The next morning, the professional performance began. Ava and Julian faced the German delegation briefing, the first of many high-stakes, closed-door sessions. Ava, fueled by adrenaline and the residual knowledge of Julian's shattered glass, was sharper than usual, her legal arguments forming granite walls around the Shared Accountability Protocol.
Julian, meanwhile, was the perfect Gentleman Shark: poised, charming, and utterly dominant. He addressed the economic forecasts with flawless precision, his anger from the night before channeled into a relentless, icy focus. He made it clear, without resorting to threat, that opposition to the Protocol was financially foolish and strategically obsolete.
They moved as a perfect, professional unit. When a German representative challenged the enforceability of a cross-border legal clause, Ava instantly supplied the precise acte clair legal precedent. When a Spanish delegate questioned the risk assessment model, Julian stepped in, calmly presenting real-time data visualizations that silenced the query.
They didn't look at each other, but they anticipated each other. They operated on a level of intellectual synergy that astonished the room. Each challenge was met by a seamless tag-team defense: Ava providing the structure, Julian supplying the force.
The delegates were not just impressed; they were subdued. The narrative Julian had created the powerful, unified front was working. The defeated billionaire and the conquering barrister were, together, unstoppable.
During a brief recess, Minister Sharma cornered Ava, her face alight with relief. "Ava, you and Mr. Thornfield are marvelous together! I was worried, you know, after the headlines, but the chemistry... it's phenomenal! You are the perfect counterweight to his ambition."
"Thank you, Minister," Ava said, accepting the backhanded compliment with grace. "We share a commitment to the Protocol's success."
"More than that, dear. There is a magnificent tension. The room is riveted. Please, keep doing whatever it is you are doing."
Ava managed a polite smile and escaped, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. The Minister called it tension. The world called it chemistry. Ava knew it was the fragile, electrified space between two people who fundamentally misunderstood each other, yet recognized a matching depth of ambition.
Their forced collaboration continued into the late afternoon, concluding with a brief, private session back in the external lounge, where they reviewed notes for the evening's diplomatic reception.
The air between them was quiet now, the aggressive spark of the night before having been refined into something colder and more dangerous: profound, analytical respect.
Ava finally broached the incident from the early morning.
"I overheard a disturbance last night, Julian," Ava stated, looking up from her notes. "Shattered glass. A… loud noise. I trust everything is secure?"
Julian didn't flinch. He continued to mark a passage in his notes before finally setting down his pen with deliberate precision.
"A faulty whisky glass," Julian replied, his voice flat. "Defective artisanal manufacturing. One of the inevitable risks of luxury. Security was informed, it was removed. Are you finished with the final enforcement slides?"
The lie was smooth, total, and utterly dismissive. He was refusing to acknowledge the private moment of vulnerability she had witnessed. He was shutting her out, retreating behind his polished facade.
"Yes, I am finished with the slides," Ava said, her voice taut with irritation at his control. "I am not finished with your reluctance to acknowledge that you are a man under profound stress."
Julian finally looked up, his slate eyes holding a cold challenge. "I am under control, Ava. You, on the other hand, are projecting. Your internal conflict the one between the lawyer who demands ethics and the woman who is tempted by chaos is becoming audible. Contain it. Paris demands perfection."
"My internal conflict is my own. Yours nearly required me to call hotel security," Ava shot back, abandoning politeness. "We are co-chairing a global summit. Your stability is part of my professional risk assessment."
A slow, chilling smile touched Julian's lips. "Then assess this, Barrister. The thing that shattered last night was not glass. It was my patience with a competitor who believes she can peel back my layers without suffering the consequences. You want a personal stake in this war, Ava? Fine. You just earned one."
He rose from his chair, leaning across the table until the scent of his cologne filled her senses sharp, clean, and dangerous.
"You admire my discipline. You are drawn to my control. But you are trying to find the crack, aren't you? Hoping to prove that my success is built on the same emotional instability that damaged your father's firm. That's not competence, Ava. That's a desire to ruin me, and you're using my vulnerability as leverage."
Ava's throat tightened. The accusation was terrifyingly close to the truth. She was trying to rationalize her attraction by finding the flaw that would make him less dangerous.
"My desire is to win," Ava insisted.
"No," Julian contradicted, shaking his head slightly. "Your desire is to surrender. And that, Ava, is the one thing your brilliant mind will never allow you to do willingly."
He straightened, the tension leaving the space as quickly as it had arrived. "I suggest you prepare for the reception. We will give the press the picture of unity they crave."
Ava returned to her suite, reeling from the accuracy of his assessment. You are trying to find the crack... Hoping to prove that my success is built on the same emotional instability...
She had found a flaw in his armor the vulnerability related to his mother's failure and he had retaliated by finding the flaw in hers: her crippling fear of surrender and her use of control as a shield.
She stared at her reflection as she dressed for the evening reception. The emerald silk gown, the perfect makeup it was the armor of the Iron Woman. Tonight, she had to wear it in public, beside the one man who had seen through the steel to the volatile core beneath.
At the Diplomatic Reception, held in the breathtaking Galerie des Batailles at the Palace of Versailles, Julian and Ava were the undeniable focus.
They circulated, receiving congratulations and fielding political inquiries with practiced, easy charm. Julian was gracious, yet dominant. Ava was the intellectual anchor, ensuring every statement was legally sound. They looked, to the outside world, like a flawless power couple a partnership of equals whose success was mutually assured.
However, as they stood together near a marble balustrade, posing for a journalist's camera, Julian leaned in and spoke without moving his lips.
"The press is already running with the 'Billionaire and the Barrister' narrative," Julian murmured. "They don't see the Protocol. They see the power dynamic."
"Then we will ensure our discussion remains purely procedural," Ava whispered back, her voice tight.
"It's too late for that." Julian's fingers brushed the silk of her bare arm, a fraction of a second of contact that felt like a deliberate burn. "We have established the tension. Now, we must maintain it, without allowing it to compromise the objective."
He stepped back, his expression instantly returning to the distant, professional calm of the Gentleman Shark.
But the seed of the unspoken truth had been planted: They were maintaining the tension together. Their unity was professional, yes, but their success was rooted in their personal, unresolved conflict. The hatred was morphing, slowly, irrevocably, into a dangerous, collaborative passion.
As the press lights flashed, capturing the image of the perfect power couple, Ava knew the rules had changed again. Julian wasn't just an opponent anymore; he was her necessary, thrilling collaborator in both war and she dared not think it desire.