The low hum of the engine filled the air as the black Bentley glided through the streets of Manhattan. Inside, the temperature was a perfect seventy degrees—neither too warm nor too cold, just how Tiana liked it. She sat in the back seat, legs crossed, sunglasses shielding her eyes, even though the city's sun was hardly peeking through the clouds.
Dylan Haven sat in the front, his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. He hadn't said a word since she got in, and that suited Tiana just fine.
She wasn't in the mood for small talk. She was on her way to inspect a batch of imported fabric samples from Milan—a collection that could dictate the tone of Diamonds' fall line. Every thread mattered. Every hue, every fold, every shimmer.
And yet... she couldn't help stealing a glance at the back of Dylan's head.
That maddeningly controlled man. The driver who never cracked a smile. Who didn't flinch under pressure. Who didn't stammer in her presence like most men. And most importantly—who didn't want her.
It was insulting, really.
He was attractive. In a rough, weathered sort of way. Strong jawline, deep-set eyes that rarely betrayed emotion, and that quiet brooding energy that made women lean in, even if they didn't know why. Any other man would've already tried to flirt, impress, or at least look at her through the rearview mirror.
But Dylan Haven? He drove like she didn't exist.
And that made Tiana furious.
She crossed her legs again, deliberately shifting so the hem of her dress revealed more of her thigh. She saw his eyes flicker in the rearview mirror for just a second before he returned his gaze to the road.
A hit.
But he said nothing.
The silence stretched between them like tension in silk.
"You always this quiet, or is it just me?" she finally said, her voice smooth as satin.
Dylan didn't hesitate. "I drive. You ride. That's the arrangement."
Her brow arched beneath her designer sunglasses. "Is that how you see this? A transaction?"
"That's how I see everything, Miss Kings."
Her lips curled. She wasn't sure if it was irritation or intrigue she felt. Maybe both.
"You weren't always this cold," she said. "No one is born stone."
He gave a dry laugh—a rare, clipped sound. "You'd be surprised."
Tiana leaned back, watching him. "Tell me something, Dylan. Have you ever been in love?"
He didn't answer at first. Just turned onto Fifth Avenue, the buildings casting long shadows across the car.
"I don't believe in love," he said eventually.
She smiled. "You sound like me."
"Then I'm sorry for you."
That took her aback—not the words, but the sincerity in them. He didn't say it to provoke her. He meant it.
She studied his profile. The clean line of his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders, the way his hands never twitched on the wheel.
"Who broke you?" she asked softly.
He looked at her in the mirror then. Just for a moment.
"You ask a lot of personal questions for someone who doesn't believe in intimacy."
"I don't need to believe in it to recognize damage."
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Tiana almost felt guilty—but not quite.
"You think I'm damaged?" he asked.
"I think we both are," she said. "That's why we wear our cold like armor."
The Bentley turned onto a quieter street in SoHo, closer to the private design studio where the fabric samples were being held. Tiana looked out the window for a moment, then spoke again.
"Her name?"
Dylan exhaled through his nose. "Why?"
"Because I want to know what kind of woman made you hate all others."
He didn't answer.
So she tried again.
"Let me guess," she mused. "She was sweet. Gentle. Said she loved you for who you were. Then she found someone richer, better looking, more—what? Powerful? Influential?"
Dylan's jaw clenched.
Bingo.
"I see," she said, folding her arms. "So now you punish the rest of us."
"I don't punish anyone," he said, his tone flat. "I just don't play games anymore."
"Oh, but that's the best part," Tiana purred. "The game."
Dylan parked in front of the studio, pulled the handbrake, and turned off the ignition. For the first time, he looked at her directly. No mirror. No filters.
"I'm not interested in being another toy in your collection, Tiana."
Her name on his lips sounded like a challenge.
She leaned forward, resting one perfectly manicured hand on the headrest of the passenger seat.
"And what if I'm not playing with you?" she said, voice low. "What if this is something else?"
He didn't blink. "Then I'd say you're lying to yourself."
Tiana stared at him for a moment longer, then sat back.
The door opened as her assistant from the fabric house stepped out to greet her.
"Miss Kings, we're ready for you."
Tiana didn't reply right away. She slid on her sunglasses again and adjusted her coat, smoothing her expression back into that of the ice queen everyone knew.
Before stepping out, she paused and looked at Dylan one more time.
"I don't play with toys," she said quietly. "I collect what I want. And I always get what I want."
Then she was gone, heels clicking against the pavement, her silhouette tall and untouchable as ever.
Dylan watched her disappear into the building, jaw tight, thoughts racing.
He didn't know what disturbed him more—that she kept pushing—or that part of him wanted her to keep doing it.
**********
Tiana moved through the fabric showroom like a queen inspecting her kingdom. Rolls of imported silks, velvets, and cashmeres were displayed under custom lighting, each piece more exquisite than the last.
She ran her fingers over a silver-threaded lace panel from Milan, whisper-thin and impossibly delicate.
Perfect for the fall collection's centerpiece.
Yet her mind wasn't on fabric.
It was on the man in the car. On his defiance. His restraint. The walls around him—and the way she wanted to tear them down.
She wasn't used to being ignored.
And certainly not by men like him.
"You like this one?" the studio manager asked, gesturing to the fabric under her hand.
Tiana blinked. "It's beautiful," she said distractedly. "Box it. I'll take it."
As the assistant moved to prepare the sample, Tiana turned to the mirror lining the showroom wall. She looked at her reflection—flawless makeup, sharp cheekbones, eyes like ice. The woman the world saw.
But even she couldn't deny the warmth rising under her skin. The unfamiliar pull.
She'd told Emily that love made people weak. That desire was a distraction.
But Dylan Haven didn't feel like a distraction.
He felt like a problem.
And Tiana Kings had never met a problem she couldn't solve.