The storm arrived violently, a torrential downpour and a relentless battering of wind that turned the streets of Paris into a shimmering, silver chaos. It wasn't the kind of gentle Parisian rain that inspired poetry; it was an angry, disruptive storm that shut down airports, halted the Metro, and trapped delegates inside the grand confines of the Hôtel de Crillon.
The unexpected weather canceled the rest of the day's closed-door meetings and, crucially, the formal diplomatic dinner. The forced proximity that Ava and Julian had been managing with such rigid professionalism instantly intensified. They were now confined, together, to the three adjoining rooms of their secured suite.
Ava tried to work. She set up her laptop in the quiet elegance of her sitting room, hoping the legal texts on her screen would block out the noise of the wind and the far more distracting awareness of Julian existing just thirty feet away.
But the silence from his side was unnerving. He wasn't on a call, the keyboard wasn't tapping, and no expensive glassware was shattering. He was simply there.
A sudden, sharp bolt of lightning illuminated her suite, followed by a thunderclap that shook the heavy windows. The lights in the room flickered, briefly plunging the suite into shadow, before humming back to life.
A low, amused voice drifted through the connecting door, easily penetrating the thin wood.
"Barrister. Did your electrical grid just fail?"
Ava walked to the dividing door, placing her hand on the bolted wood. "It's a city-wide storm, Julian, not a failure of infrastructure. I'm quite secure."
"I'm aware of the weather. But as I recall, you prefer absolute control over variables. This storm has just introduced several hundred thousand unstable ones."
Ava sighed, rubbing her forehead. "What do you want, Julian?"
"Room service," he replied simply. "The lobby is saturated, the kitchen is overwhelmed, and I refuse to subject my security team to a three-hour wait time for soup. I propose we combine resources and leverage our suite status for a single, joint order. We can share the lounge and the inconvenience. Unless, of course, the thought of sharing a plate with me compromises your ethics."
Ava hesitated. To agree felt like surrendering another layer of professionalism. To refuse felt petty and childish, especially when she was starving and stuck inside.
"I'll meet you in the lounge in ten minutes," she conceded, already hating her compliance.
Ten minutes later, Ava walked into the lounge. Julian was already there, but he wasn't working. He was standing by the window, watching the rain sheet across the Place de la Concorde, a rare moment of stillness. He wore tailored, dark-gray trousers and a simple black cashmere sweater, the removal of his suit jacket instantly making him look less like a financier and more like a man you shouldn't be alone with in a storm.
"I took the liberty of ordering," Julian announced, turning. "I chose French comfort food. It seemed appropriate given the sudden confinement."
Ava took a seat, trying to ignore the way the cashmere hugged his broad shoulders. "I trust your order didn't include corporate espionage tactics."
"Only dessert," he countered, walking over to pour her a glass of mineral water. "I assure you, it's highly decadent."
When the food arrived a rich blanquette de veau and fresh bread the atmosphere shifted. They ate at the coffee table, the grand room feeling suddenly intimate and private under the noise of the rain. The food was warm, comforting, and required no ceremony.
After the initial silence, Ava found herself speaking, not as a lawyer, but as a person.
"I haven't had a meal like this since my last term at Oxford," Ava admitted softly, crumbling a piece of bread. "I used to bury myself in the library, surviving on coffee and self-hatred. My father died just before my final exams. The stress… it was consuming."
Julian paused, his fork half-way to his mouth. He waited, his silence encouraging her.
"I won the first-class honours," Ava continued, staring into her bowl, "but I felt nothing. It was just a necessary, strategic victory. I realized then that emotion was debt, and I couldn't afford it."
Julian nodded slowly. "My first year after the scandal after my father left I was at Harvard. I put on the suit, I studied finance, and I built the wall. I didn't return home for three years. I thought if I accumulated enough success, the pain would be irrelevant."
"And did it work?" Ava asked, looking up.
Julian smiled, a genuine, sad curve of his lips that was more unsettling than any sneer. "It worked in every metric that matters to the world. But it didn't work when I was alone, at three in the morning, looking at the broken glass of a defective artisanal whisky cup."
