cocktails doesn’t matter. She’s still gorgeous either way, and her breath whispers across my skin, tequila-sweet and charged with rebellion.

“You don’t want to marry him.”

The words escape before I can stop them. Her pupils blow wide—dark with something hungrier and more primal alcohol. She’s taken aback.

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?” I’m close enough to see the subtle flutter of her lashes, the way her breath catches for just a second before she steadies herself.

“I know that dress isn’t your style—too desperate to impress. I know that silk press is fresh, probably done yesterday to look ‘appropriate’ for whatever boring country club wedding you’re walking into. I know your friends keep watching you like you’re about to shatter or explode. And I know that ring feels heavier every minute you spend in here.”

She recoils, but there’s relief in her eyes too. Like this is the first time she’s felt seen. I watch as she tentatively plays with the diamond, her french-tipped nails tapping against it impatiently.

“My shift ends in twenty minutes,” I say, just loud enough to hear over the music quietly, giving her an out. Giving myself one too.

Ava doesn’t answer, just melts back into the crowd. From afar, I feel her gaze burning into me as I serve my last customers. Minutes turn into hours as I check my watch in between patrons.

Time needs to move faster.

Midnight arrives, ticking forward like a starting gun, not a finish line. I wipe down the bar, signal my replacement, and exhale slowly, rolling the stiffness from my shoulders.

The routine should be grounding, but it isn’t. I pull my shirt over my head, stretching my neck as tension eases, then tightens again. I keep my breathing controlled, but there’s a weight in my chest, like I’m bracing for impact.

It’s just the end of a shift. Just another night.

That’s the lie I tell myself.

My gaze catches on the mirror across the room, on the scar slashing across my side, pale and unforgiving. A reminder. Of what I lost. Of what I used to be. I drag a hand over it, the skin raised and unfamiliar, a body I barely recognize anymore.

I could leave. I should.

But the weight in my chest isn’t budging, and deep down, I already know why.

I have to see her again.

When I emerge from the back room in street clothes, I’m half-convinced that she’ll be gone. That I imagined the electricity between us. That I’m being a fool chasing fire.

But she’s waiting by the staff exit—minus her entourage. The red dress looks more dangerous in the dim light.

“Tell me another truth,” she whispers as I approach.

I cup her face in my hands, feeling her shudder at the contact. “This is a terrible idea.”

“I know.” She rises onto her toes, breath ghosting across my lips. “Tell me anyway.”

The space between us hums—thick with tequila and desire. I decide she’s the only thing that can satiate this hunger that’s been gnawing at my soul. Her hands fist in my shirt as I back her against the wall, inhaling her scent.

I feel her breath catch against my lips, and I pull back just enough to take her in. Matching brown eyes lock onto mine— dark, searching, daring. But there’s something else beneath it. Not just lust. Not just alcohol.

She wants this. So do I.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want it to go any other way.

“Your turn,” I murmur against her throat. “Tell me something true.”

“I think I want you to ruin my reputation.”

Her voice is breathless, and I can see in her eyes that she means it. Dark irises track every twitch of my jaw, every sharp inhale, every flicker of restraint I have left. She’s enjoying this. Testing me.

I bite back a grin. God help us both, because if she doesn’t stop me… I will.

My voice is low, rough, edged with something dark. “If you’re going to accuse me of ruining you so completely that no one else could ever claim you—of something that filthy, so no one else can ever touch you without feeling like a mistake—then at least let me prove you right.”

Her nails press into my skin, just a little too hard, like she needs to ground herself. Her breath comes uneven now, a quiet curse slipping past her lips before she bites it back.

“Dance with me, and I’ll make sure you never forget what it means to be the queen of the Seven Sins.”

She moves first, and I follow. Of course I do.

The staff exit spills into the VIP section, where the air thickens with heat and smoke—the bass vibrating through the floor like a second heartbeat.

She doesn’t take my hand. She doesn’t need to.

Ava steps into the VIP section like she owns the place, like she’s already made her choice. Maybe she has.

The VIP section envelops us with darker, heavier bass, the kind that sinks into your skin and makes bad decisions feel inevitable. Her hands slide up my chest, nails grazing through fabric as she presses closer.

Hips rolling with deliberate, taunting precision. Every grind is a challenge, a dare, a whispered promise in the language of bodies that know exactly how to push and pull. My hands find her waist, fingers digging in just enough to let her know I’m right there, feeling every movement.

This should feel like a mistake. The ring on her finger says so. The way my body reacts says otherwise.

Her body heat seeps through my clothes, her scent—expensive, feminine, with a trace of coconut and trouble—sinking into my skin, clinging like something I’ll never wash off.

We move as if we’ve done this before, as if the rhythm was waiting for us to meet. She dares, I answer. She teases, I take control. Our bodies write promises we both know we’ll break, but for now, it doesn’t matter.

I lean in, close enough that she has to tilt her chin to hold my gaze. “You sure you can handle this, princesa ?”

She smiles, slow and dangerous. “Guess we’ll find out.” She presses closer, each slow grind teasing, pushing, waiting for me to be the one to break first.

“You move like the wind before a storm,” she breathes, turning to press her back against my chest. “Charged, restless, impossible to ignore.” Her hair smells like paradise and temptation, brushing my face as she moves closer to me.

