Julian had been true to his word: he had brought the war directly to her domain.
The matter was deceptively small but strategically critical: Thornfield Innovations vs. The Harrington Group. Julian was suing The Harrington Group, a manufacturing consortium, over a restrictive covenant in a decade-old land sale a piece of litigation Ava had taken on as a favor to an old family friend, never expecting Julian to personally lead the charge on a matter typically delegated to junior counsel.
Julian wasn't after the land; he was after her attention, her composure, and her time.
The London courtroom was smaller than the high-vaulted arena of their first conflict, making the tension far more intimate. Ava wore a deep navy gown, her wig perfectly aligned, projecting an image of cold, unassailable preparedness. Julian, in the bespoke dark gray he favored, sat at the claimant's table, watching her with an intense, proprietary focus that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Their conflict in this smaller, lower-stakes environment felt less like a professional disagreement and more like a staged argument between estranged lovers.
Julian opened the cross-examination of Ava's first witness, Harrington's CEO, with the precision of a master torturer. He didn't raise his voice; he simply applied pressure to a small, specific point until the witness cracked. Ava watched, admiration battling her mounting fury. He was using the legal process to deliver a psychological dismantling, not of the witness, but of her.
When it was her turn to cross-examine Julian's primary financial expert, she was prepared. She needed to expose Julian's motivation that the pursuit of the land was merely leverage for a much larger, unspoken corporate strategy.
Ava approached the stand, her gaze locked on the witness, Mr. Andrew Wallace. "Mr. Wallace, you stated that the immediate commercial value of the land in question is estimated at approximately twelve million pounds, correct?"
"Correct, Ms. Sinclair."
"And you are aware that Thornfield Innovations currently holds over a hundred and twenty properties worldwide, correct?"
Wallace shifted slightly. "I am."
"Julian Thornfield's stated reason for this lawsuit is to exercise the restrictive covenant and prevent The Harrington Group from building a new R&D facility there. You testified that the land is crucial to Thornfield's long-term European strategy, is that correct?"
"It is essential."
Ava paused, her voice hardening. "Now, Mr. Wallace, please look at the Claimant's table. Mr. Thornfield is seated there, is he not?"
"Yes."
"Did he, at any point during your preparation, instruct you to quantify the psychological value of taking this land away from The Harrington Group, which has held it for forty years?"
Objection from Julian's junior counsel. Ava waved it away before the judge could speak.
"It is a question of motive, My Honour. I believe the valuation is flawed because it omits the actual commodity being traded here: disruption."
The judge allowed it, fascinated.
Ava pressed Wallace, but his evasiveness was too well-trained. Ava knew the legal challenge was going nowhere; the real confrontation was happening outside the evidence.
Finally, Julian stood up to address the court on a point of order, ensuring he was standing directly between Ava and the judge, forcing her to look straight up at him.
"My Honour," Julian's voice was smooth, a low vibration that seemed to travel directly through the floor, "the defense is attempting to introduce spurious arguments of motive and psychological factors, which have no bearing on the contractual obligation we are enforcing. We are not here to discuss personal history or corporate sentimentality. We are here to discuss the Law of Contract. Ms. Sinclair's tactics suggest she is letting her personal, shall we say, history with Thornfield Innovations influence her professional judgment."
The room went silent. It was a vicious, calculated strike. He had publicly weaponized their past, turning her professionalism into a potential conflict of interest.
Ava felt the blood rush from her face, but she held her ground, her spine rigid. She met his gaze, and for a silent moment, the courtroom vanished. She saw the challenge from Paris, the arrogance in the green room, and the fury in his eyes when she had rejected him professionally.
"With respect, My Honour," Ava said, her voice trembling slightly before she regained absolute control. "Mr. Thornfield's counsel appears to be confusing legal arguments with character assassination. If Mr. Thornfield wishes to discuss history and personal influence, I suggest he address the matter in chambers, not in a public court where he is clearly using his position and his wealth to distract from the thinness of his legal claim."
The judge intervened, his expression severe. "We will take a recess. Both counsels will rein in their personal remarks, or I will hold both in contempt."
Ava grabbed her gown and walked swiftly out, her head held high. She retreated to the barristers' private room, leaning against the cold stone wall, fighting for air. Julian's blow had landed precisely where it hurt her reputation.
She heard the door click open and knew instantly it wasn't her clerk. Julian stood in the doorway, blocking her escape.
"You looked pale, Ms. Sinclair," he said, his voice dropping all pretense of courtroom formality.
"You disgust me, Mr. Thornfield," she bit out. "You used that claim just to get me back in a room where you could humiliate me."
"You humiliated me first," he reminded her, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. "And you rejected me. I don't take rejection well. Especially not in writing, signed with a formal signature." He leaned in, his eyes dark with a mix of fury and intense desire. "You want distance? You want formality? You'll get it, Ava, but it won't protect you. Every time you try to build a wall, I will use my power to find the loophole and tear it down."
He reached out, his hand grasping the back of her neck beneath the edge of her wig, precisely where he had touched her in the television studio. This time, there was no pretense of accident only a rough, possessive claim.
"Tonight," he grated, his thumb tracing the line of her spine, "we are going to finish this argument outside of counsel. I don't care how many directives Richard Reeve has issued. You can be the Ice Queen in court, but tonight, Ava, you are mine."
The argument was over. The physical longing, suppressed by the cold war, exploded into immediate, raw need. The hate was a thin veneer over the passion, and Julian had just burned it away.
Ava's resolve snapped. The stress of the day, the professional slight, the impossible proximity it was too much. She pulled him closer, her hands finding the silk of his tie and tugging him down fiercely. The kiss was immediate, desperate, a silent testament to their mutual destruction.
They stumbled out of the private room, ignoring the shocked glance of a clerk in the hallway. The courtroom tension had mirrored their private frustration, and now, the argument had been settled in the only way they knew how with raw, impulsive desire.