Chapter 1: The Wrong Kind of Birthday Candle
The club smelled like spilled vodka, cheap cologne, and regret. Bass vibrated through the sticky floor, rattling Ava Thompson's ribs as she squeezed past a group of guys yelling over the music. Her black dress clung to her skin from the heat, the one she'd bought specifically for tonight—her eighteenth birthday. She'd imagined Liam's arms around her, maybe a quiet corner where he'd whisper how proud he was that she was finally legal, how this year would be theirs.
Instead, she found him in the middle of the chaos, red Solo cup in hand, head thrown back laughing at something one of his buddies said.
Liam Hayes looked every bit the king of the night. Tall, broad-shouldered, that easy grin that had hooked her two years ago. But his eyes barely flicked her way when she stepped into the circle.
"Baby!" he called, pulling her in for a quick, beery kiss on the cheek. "You're here. Grab a drink, yeah? We're in the middle of something epic."
Epic. Right. Ava forced a smile, but it felt cracked at the edges. She'd texted him three times on the way over. No reply. Now she saw why.
Truth or Dare was in full swing. Empty bottles littered the low table. A girl Ava vaguely recognized from Liam's high school crowd was giggling as she leaned across to plant a sloppy kiss on some guy's neck. The group roared.
Liam's best friend, Tyler, slapped the table. "Your turn, man. Truth or dare?"
"Dare," Liam said without hesitation, eyes gleaming.
Tyler grinned like a shark. "Alright. Kiss Brittany. But—" he held up a thin cocktail napkin "—through this. No direct contact. Make it count."
Brittany, a pretty blonde in a crop top, batted her lashes. The group whooped. Ava's stomach dropped like she'd missed a step on stairs.
Liam didn't even glance at her. He took the napkin, folded it once, and leaned in. The paper fluttered between their mouths as they pressed together. Cheers exploded. Someone whistled. Ava stood there, invisible, the birthday girl nobody remembered to celebrate.
Heat crawled up her neck. She wanted to turn and leave, but her feet stayed glued. When the kiss ended, Liam high-fived Tyler like he'd just won the Super Bowl. Only then did his gaze find her again.
"What's wrong, babe? You look pissed."
Before she could answer, the group noticed her. "Ava! Join us! It's your birthday—perfect timing."
She tried to wave them off. "I'm good, really—"
"Come on, don't be lame," Tyler teased. "One round. For the birthday girl."
Peer pressure wrapped around her like smoke. She sat. The bottle spun. It wobbled, slowed, and landed on her.
Tyler clapped. "Dare!"
Of course.
The dare came fast: "Pick a guy—any guy here—and do seven minutes in heaven with him. No backing out."
Laughter rippled. Everyone looked at Liam. He smirked, already scooting closer like the prize was his by default.
Ava's pulse hammered. She scanned the room, the sweaty bodies, the flashing lights. Then her eyes caught the far corner, half-hidden in shadow.
A man sat alone. Dark hair threaded with the faintest silver at the temples. Sharp jaw, broad shoulders under a crisp charcoal button-down that looked too expensive for this place. He nursed a glass of something amber, watching the game with quiet amusement. She knew him. Barely. Liam's uncle—his mom's younger brother. Dr. Sebastian Kane. He'd shown up at a couple family things, always polite, always distant. The kind of man who made the air feel thicker just by existing.
Something reckless flared in her chest. Anger. Hurt. The need to do something—anything—that wasn't expected.
She stood.
The group fell quiet.
Ava walked straight past Liam, past the grinning faces, and stopped in front of Sebastian.
"Dr. Kane," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "Seven minutes?"
A beat of stunned silence. Then chaos—gasps, laughs, someone yelling "Holy shit!"
Sebastian's eyebrows rose, slow and elegant. Those blue eyes—stormy, assessing—locked on hers. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he'd been waiting for the night to get interesting.
"Are you certain, Ava?" His voice was low, smooth, the kind that wrapped around you like warm caramel.
She nodded once.
Liam's face twisted. "Babe, what the hell?"
But the rules were the rules. The group shoved them toward a small storage room off the main floor—dim, cluttered with crates and old speakers, the door shutting with a decisive click.
Seven minutes started.
The space felt tiny. Sebastian leaned against a stack of boxes, arms crossed, studying her like a complicated paragraph in one of his books.
"That was quite the entrance," he said. "Liam's going to sulk for days."
Ava laughed, shaky. "He deserves it. He's been… I don't know. Somewhere else all night. All week, really."
Sebastian tilted his head. "And you decided the best revenge was dragging his boring old uncle into a closet?"
"You're not old," she shot back, then blushed. "And you're not boring. You're the only one here who looks like he'd rather be reading than doing shots."
He chuckled, a rich sound that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. "Guilty. I came because my sister guilt-tripped me into 'supporting family.' Didn't expect to play chaperone to a game of hormonal roulette."
Silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward. It felt charged. Like the air right before lightning.
"Tell me something real," he said softly. "Why me, Ava? You could've picked anyone. Even Liam."
She swallowed. "Because picking him would've been safe. Expected. And tonight… I'm tired of safe."
Sebastian pushed off the crates. He moved closer, not crowding her, but close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne—something woody and spiced, like dark chocolate and aged bourbon.
"Careful what you wish for," he murmured. "Some flavors linger long after the party's over."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The timer on someone's phone outside ticked down in her mind.
He reached out, slow enough that she could pull away. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. The touch was feather-light, yet it lit her up like the first spoonful of crème brûlée—crisp on top, warm and silky beneath.
Then he leaned in.
Their lips met.
It wasn't the sloppy, napkin-filtered mess Liam had done. This was deliberate. Sebastian kissed like he had all the time in the world and none of it, savoring her mouth the way a master chef might savor the first perfect bite of a dish he'd perfected over years. Sweet heat bloomed, spreading through her veins like melted honey. His hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb stroking gently, and she melted into it, tasting hints of the whiskey he'd been drinking—smoky, complex, addictive.
She pressed closer. His other hand settled at her waist, firm and steady, guiding rather than grabbing. Their bodies aligned like ingredients coming together in a perfect reduction—slow, intentional, every shift building layers of flavor she hadn't known she was starving for.
When they broke apart, both breathing harder, he rested his forehead against hers for a second.
"Seven minutes well spent," he whispered, voice rougher now.
The door banged open.
Time was up.
Ava stepped out first, cheeks flushed, lips tingling. The group exploded with cheers and questions. Liam's face was thunder. He grabbed her arm, not hard, but possessive.
"What was that?"
She pulled free. "A dare. You seemed busy with yours."
Sebastian emerged behind her, calm as ever, adjusting his cuff like nothing had happened. But when his gaze flicked to hers, there was heat there. A promise. Or a warning.
The rest of the night blurred. Liam tried to laugh it off, but the tension crackled. Ava kept stealing glances at the corner, but Sebastian had slipped away sometime after.
Later, alone in the Uber home, she touched her lips. They still felt warm. Alive.
She didn't know it yet, but that single stolen feast in the dark had just changed the entire menu of her life.