Ava felt the weight of their shared vulnerability press in on her. They were two people who had built empires on the foundations of childhood fear.
"That's why you can't tolerate betrayal," Ava realized. "Because it undermines the entire structure you built. It makes the sacrifice meaningless."
"Exactly. And you; you can't tolerate being underestimated," Julian countered, his eyes penetrating. "You fear that if you show weakness, they will dismiss the brilliance of your mind and the legitimacy of your position."
They stared at each other across the low table, the storm raging outside providing a natural, powerful boundary for their shared secrets.
"We are two sides of the same ruined coin, Julian," Ava whispered.
"We are two people who know exactly how dangerous the other one is," he corrected, his voice a low, steady rumble. "We are not ruined, Ava. We are perfected. We learned the world's lesson."
Part III: A Flash of HeatThe exhaustion and the intimacy of the shared space were making the air thick and electric. Julian poured the remnants of his whisky into his glass, offering the bottle towards her side of the table.
"A drop of single malt, for the sake of companionship?"
Ava shook her head, but she was smiling faintly the first unforced, genuine smile Julian had ever seen her give. "I stick to water. I need my defenses intact."
"Smart. I should warn you, mine are beginning to crumble."
He moved from the coffee table, walking to the windows again, pulling open the sheer curtain. The lightning flashed, illuminating his silhouette. He looked magnificent a figure of dark power and sharp edges.
Ava followed him, walking up behind him. The sight of the city slick, glittering, and bowed under the storm's force was mesmerizing.
"It feels good, doesn't it?" Ava murmured, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "The anonymity. The removal of choice. The storm made the decision for us."
"There is no anonymity, Ava. Not for us." Julian turned suddenly, trapping her between his body and the cold glass pane of the window.
The proximity was immediate and brutal. Ava's breath hitched. She could see the reflection of the lightning in his dark eyes, and the shadow of his hand reaching up to grasp the slick pane of glass above her head.
"You said you needed your defenses intact," Julian breathed, his voice rough. "But you came here, to the window, knowing exactly what this position would do to our control."
"I came here to see the storm," Ava lied, the words trembling slightly.
"Liar." He leaned closer, and this time there was no contempt, only desire, raw and undisguised. "We shared a silence. We shared a truth. And now we are sharing a space that is too small for professional distance."
He didn't touch her. But the air between them was so charged, it felt like an unbearable weight.
"You are still my enemy," Ava insisted, her hand bracing against his chest a conscious, deliberate touch this time.
"Enemies don't confess their darkest fears over blanquette de veau," Julian countered, his fingers curling into the plush cashmere of his sweater. "Enemies maintain the lie. We have shattered it."
The tension peaked, a silent, volatile promise of violence and passion. Julian lowered his head, his mouth inches from hers.
This was not the angry, impulsive kiss of the gala. This was deliberate. Planned. It was the kiss they had been fighting since the gavel fell.
And then, just as their lips were about to meet, a loud, insistent buzz erupted from Julian's trouser pocket a frantic, high-priority alert from his company headquarters.
Julian froze, his body rigid with fury and discipline. He took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a split second before pushing himself away from her and the window.
"The universe is mocking us, Barrister," Julian grated out, pulling his phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and the raw desire in his eyes was instantly replaced by the cold, metallic calculation of the CEO. "A crisis. One of my Dubai holdings is facing an immediate regulatory challenge."
He didn't look at Ava again. He walked to the external door of the lounge, already tapping a command into his earpiece.
"Get the jet ready. I need a secured line to Dubai legal, now."
He was gone. Ava stood alone by the window, shaking, staring at the empty space where his mouth had been just seconds ago. The storm outside seemed to subside instantly, replaced by a sudden, unnatural calm.
She pressed her palm against the cold windowpane. Julian was gone, summoned back to his empire. She was left behind, utterly alone in the gilded cage, betrayed once again not by a man, but by the relentless demands of his power.
The kiss hadn't happened. But the line had been crossed.