The hum of the elevator was the only sound Dylan Haven allowed himself to focus on as he stood, immaculate in his pressed uniform, inside the quiet lobby of Tiana Kings' luxury penthouse tower. The morning was crisp, the kind that warned of coming winter, but Dylan's internal clock didn't register seasons. Only schedules.
6:59a.m. sharp. Just like before.
Nothing had changed about him—dark suit, neat beard, impassive face. He wore silence like armor. Not even the doorman, who nodded politely in recognition, dared speak to him unless necessary.
The ride up to the 20th floor was smooth, like the rest of Dylan's routines. Mechanical. Clean. Efficient.
But even now, some part of him felt the weight of yesterday—of the appointment room, the sharp scent of disinfectant, his mother's fragile fingers around his wrist. Evelyn had smiled through it all. "Go back to work," she'd told him, waving him off with mock scorn. "I need something to brag about when I see the nurses again."
So here he was. Back where he belonged. Or at least, where he was expected.
The elevator opened to a hallway so pristine it looked uninhabited. At the far end, a single, oversized door. He stepped forward and knocked—twice, firm but not intrusive.
Footsteps approached.
The door opened.
Tiana Kings stood there in a dark green satin blouse and tailored slacks, a coat draped over one arm. Her hair was swept into a sleek twist, and not a single detail on her person was anything less than perfect. But her expression, as always, was unreadable. Ice over steel.
"You're back," she said.
"I am, ma'am," Dylan replied, voice flat and clear.
"Any issues this morning?"
"No, ma'am. Vehicle is fueled and ready. Route cleared."
Tiana studied him for a second longer than necessary. He didn't blink.
She finally nodded. "Let's go."
He stepped aside to let her lock the penthouse. No words were exchanged on the way down. None were expected. They moved like matching shadows—precise, focused, detached.
The car waited at the curb—black, gleaming, utterly inconspicuous.
Dylan opened the back door for her and waited as she stepped in, then rounded the front and took the driver's seat. With a flick of the wrist, the car hummed to life. The scent of clean leather and quiet professionalism filled the air.
They merged into the early morning traffic. City lights still blinked sleepily against the grey dawn.
Inside the car, silence reigned.
Tiana glanced out the window, arms crossed, legs tucked neatly. She'd had her fill of talking the day before—meetings that stretched and tangled, voices layered with obligation and urgency. Now, in the bubble of the car, she allowed herself the rarest thing: stillness.
She looked at the back of Dylan's head. He hadn't changed. His movements were fluid and confident. His face in the rearview mirror betrayed nothing. If anything, he looked more composed than usual.
But she'd seen on Sunday. She'd seen something different then—something... human. Not here. Not now.
"Your mother's appointment went well?" she asked, breaking her own rule of silence.
"Yes," he said, after a beat. "Results are stable."
"Good."
No thank you. No small talk. Just acknowledgment.
It suited them both.
"You drove yourself yesterday," Dylan said, his tone observational.
"I did."
"Traffic was heavy."
"It was."
Another pause. Dylan adjusted lanes, smooth as water.
"You didn't enjoy it," he added.
"No," she admitted, surprising herself.
Silence settled again, but something between them shifted slightly. A thread of understanding that neither addressed.
They arrived at the Diamonds headquarters just before 7:45 a.m., minutes ahead of schedule—as always.
Dylan pulled smoothly into the private garage, parked, and exited. He opened her door before she'd even reached for the handle.
Tiana stepped out and paused beside him.
"You're needed for a late pickup tonight," she said. "There's a charity event downtown. I'll forward the itinerary."
"I'll be ready," he replied without hesitation.
"Wear the tux," she added.
"Yes, ma'am."
She walked toward the private elevator without another word. Dylan watched her go, then returned to the driver's seat. The door closed with a satisfying click.
Inside, he exhaled.
Work had resumed. Balance had returned.
And yet, the image of her standing in her doorway that morning lingered in his mind—not cold, not sharp. Just quiet. Almost... tired.
But he knew better than to read into silence.
She was his boss. He was her driver. That was all.
And that was everything.
The day passed like a slow-moving machine.
Dylan spent his morning cleaning the car, checking oil levels, confirming pickup logistics for the evening. Everything had to be flawless. For Diamonds. For Tiana Kings. For the empire that demanded precision.
He checked his messages. None from her. None needed.
By afternoon, he'd taken a brief break to grab coffee—black, unsweetened. He didn't linger. Didn't wander. Discipline was routine. Routine was control.
At 6:15 p.m., he returned to the garage and changed into the formal uniform: tailored tuxedo, white gloves, polished shoes. Presentation mattered tonight. Events like this weren't just transportation—they were orchestration.
At 7:10 p.m. sharp, he returned to the penthouse tower.
This time, when the elevator doors opened, she was already waiting.
Her dress was black velvet, minimalist, cut like it was sculpted onto her. A high slit. Subtle diamonds at her wrist and ear. Her expression was as unreadable as ever, but Dylan noted the wear in her eyes. Another long day.
He opened the door wordlessly. She stepped inside without acknowledging him. They both understood the dance.
The drive to the event was lit by city lights and golden reflections off glass. Music from the radio remained off. The silence was not uncomfortable—but it pressed with unspoken things.
At a red light, Dylan adjusted the mirror. Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Then the light turned green.
And the silence returned.