The mirror on the cracked wall didn't flatter anyone, but Dylan Haven didn't care. He stood in front of it, adjusting the collar of his gray shirt with mechanical precision. The morning light filtering through the dusty blinds cut across his sharp features—high cheekbones, a strong jawline in need of a shave, and eyes the color of smoke after rain. Calm. Cold. Distant.
He pulled on a faded black blazer and stared at himself for a moment longer. This wasn't about making a good impression. It was about necessity. Rent was overdue. The heater hadn't worked in two weeks. And most importantly, the rasping cough from the next room was getting worse.
"You look... sharp, baby."
Dylan turned. His mother stood at the doorway, clutching the edge of the frame for balance. Her frame was thin, her skin pale from months of battling an illness they couldn't afford to name. A faded shawl hung over her shoulders, and her lips curled into a tired but proud smile.
"You should be in bed, Ma."
"I should be dancing on a beach somewhere," she said, waving off his concern. "But here we are."
Dylan crossed the room in a few steps and gently guided her back to the armchair in the corner. The oxygen tank hissed quietly beside it, a cruel reminder of time slipping away. He crouched down in front of her and took her thin hand in his.
"You don't have to worry about me today," he said. "It's just another job interview."
His mother's smile softened, eyes glinting with something more than pride—fear, maybe, or hope too fragile to name. "It's not just any job. You said it was for one of those private firms, right? High-end?"
"Yeah. Personal driver. Probably some corporate exec who thinks the world rotates around them."
She chuckled, then coughed hard, folding into herself. Dylan grabbed a tissue, steadying her until the fit passed.
"I'll be fine," she whispered afterward. "I just need to know you're okay out there."
Dylan stood, jaw tightening. "I'll be back before five. You rest. I already made the soup."
He kissed her forehead, grabbed the keys to his beat-up car, and stepped outside into the cold morning air.
The drive into the city was uneventful, but Dylan's thoughts refused to quiet. The firm he was interviewing with—Diamonds —was a mystery wrapped in rumors. High-profile, high-security. Tightly run. The kind of place that didn't put out job postings unless they already had someone in mind.
He parked a block away from the sleek building and walked the rest of the way, his boots hitting the pavement with slow certainty. He didn't need this job to make him whole—he'd stopped believing in anything doing that a long time ago. But he needed it to survive.
Inside, the lobby was all marble and silence. He gave his name to the receptionist and sat stiffly in a chair that looked too expensive to be real. The seconds stretched into minutes, and Dylan let his mind go blank, the way he had in the army, the way he had in that courtroom years ago when his ex girlfriend sold him out without blinking.
He'd learned not to trust. Especially not women. Especially not smiles.
A door opened, and a young woman stepped out with a tablet in hand.
She was younger than he expected—early twenties, maybe twenty-five—with a soft but focused face, warm brown eyes, and a braid over one shoulder. Her heels clicked quietly as she approached.
"Dylan Haven?"
He stood. "Yeah."
"I'm Emily. Ms. Kings' assistant. You're here for the driver position?"
He nodded.
She smiled politely, but something about his demeanor made her blink. He wasn't rude. Just... cold. Like someone who kept his soul behind locked steel doors.
"Right this way," she said, turning.
As they walked through the sleek hallway, Emily glanced at him from the side. "Just a heads-up... Ms. Kings isn't exactly what people expect."
Dylan didn't respond.
"She's young," Emily continued, undeterred. "But she runs the company like someone twice her age. Very precise. Very guarded."
"I'm not here to make friends," Dylan replied.
Emily tilted her head slightly, frowning at the lack of emotion in his tone. "Well, you'll fit right in then."
She stopped at a tall black door with gold trim, took a breath, and knocked once before stepping inside.
The office was nothing like Dylan expected. It was minimalist, clean, with soft tones and elegant fixtures. No clutter. No unnecessary warmth. Everything in its place. The kind of space where nothing went unnoticed.
Behind the desk stood Tiana Kings.
She didn't rise, didn't smile. Twenty-six years old, but already carrying the air of someone who knew her value and didn't need to explain it. Her dark hair was in a sleek low bun, and her tailored charcoal suit spoke louder than any words.
She looked up at Dylan with unreadable eyes. "You're the applicant."
"I am," he said, voice even.
She studied him a moment. "Military?"
"Yes."
"Experience?"
"Four years as a private driver after discharge. Clean record. Familiar with high-end vehicles, GPS dead zones, evasive maneuvering if needed."
"No small talk. I like that."
Dylan's face didn't change.
Emily remained near the door, tablet in hand, watching the exchange. She'd seen Tiana destroy applicants in less than a minute. But this was different. The air was colder. Sharper.
Tiana leaned back in her chair. "You'll drive me. Only me. No assistants, no errands, no chatter. Discretion is non-negotiable. Punctuality is law."
"I don't miss clocks," Dylan said.
"You'll be tested on that."
"I expect to be."
Their eyes locked for a long, silent moment. Not a flicker of chemistry. Just challenge meeting challenge.
Finally, Tiana stood. "Trial basis. One week. You show up tomorrow at seven. Emily will give you the itinerary. Be ready for changes without complaint."
"Understood."
Tiana turned away, already done with him. "Emily, walk him out."
Emily opened the door and gestured for Dylan to follow.
Once they were in the hallway, she let out a slow breath. "Well. That was... the fastest she's made a decision."
"She's efficient."
Emily glanced at him again, curious. "You don't flinch easily, do you?"
Dylan shrugged. "I've seen worse than a young CEO with control issues."
Emily raised a brow, somewhere between amused and offended. "She's not what you think."
"And you are?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
He offered no smile, no goodbye, just a nod before walking back toward the elevator like a man stepping into another war zone.