1. Control

It hadn’t started at the club.

Not really.

Ava Parks felt controlled by everyone—her parents, her fiancé, and even his parents, for heaven's sake. But the real fight was inside her: she wanted control of her own life, and she was going to do things her way, because the wedding had become another way to keep her trapped. It didn’t help that, deep down, her heart kept pulling her toward someone else entirely—someone she could never admit to wanting.

The unraveling began two days earlier, but it all fell apart at her wedding rehearsal the last night before the big day—a scene meant for laughter, flowers, and the gentle chaos of family. But Ava could barely play her part, moving through the motions with a practiced smile and a heart pounding with a dread she couldn’t name aloud.

The white aisle runner, the candlelight, the murmurs of relatives and friends: all of it felt like a set for someone else’s story.

She kept glancing at Justin, her soon-to-be husband, the man her parents had chosen for her. He looked every bit the part: tall, composed, his smile easy and confident, his hand on her lower back for the benefit of the crowd.

In private, that hand rarely touched her at all.

Two days before the rehearsal, Justin asked to meet her at a quiet coffee shop, away from the bustle. There, with the casual arrogance that always made her skin crawl, he told her about his recent affair and made it clear he still wanted the wedding to go on.

“It was just a moment. I had to find out if I still had anything left for her,” he said, as if he were discussing a business deal gone sideways.

"It didn’t mean anything. I just thought you should know before the big day."

Ava stared at him, numb. “Was she the girl you’d introduced to me three months ago as your ex, the same woman you invited to our wedding, and the one I told you to uninvite before you slept with her?”

“I’m telling you this because I want the wedding to stay on.”

The betrayal was sharp, but not surprising. “You don’t want to cancel?” she asked, almost daring him.

He shook his head. “No. Now I know for sure that’s over. This doesn’t change anything between us, and it doesn’t change the wedding.”

For two days, Ava carried that secret like a stone in her gut. She tried to tell her parents, tried to explain why the marriage felt wrong, but each attempt only drove her closer to the same painful truth.

“There’s no love,” she whispered, voice shaking. “No, all-consuming fire. When I’m with Justin, it’s like I’m acting out someone else’s life.”

Her mother patted her hand, smiling with forced patience. “That’s normal, darling. Love grows over time.”

Ava shook her head. “There’s barely even a spark to start from.”

Her father’s voice was gruff but final. “All it takes to start is one building block to build a foundation.”

No amount of pleading moved them. They refused to see, refused to hear, smell, or sense any evil when it came to Justin. In public, he treated her like a prize; in private, he ignored her, and that only made her feel more certain she could not marry him.

When she tried to touch his arm, he pulled away. When she tried to talk, he checked his phone or left the room. She could already feel the misery of a loveless, empty marriage looming over her, and that was why she could not bring herself to say: "I do."

At the rehearsal dinner, Ava drank glass after glass of champagne, trying to keep her nerves in check. When she picked up her purse and made for the door, her parents watched her with concern.

“Where are you going, young lady?” her mother called, sharp with worry.

Ava forced a smile. "Can I at least have a breath of fresh air?"

Outside, she slid into one of her family’s cars and told the driver she needed to get away. As she settled in, her phone buzzed; it was Justin.

He wanted to know where she was.

She hesitated, then asked, “If I’d slept with my ex, would you still want to marry me?”

He was silent for a beat, then replied, “That’s over with. Why are you bringing up old news? Where are you?”

Ava’s hands trembled. "I’m done, Justin."

“What? Instead of giving me credit for being upfront with you. Are you going to punish me for being honest? That’s so stupid. What am I supposed to tell everyone, Ava?”

“I don’t care, tell them what you told me two days ago, if you want.”

“Look! I’m not playing with you. It’s not over until I say it’s over,” he demanded. “You can’t walk away from me.”

She stared out the window at the city lights, her chest tight.

“I can do whatever I want, Justin.” Something snapped inside her; it was wild and uncontrolled. She ended the call.

She told the driver to take her anywhere but home. She was done pretending, done performing, done being submissive with everyone's foot on her throat. 

“Take me to my usual spot. I need a real drink and to be around real people.” Ava told her driver.

---

DeMarco glanced at the other two bartenders, pleased to see them hard at work slinging drinks and chatting with the customers. Friday is the club’s busiest night. Technically, he didn’t even need to be there tonight, but ever since he’s been flying solo, he never took a day off.

The only downside to his job was the onslaught of pick-up lines from women he had no interest in. At thirty years old, any red-blooded male with a healthy libido would kill to trade places with him. DeMarco was fully aware of that, but he wasn’t into taking advantage of intoxicated females who threw themselves at him.

 It didn’t feel right.

He lost his intrigue with one-night stands. He wanted something real—a connection with a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Because he knew who he wanted and what he wanted, it was too bad she didn't feel the same way, even though DeMarco felt deep down inside there was something there between them. But when she announced a few weekends back that she's off the market, that was the end of that story and desire.

But it was at that very moment that Ava’s story was colliding with his. She walked through the club doors, driven by her own need for control, payback, and freedom—ready to blow up everything if that’s what it took. DeMarco scanned the crowd, and a familiar dark head of hair caught his eye. 

He did a double-take.

“Is that Ava? What on earth is she doing here? Tonight of all nights.” 

DeMarco blinked, a smile tugging at his mouth despite the surprise. He hadn’t seen Ava in months—ever since she’d come in to celebrate her engagement, dropping news like a grenade and drinking her usual gin and tonic with a twist of lime. He remembered that night, how she’d laughed and teased him about his terrible card tricks, and how she’d promised not to be a stranger. Now, seeing her again, he couldn’t help but wonder what brought her back.

As he shifted his gaze, soaking in her delicate features, lips, raven hair, and petite, shapely body. He got lost in a pair of bottomless brown eyes bordering on black. She didn’t look like her usually joyful self. 

DeMarco didn’t expect to see her at Sin City again, since the last time she told him she was getting married. DeMarco made his way through the crowd to go and chat with her.   

Ava stumbled to the bar, desperate for control, leaning against the counter. DeMarco, recognizing her perfume—a hint of jasmine he’d come to associate with late-night confessions and half-finished cocktails—called out his standard question, but this time with a knowing edge.

“What can I get you, Ava?” he asked, his signature smirk in place. He looked at her, really looked, his eyes softening. “Let me guess—gin and tonic, extra lime? Or are we celebrating with something stronger tonight?” Something unspoken passed between them, a comfort born of old conversations and shared secrets. The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“Marry me,” she blurted. 

The words hung in the air, ridiculous and raw. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her.

DeMarco didn’t hesitate to respond. He set down his drink and straightened, a slow, genuine smile replacing his smirk. 

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Ava stared at him, stunned. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied. “Let’s do it.”

The world tilted on its axis, and suddenly they were running out of the club, the city lights spinning around them. Laughter and adrenaline carried them through the night until they found a chapel—open late, neon sign flickering. The ceremony was a blur of vows, rings, and rushed promises. When the officiant pronounced them married, Ava looked at DeMarco, her heart pounding, and for the first time that night, she felt steady.

They stumbled back into the night, husband and wife, the weight of what they’d done just beginning to settle in.