Not close enough.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, princesa .” My hands grip her hips, steering her into the rhythm. The music shifts to a Latin beat, and I give in to the muscle memory of a past life before I can think better of it. My body remembers long before my mind catches up—how to shift my weight, how to let the beat dictate the next move, how to own the space around me.

Flashes of a past life hit like strobe lights—quick, disorienting, but impossible to ignore.

A packed dance floor. The sound of heels clicking in sync with mine. Laughter, whistles, the heat of an expectant crowd waiting for the next move.

Mateo’s voice in my ear—cocky, taunting. “First one to make someone swoon wins. Don’t choke, hermano.”

The woman in red—not Ava, someone else, someone long gone—smirks at me, waiting. I take the challenge, guiding her into a spin, watching the surprise flicker in her eyes before it melts into something breathless. I know that look. I used to chase that look.

I used to live for it.

I remember loving that feeling. Knowing I could make someone lose themselves to me, if only for a song.

“You’re a dancer.” Ava’s voice snaps me back. It’s not a question.

The music is still pulsing, but the memory vanishes like smoke. She’s watching me, reading me, her expression curious and sharp.

She rolls back in my grip, her ass grinding against the front of my slacks.

“Was. Different life.” Before everything went to hell.

Before I learned that owning a place doesn’t mean you belong in it. Before I learned that watching people lose themselves isn’t the same as feeling it yourself.

She drags a teasing nail down my chest, slow, deliberate, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “Show me what you got, then. Or are you all talk?”

I shouldn’t.

Those movements are ghosts of a past I swore I wanted to forget, but with her, they rise like embers catching fire— unstoppable, burning, demanding me to show Ava how it feels to get lost in me.

I take control, leading her through steps that come as naturally as breathing. The rhythm isn’t just between us—it is us, a conversation spoken in movement.

She doesn’t just follow; she meets me, challenges me, reads my intent before I make the next move. Each turn, each grind of her hips against mine, sends all the blood rushing to my cock, making my balls tighten as my heartbeat pounds in my ear.

We’re not just dancing—we’re testing, teasing, pushing to see how far the other will let this go.

“Ava!”

A voice cuts through our bubble. It’s the blonde girl—Zoe.

She stands at the VIP entrance, looking equal parts concerned and thrilled. “We’re hitting Fever next. You coming?”

I expect Ava to pull away, to remember her obligations. Instead, her hand drags down my arm and her fingers lace through mine. With conviction, she replies, “Only if Domingo comes too.”

Zoe’s gaze sweeps over me, assessing. I feel her light eyes drag down my body and feel oddly naked under her gaze. Whatever she sees must pass inspection, because she grins. “Hell yes. The more the merrier!” She cheers, her smile mischievous. “And honey, you look better with him than that stick-up-his-ass fiancé.”

“Zoe!” Ava chides, a hand moving to her chest in shock. The effect doesn’t last, because she’s laughing—really laughing. I have a feeling it’s for the first time tonight—perhaps the first time in a while.

“Let me grab my jacket,” I say, already knowing I’m making a huge mistake.

I slip through the back entrance and into the staff room, shaking my head as I pass Mateo, who’s stacking fresh bottles onto the shelf. He pauses, raising a brow at me. “Going somewhere?”

“Don’t start,” I mutter, yanking my jacket from the hook.

He smirks, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “I don’t have to. That look on your face says enough.”

I roll my eyes but can’t fight the smirk pulling at my lips.

Mateo chuckles, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder. “Try not to lose your head, hermano .”

I scoff, shoving my arms into my jacket. “You act like this is new.”

He lifts a brow, smirking. “Nah, but it’s different. You don’t do this for just anyone.”

I don’t answer, and Mateo’s grin only grows. “Thought so.”

I clap him on the shoulder on my way out, exhaling as I step back into the pulsing beat of the club. Too late for that.

Fever’s only a few blocks away—it’s the kind of underground club that doesn’t exist to the daylight crowd. The kind of place that makes Ava’s engagement ring look like a costume piece, even with its cut and weight.

Her friends surround us as we walk, a chaotic parade of glitter and gossip. Jade, the bitter one, keeps shooting me knowing looks. Just before we reach the entrance, she flicks her gaze between Ava’s hand in mine and the ring on her finger, then exhales sharply—like she already knows where this is going. Mia, the quiet one, watches with barely concealed disapproval.

But Ava’s hand stays in mine, warm and sure, like she’s already chosen—like she’s anchoring herself to this moment, to me. I’m unsure if she’s oblivious to her friends’ judgements or if she simply doesn’t care. Either way, I let her lead me down the street and to the next club.

“You sure about this, princesa ?” I murmur as we reach Fever’s entrance, my grip tightening just enough to let her know I mean it. “You keep holding my hand like that, and I’m gonna take it as a promise.” The bass bleeds through the walls, promising darkness and bad decisions.

She tightens her grip on my hand, just slightly, like she’s holding onto her own decision. Her breath catches, her gaze locked onto mine, daring me to challenge her.

For a split second, the neon catches on her ring, flashing like a contradiction. She doesn’t even hesitate. She yanks me down into a kiss that tastes like destiny.

Ava’s grinning when she pulls back, lips still brushing mine. “The night’s still young.”