The black-on-black Jaguar idled silently at the curb in front of Argent Tower, one of the most exclusive residential buildings in the city. Dylan Haven sat behind the wheel, unmoving, gloved hands resting loosely at ten and two. His eyes flicked up to the building's entrance only once before settling back on the dashboard clock.
6:59 a.m.
Right on time.
He hadn't used GPS. He'd studied the route the night before. Four possible roads in, three optimal for traffic. He had mapped them in his head like a soldier scanning an enemy compound—calculated, precise, and without emotion. That was the key.
Dylan didn't think about the woman he was picking up. He didn't care what she did at her desk, what her perfume smelled like, or why her voice had the sharpness of someone always a little bored. She was a client. That was all.
At exactly 7:00, the penthouse doors at the top of the building's private elevator opened, and Tiana Kings emerged, dressed in a fitted dark mauve suit, heels clicking with steady confidence. She didn't acknowledge the doorman who opened the building's entrance for her, nor did she look around to see if Dylan was there.
She expected punctuality. She didn't need to confirm it.
The back door opened smoothly before her hand reached for the handle.
"Good morning, Ms. Kings," Dylan said crisply.
She slid into the leather seat. "Drive."
No destination was given. Dylan already had the route to Diamonds HQ in mind—he'd memorized her Monday schedule from the itinerary Emily sent the previous night.
They drove in silence.
The cabin of the Jaguar was luxury wrapped in discipline: no music, no idle chatter. Just the occasional hum of passing traffic and the turn of tires over wet asphalt. Outside, the city was waking slowly—coffee carts on corners, delivery vans humming past red lights, people beginning another day they'd probably rather skip.
Inside the car, it felt like time had stopped.
Dylan's eyes remained on the road. Tiana didn't speak. She scrolled through her phone, reviewed a digital brief, and occasionally glanced at the folder resting beside her on the seat. A black tab stuck out from it. The only words visible: Project Girls.
When they reached Diamonds, Dylan exited the car, rounded to her side, and opened the door before she could touch the handle. She didn't say thank you. He didn't expect her to.
"Wait in the car," she said, pulling her blazer tight. "I'll be fifteen minutes."
He inclined his head. "Yes, ma'am."
Tiana turned and entered the building with a purpose that made bystanders step aside without realizing it. The automatic glass doors whispered shut behind her.
Dylan returned to the driver's seat, checked his mirrors, and relaxed only slightly. His fingers drummed once on the wheel, then stopped. No wasted movement.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged again.
This time, something in her posture had changed—subtle, but noticeable. Her walk was sharper, her focus more acute. She opened the back door herself.
"Emily," she said into her phone, "Clear your first two hours. I want a private sit-down—boardroom, not my office. Call Claire from marketing and Lexi from PR. Tell them to bring current projections and the Q3 budget. We're moving up the Girls launch."
Even from the driver's seat, Dylan heard the slight hitch in Emily's voice on the other end. "This quarter? But we haven't—"
"I know what we haven't," Tiana cut in. "That's why we're fixing it today. No more delays. I want full creative presented by Friday. Tell wardrobe design to prep a sample of the 'Scarlet' jacket and the reworked confidence-cut dresses. I want proof of product on the table. Got it?"
"Yes, Ms. Kings," Emily said. "Right away."
Tiana ended the call and exhaled slowly, looking out the window as if searching for something beyond the skyline.
Dylan glanced briefly in the rearview. "Back to HQ?"
Her eyes met his in the mirror for the first time.
"No," she said. "Take me to Bluestone Café, on 14th."
He didn't blink. "Yes, ma'am."
The route shifted without ceremony. Dylan made a clean U-turn at the next light, weaving between early commuters with surgical precision. He didn't ask why they were going there, didn't comment on the sudden mood change. But he did wonder—just for a moment—what Girls meant.
Tiana, for her part, stayed silent. Her mind was spinning, but her face remained unreadable. The name Girls was hers—an idea born from memory, from powerlessness, from rage. It wasn't a clothing line. It was armor. For women who had been told to shrink. Who had been told they were "too much." Who had been broken, quieted, ignored.
She wouldn't let that be their story anymore.
The scent of espresso hung in the air as Dylan parked across the street from Bluestone Café. Tiana didn't instruct him to follow, so he remained in the car, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting idly on the gear shift. She stepped inside the café alone, spoke briefly to someone behind the counter, and returned exactly seven minutes later, a small cup of black coffee in her hand.
