4. Morning After The Storm

Ava’s voice trembled, though she tried to sound firm. Her heart hammered in her chest, a sharp, guilty ache blooming behind her ribs. She tried not to look at him, afraid her resolve would crumble beneath DeMarco’s surprised but steady gaze.

I said, "DeMarco. My wedding is in a few hours. I have to go home. This was a big mistake.”

“Ava, what are you saying? I know I was plenty drunk, and maybe you were far more intoxicated than I was. But we got married.”

DeMarco held out the marriage certificate in his hand as she looked away. She couldn’t look at her unbearable mistake.

“You can’t marry that man, whoever he is. If you do, you’ll be committing a crime. I thought you ought to know that before you leave.”

Ava rolled her eyes at him. “What we did last night doesn’t count.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Ava?”

“We didn’t consummate the union. So technically, we’re not married.”

“Are you sure about that? I don’t know if that is true. You were very nude, and so was I. Besides, I don’t think whether we had sex or not overrides the legality of the matter.”

“I have to go. I shouldn’t be here. You’re a good guy, but you’re not right for me. We come from two different worlds. You’re a bartender, for heaven's sake, and I’m…forget it. This isn’t love, this isn't right. It was all done on a whim of mass confusion. I’ll have my lawyer contact you to annul it.”

“It's called marriage, Ava. Then what was it? Lust? A one-night stand-marriage? Was it you being curious about what it would be like to sleep with someone like me, who doesn't look like the men from your world? What was it, Ava?”

She gathered her shoes from the marble floor, trying to ignore his words and the thought-provoking questions she hadn’t given much thought to. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and defiance. The early light crept through heavy curtains that covered the wall of tempered glass, painting stripes across the tangled silk sheets and the unfamiliar five-star hotel suite. The air still smelled faintly of whiskey and her perfume—a reminder of how far she’d let her wild rebellion carry her.

Her movements were hurried, almost frantic, but her mind spun even faster. Was she running toward her old life, or away from the possibility of something real? Her thoughts tangled with guilt and a flicker of longing as she glanced at DeMarco, standing there in his beautiful form, sculpted hard body. He had a strong chest and long legs like tree trunks. Just the sight of him made her kitty pur. With those eyes looking at her as if they could see right down to her soul.

It was a disturbing pull of desire, the look he gave her, the recall of his scent on her fingers, and the taste of his tongue in her mouth. Ava was experiencing a magnetic pull that was unexplainable but unmistakable. Her desire cannot be explained, because memory, attraction, her senses, and her needs form a subtle connection she could never have imagined.

DeMarco didn’t come off cocky or angry; instead, this man exuded nothing but confidence. He looked at her with concern and care, something she had never seen with Justin.

For a heartbeat, she wished she could forget the world outside, family obligations, and looming consequences. Or what others think is wrong or bad, because it might feel too good, and it did. 

But she couldn’t afford that luxury.

Is this what freedom feels like? She wondered as she slid her foot into her shoe, clasping the last strap, forcing herself to look away. The memory of her parents’ expectations, her mother’s tight-lipped smile, and her father’s slanted eyes narrowed into slits, a stern nod pressed on her like a physical weight.

She’d always been the dutiful daughter, never given in to her wishes or desires, and now, for one reckless night, she had chosen for herself. 

And what a mess she’d made.

DeMarco watched her, dark brows drawn in concern. “Ava, don’t just walk out. We should talk about this.”

She shook her head, backing toward the door. “There’s nothing to say. This was a mistake. I have to fix it before anyone finds out.”

She fled the room, her heels clicking down the hallway, every step pulling her further from last night’s stolen happiness. In the elevator, she pressed her forehead to the cold wall, trying to steady her breathing. Her phone buzzed relentlessly—calls from her mother, texts from her maid of honor, reminders of the life she was supposed to be living.

The taxi ride home was a blur of city lights and nerves. She replayed DeMarco’s words, the drunken ceremony, the laughter and whispered vows—images she wanted to bury, but couldn’t. 

Was it even real? 

She told herself it wasn’t. Nobody would ever know. Her parents would kill her if they found out, and Justin… Ava’s stomach twisted at the thought of her fiancé, his perfect, predictable coldness colliding with her chaos.

When the cab finally pulled up to her parents’ stately house, Ava hesitated at the curb, smoothing her dress and dabbing at her smudged makeup. Her hands shook as she turned the key in the front door, bracing herself for the usual flood of well-wishers and wedding planners.

But the house was silent. Too silent. 

Then she heard it—muffled voices in the living room, tense and urgent. She stepped inside, and the weight of a dozen stares pressed down on her at once.

Her parents stood by the fireplace, faces pale with outrage. Justin sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, his hands clenched, his parents—the Witfields—beside him, their expressions a blend of concern and thinly veiled contempt.

“Ava,” her mother said, her voice cold as marble. “Where have you been?”

Ava forced a brittle smile. “I went for a walk. I needed some air.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Dressed like that? You've been gone all night, Ava!”

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but her heart thudded with panic. “I stayed at a friend’s. It’s my wedding day. I just needed to clear my head.”

Justin’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. He tossed it onto the coffee table. Photographs spilled out across the glossy wood—images of Ava at Sin City nightclub, her arms around DeMarco, a black man, laughing, kissing, wild and free. 

Ava’s breath caught. Her secret, exposed.

Her mother’s hand flew to her mouth. Her father’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. The Witfields exchanged a look of horror and triumph, as if they’d expected nothing less from her.

“Do you care to explain this?” Justin’s voice was icy. “Or maybe you’d like to explain the marriage certificate someone kindly sent me this morning?”

Ava’s mind reeled. It couldn’t be. Nobody was supposed to know. She shook her head, denial flaring hot in her chest. 

“It’s not what it looks like. Last night was a mistake. It means nothing. The marriage isn’t real—it can be annulled.”

Her father’s voice was low and dangerous. “You will annul this hideous mistake immediately, or you will be stripped of every privilege and dollar you’ve ever had. Do you understand me?”

Ava’s throat was dry. She glanced at her mother, hoping for a scrap of sympathy, but found only cold disappointment. The Witfields watched in silence, as if her humiliation was a necessary prelude to their son’s victory.

Justin wouldn’t even look at her.

“I’ll take care of it,” Ava whispered. “It’ll be as if it never happened.”

But as she stared at the damning photographs, she thought about Justin's infidelity, and not her own. Her hands trembling, she couldn’t shake the sense that she deserved a night like last night, and it had changed everything—whether her family forgave her or not, whether the marriage was annulled or not. For the first time, Ava wasn’t sure who she was anymore, or what she wanted. She only knew that the walls closing in around her were thicker than ever, and that freedom, however fleeting, came with a price she might not be willing to pay.

The room buzzed with angry voices, accusations, and threats. Ava stood in the center of it all, silent and alone, bracing herself as Justin whispered in her ear. 

“We are still getting married, Ava, because I’m the only one now willing to have you.” 

Disgust filled her stomach as an enormous lump developed in the back of her throat, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.