The air inside the Bentley was still. Too still.
Dylan Haven leaned back in the driver's seat, the engine off, the faint buzz of the city muffled behind the tinted windows. Outside, Tiana Kings was inspecting silk that cost more per yard than his childhood home. Inside, he sat with a mind racing back to a time he had buried deep.
You ask a lot of personal questions for someone who doesn't believe in intimacy.
Tiana's voice still echoed in his ears. She had no right digging into his past. And yet, she wasn't wrong.
There was a time he'd believed in love. In softness. In loyalty.
Her name had been Mia Thorne.
It started, as all heartbreaks do, with something sweet.
Two Years Earlier
Dylan had been working logistics during the day and bartending at night, grinding his way through each month in Brooklyn, his dreams simple: save enough to open a custom garage, maybe get a small place outside the city. A dog. Some kind of future. He wasn't chasing millions. He was chasing peace.
And then there was Mia.
She came into the bar on a rainy Friday wearing a yellow coat and wet eyelashes, asking for a whiskey sour and leaving behind a smile that stuck in his chest like a hook. She came back the next night, and the next, and by the end of the week, he knew her order, her laugh, and the way she bit her lip when she was thinking.
She was warm where he was rough. She read poetry. She danced barefoot in her kitchen. She made his world lighter without trying. With Mia, everything felt easier.
For once, Dylan let his guard down.
He started leaving notes in her coat pocket. Picked up her favorite coffee. He even brought her to family dinners—introducing her to Evelyn, his mother, who called Mia sunshine in a girl's skin.
Then came Liam.
Dylan's best friend since high school.
Where Dylan was blue-collar grit, Liam was private-school polish. He'd inherited his father's company at 25, a marketing agency stacked with brand deals, influencers, and charm. Liam had money, cars, and the kind of smile that made people forget to be cautious.
They'd been brothers in spirit. Until Mia.
Dylan had walked in on them at Liam's penthouse—mid-laugh, mid-drink, mid-something he didn't want to imagine. Her lipstick wasn't smudged, but her guilt was.
He hadn't meant to come early. He was dropping off Liam's phone charger, something stupid. Something mundane.
He opened the door.
She didn't even jump.
Just turned slowly and said, "I didn't know how to tell you."
Liam wouldn't even meet his eyes.
"You didn't know?" Dylan repeated, his voice hoarse. "You've been sleeping with my best friend and couldn't figure it out?"
"It wasn't like that," Mia said. "It started as—"
"A mistake?" he snapped.
"A conversation," she whispered. "I didn't plan for this to happen."
"But it did," Dylan said, every syllable weighed down with something darker than rage. "And you chose it."
She looked away. "You're always working. Always tired. Always... closed off. I wanted more."
More.
That word stuck like glass in his throat.
And then Liam spoke, the audacity in his tone unforgivable. "She's not trying to hurt you, man. It just—happened."
Dylan turned to him slowly. "You had everything, Liam. And you still wanted her."
Liam flinched. "I didn't mean for it to go this far."
"But it did," Dylan said again, the words iron and acid. "And now you both get to live with it."
He walked out, didn't slam the door, didn't look back. Because if he had, he might've broken something—maybe himself.
In the car, Dylan stared blankly at the dashboard, the ghost of Mia's perfume still somewhere in his memory. Citrus and vanilla. Soft. Tricking him into thinking she was something safe.
She hadn't been.
She'd been his first real vulnerability. And she proved why he'd been right to keep walls up in the first place.
After her, he shut down.
Quit the bar. Dropped his friends. Focused on his mother, Evelyn, whose health was fading but whose eyes still saw through him.
"She wasn't meant for you forever," she'd said, voice frail but firm. "Some women are just lessons, Dylan. Don't build your prison out of one mistake."
But he had.
Until Tiana Kings came crashing through the gates.
She wasn't warm like Mia. She was cold steel. Beautiful and dangerous. She didn't dance in kitchens—she walked through boardrooms like a general. But there was something in her eyes. Something restless. Lonely.
And that terrified him more than Mia ever had.
Because Tiana didn't ask for love.
She asked for submission.
And Dylan had no intention of giving it.
**********
The fabric inspection was done. Tiana returned to the Bentley with samples in a sleek carrier and a gleam in her eyes that said she'd found exactly what she was looking for. Not a word passed between them for ten blocks.
Until she spoke.
"You were quiet while I was gone."
Dylan kept his eyes forward. "There wasn't anyone to talk to."
"I thought drivers were supposed to make small talk," she said, gaze lingering on him. "Offer conversation. Make the ride... pleasant."
"I thought you hired me because I don't do that."
Tiana leaned back, amused. "Touché."
Silence again. But it wasn't comfortable. It buzzed with everything they weren't saying.
Finally, Dylan said, "Her name was Mia."
Tiana's head turned.
"She was the one," he continued, keeping his tone neutral, like reciting facts. "I thought she loved me. Then she slept with my best friend. The one who had more money. More power. More everything."
Tiana was silent. Watching.
"She said I was too closed off," he added. "That she needed someone more ambitious. As if love was a business deal."
Tiana didn't smirk or offer a biting remark. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.
"And you think I'm just like her."
"I think you're dangerous in a different way," he said.
"How so?"
"Because you don't pretend to be soft. You tell people upfront that you don't care. But that makes you even more powerful."
Tiana's smile was slow. But it didn't reach her eyes.
"You should be careful, Dylan," she said. "Sometimes powerful women don't break hearts. They steal souls."
He looked at her in the mirror, and for the first time, he didn't look away.
"I'm not afraid of you."
She leaned forward, her breath brushing the back of his neck like silk. "You should be."
Dylan's grip on the wheel didn't falter.
But something inside him did.