Page 1 of Ava After Midnight

Chapter One

AVA

The diamond on my finger is a noose. Three carats of pure obligation, wrapped in platinum and promises I’m not sure I want to keep. The ring feels too tight tonight, pressing into my skin like a brand. Sharp reflections scatter across the wall, like jagged pieces of a choice I don’t want to make.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Matthew. A voice memo this time.

I don’t play it. I don’t need to. I already know what it will say—soft but firm reminders to be “reasonable” tonight.

To be careful. To be good.

“You look like you’re planning a prison break, not your bachelorette party.” Zoe bursts into my hotel room with her signature lack of subtlety, already wrapped in a barely-there black dress that would make a stripper blush. “Tell me you’re not wearing that.”

I glance down at my conservative cocktail dress—Matthew’s favorite. The fabric is stiff against my skin, tailored to perfection but lifeless. I tug at the neckline, suddenly aware of how constricting it feels, like it’s holding me in place.

My fiancé’s taste runs about as exciting as vanilla pudding. “What’s wrong with this? It’s classic,” I lie, but the words taste as bland as the dress itself.

“It’s tragic,” Zoe corrects.

Jade slinks in behind her, the ink of her divorce papers barely dry, cold vengeance gleaming in her eyes. She tosses a scrap of red fabric at me. “Put this on. Tonight we’re going to remind you what freedom tastes like.”

Freedom. The word tastes foreign, like something I once craved but forced myself to forget.

“Ladies, let’s remember we’re celebrating Ava’s last night to make her own choices, not trying to sabotage her wedding.” Mia—ever the voice of reason, or at least the voice of carefully veiled resentment. She eyes my ring like it’s a prize she lost out on… one she thinks I don’t deserve.

I step into the bathroom to change, my hands shaking as I peel off Matthew’s approved dress. For a second, I pause. This is stupid. Pointless. I should put the dress back on. I take in my reflection—the carefully curated, polished version of myself Matthew prefers. And I shove the dress aside.

The red fabric Jade brought hugs every curve like a second skin, dipping low enough to guarantee Matthew’s disapproving lecture. I can already hear it in my head—his measured sigh, the way he’d glance over me like I was a contract he needed to renegotiate.

“Ava, you know how you come across when you wear things like that. You want people to take you seriously, don’t you?”

I roll my eyes at my own reflection, muttering his words under my breath.

“God forbid I embarrass the future Mrs. Weston,” I say dryly.

Zoe, sipping her drink by the sink, snorts. “Jesus, does he actually say shit like that?”

Jade hums, applying another coat of lipstick. “Yeah, babe. That’s not love. That’s a PR strategy, and heaven knows I’ve had my fair share being married to a congressman.”

For the first time in forever, the thought of pissing Matthew off makes me smile instead of worry.

The tequila Zoe smuggled in sits on the counter, catching the light. I hesitate. I can already hear Matthew’s voice in my head, smooth and certain.

Be good, Ava.

I grab the bottle and pour. The first shot burns, but the second goes down easier. By the third, I’m starting to forget why I said yes to any of this.

“To Ava’s last night of freedom!” Zoe raises her glass, something knowing in her eyes. She’s been my best friend since kindergarten—she sees right through me.

“To making choices we can’t take back,” Jade adds darkly, and I wonder if she’s talking about her ex-husband or me.

Mia arranges us for selfies. I catch her tilting her phone just right, making sure my ring is in the shot. “Smile, bride-to-be! Let’s show Matthew what he’s missing.”

My fiancé won’t see these photos. He’s too busy with work—like always. Three years spent molding myself into his ideal and I can count on one hand the number of times he’s chosen me over his law firm.

Sometimes I wonder how much of our relationship is just for his personal brand. It’s more difficult to tear down a lawyer who’s a family man with a beautiful wife and the possibility of a kid on the way. Not that I’m pregnant, but he’s talked about it a lot and it feels like part of the contract I verbally signed with his proposal. ’Terms and Conditions’ and all that.

The thought makes me pour another drink, tipping the bottle just a little longer than necessary.

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