Bound By Fire

Chapter Two

Amelia

Courtroom three always smelled faintly of wood polish and nerves. Today, both clung to the air thicker than perfume. My client Damian Blackwood’s soon-to-be ex-wife sat beside me, recess over, her fingers cold against mine as I offered one last reassuring squeeze.

Across the aisle, Damian sat like a king surveying his court. Perfectly tailored navy suit, cufflinks gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and that infuriating half-smile plastered on his lips as if the entire proceeding was nothing more than an amusement for him.

Typical.

The judge called the court to order, and I rose, heels striking the floor like deliberate punctuation. My voice was steady, trained: infidelity, concealed assets, emotional distress. I spoke each word like it was a blade, slicing through his spotless reputation.

He didn’t flinch. He leaned back, hands clasped lazily, eyes locked on me with the kind of look that always made me want to punch him or God forbid kiss him. I hated that I remembered exactly what those lips felt like.

Focus, Amelia.

I finished with a flourish, sliding the motion across to the clerk. When the judge granted it in my favor, a ripple of satisfaction moved through me. My client relaxed. Victory, even a small one, was everything in a case like this.

But across the aisle, Damian only raised an eyebrow. A deliberate twitch of his mouth. He wanted me to know he wasn’t rattled. He never was.

The gavel struck again, recess called. I gathered my papers with cool efficiency and stood, determined not to look in his direction. That lasted all of five seconds. My eyes betrayed me, darting over only to find him already watching me, a wolf among sheep.

I turned on my heel and left, head high.

The hallway outside was quieter, but not safe. My heels echoed on the marble floor, each step a command to myself: don’t stop, don’t engage, don't...

“Congratulations,” a smooth, dark voice said.

I froze. Damian pulled me into a shadowed corner, his index finger pressed to my lips to be quiet. His tie was loosened now, his smile slow and cutting.

“You didn’t completely embarrass yourself in there,” he added.

I rolled my eyes and attempted to walk away. “Save your commentary for your PR team, Damian.”

“Ah, but then I’d miss this,” he murmured, holding her still. His cologne wrapped around me, spiced wood and something darker, dangerously familiar. “The fire. The bite. I wondered if you’d lost it.”

I stopped struggling abruptly his chest brushed mine. “Don’t test me, Blackwood.”

His grin widened. “The way you say my name… you’ve been practicing?”

Fury coiled through me, hot and heavy. I stepped closer, intending to end this little game with one sharp remark. But then I made the mistake of looking up. His eyes, storm-dark, intent were locked on mine, and the world tilted.

“You already look tested,” he whispered, voice low enough to vibrate through me. “And maybe a little tempted.”

My breath hitched. Damn him. Damn me.

“Not a chance,” I snapped, but my voice betrayed me with the faintest tremor.

And then before I could blink he moved.

-------------------------------------------

Damian

I hadn’t expected the courtroom to feel like a battlefield and a memory all at once. Sitting across from Amelia Cross after all these years was like being dropped into a war I’d already lost once. She was flawless: sharp suit, sharper tongue, eyes like polished steel.

She tore into me with her words, every accusation clean and cutting. And God help me, I enjoyed it. She was fire incarnate, and while the judge and jury saw a ruthless attorney, I saw the woman who had once set my world ablaze.

When the judge ruled in her favor, she didn’t gloat. Not outwardly. But I caught it, the tiniest glint of triumph in her gaze before she turned away. She thought she’d scored the first win. She thought I would roll over. She’d forgotten who I was.

More importantly, she’d forgotten who we were.

So I waited.

When she appeared in the hallway, all icy composure and swinging hips, I couldn’t resist. I stepped out, enjoying the flicker of irritation that crossed her face and pulled her into the shadowed corner.

“Congratulations,” I said, deliberately slow.

Her retort was sharp, predictable. God, I’d missed that mouth.

I pushed, needling her until she stopped struggling, fire sparking in those gray eyes. Every muscle in me tensed, the ache of years condensed into one dangerous impulse. She said my name like a curse, and I wanted to hear it again, louder, broken.

And then I saw it: the way her pupils widened, the way her chest rose just a fraction too fast.

She was fighting it. Fighting me.

I’d never been good at restraint.

Before she could retreat, I caught her wrist and pulled her in. Her body collided with mine, every line of her searing through my suit. And then my mouth was on hers.

The world fell away.

Her lips parted in shock, but only for a heartbeat. Then she kissed me back, fierce and furious, the way only Amelia ever could. It was a war and a surrender all at once, teeth clashing, breath tangling.

For a second, for one perfect, damning second, it was like nothing had changed.

Then she shoved me away.

Her palm cracked against my chest, her eyes blazing as she wiped her mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

I should’ve apologized. Should’ve stepped back. But instead, I smiled, slow and deliberate, masking the chaos burning inside me.

“Too late,” I said.

She spun and stormed down the corridor, her heels slicing through the silence like gunfire. I watched her go, my pulse still hammering, my lips tingling from the taste of her.

Amelia Cross might hate me. She might fight me tooth and nail. But I’d just proven one undeniable truth.

She wanted me.

And this war?

It had only just begun.