"Back to Diamonds," she said coolly.
"Yes, ma'am."
Inside the backseat, she sipped her coffee without comment, eyes flicking across her phone screen as new emails flooded in—responses, questions, minor pushbacks. She deleted half of them unread.
By the time they pulled into the garage beneath Diamonds HQ, her pulse had leveled out. The caffeine hadn't given her clarity. It had given her edge.
She walked into the building like a storm wrapped in silk.
Boardroom – 8:31 a.m.
The top-floor boardroom was a stark contrast to the warm wood and minimalist art of the executive offices. It was all black glass and angles, cold steel fixtures, and long shadows. A single floor-to-ceiling window looked out across the skyline, as though reminding everyone in the room what was at stake.
Emily, Claire from Marketing, and Lexi from PR sat already waiting, papers neatly stacked, tablets glowing, coffee cups mostly untouched. When Tiana entered, they all rose, though she didn't ask them to.
"Sit," she said sharply, dropping her leather folder on the table with a dull thud.
Emily exchanged a glance with Lexi, who looked nervously at Claire. Tiana only noticed—and registered—all of it.
"I'm not going to repeat myself," she began, voice calm but cutting. "The Girls project is no longer hypothetical. It's not conceptual. It is happening. Q3."
Claire blinked. "We were originally projecting a soft rollout for the holiday quarter. That gives us—"
"We don't have until the holidays," Tiana cut in. "We have until Friday. Full product strategy. Visual direction. Confidence pieces finalized and prototyped. We launch pre-orders in six weeks."
Emily cleared her throat gently. "Tiana—"
Ms. Kings turned her eyes to Emily, voice quiet. "Yes?"
Emily shifted slightly. "Some of the team will need to work overtime. It's a heavy lift, and we're still short a few creatives from the restructure. I'm not saying we can't do it. I'm saying we need to be realistic."
Tiana walked to the head of the table, her heels sounding like the ticking of a countdown clock.
"I'm not interested in realistic," she said. "I'm interested in results. Girls is not just a line. It's a statement. It's the answer to every brand that told women how to look instead of how to feel. It is tailored ambition. It is voice in fabric. It is armor."
Lexi nodded slowly, chewing on her pen cap. "We can pull influencers, rebuild the social preview campaign. Lean into the concept of confidence-first design."
"Not concept," Tiana said. "Identity. No pastels. No floral. No soft-selling the message. I want bold structure. Primary tones. Texture that makes people pause."
Claire shifted. "That's a departure from our usual tone."
Tiana's gaze slid to her. "So is success."
The silence that followed was electric.
Emily, despite herself, felt a pang of admiration. This was what people misunderstood about Tiana. They thought she was cold. But it wasn't apathy—it was control. She'd built Diamonds from the bottom up, with nothing but late nights, ruthless precision, and the refusal to apologize for wanting more.
But sometimes Emily wondered if Tiana remembered how to connect without control.
"I want the Girls preview event prepped for week ten," Tiana said. "Minimal press, maximum impact. Confidence cuts front and center. That jacket—what's it called?"
"The Scarlet," Lexi replied. "Double-seamed waist, power shoulders, asymmetrical collar."
"Yes," Tiana said. "I want three models with different body types. No photoshopping. Real women. Real confidence."
Claire scribbled notes like her life depended on it.
Tiana stood again, hands on the edge of the table. "And I want one thing understood—"
Everyone looked up.
"There is no room for mistakes. This is not a trial run. It's not a test. Girls will be one of the most iconic women's brands in the next five years or it will not exist at all. There is no middle ground."
She leaned in slightly. "If anyone here has doubts, now is the time to step out."
The room was silent.
Even Emily felt her breath catch.
"No?" Tiana said, straightening. "Good. Then get to work. I want your decks by Thursday and prototype photos by Friday. Meeting adjourned."
As the others scrambled to gather their materials and exit, Tiana stayed behind. Emily lingered, hesitating near the door.
"You really believe in it," she said softly. "Girls."
Tiana looked at her. "I am it."
Emily smiled, just barely. "Then let's make them see."
Dylan stood at the driver's side of the Jaguar, hands behind his back. Tiana walked toward him, focused and composed.
"Where to now?" he asked.
She didn't answer for a beat. Then:
"Nowhere. For ten minutes. Just drive."
He opened the door for her.
"As you wish," he said.
And they were off.
No questions. No small talk. Just motion.
And the quiet promise of something bigger unfolding.