Dylan Haven had always believed that silence was the most honest form of observation. People revealed themselves when they thought no one was listening—when they were rushing, stressed, or pretending to be something they weren't. And he'd made a life out of listening to what wasn't said.
That's why the front seat of the black Jaguar parked in the private garage of Diamonds HQ suited him perfectly. He didn't need an office, a desk, or a nameplate. His vantage point was the windshield—and the constant flow of personnel and pressure just beyond it.
At first glance, Diamonds looked like any other polished corporate entity: designer suits, whispered calls, high heels moving like metronomes across marble floors. But it wasn't like other places.
There was a tempo here, a hum beneath the air conditioning and startup noises of electric elevators. People didn't walk—they glided, focused, hungry. No one wandered. No one daydreamed. Everyone had somewhere to be, something to carry, someone to impress or answer to. And they all answered to her.
Tiana Kings.
Dylan had never met a boss quite like her. She didn't bark orders or micromanage like insecure executives. She statedthings—as if reality bent to her tone. Cold, calculated, unflinching.
He liked that. Not because he admired her. He didn't admire anyone. But she didn't pretend.
Dylan watched as Emily walked briskly to the lobby with two interns trailing behind her, both holding folders and lattes. She gave them quick instructions without pausing her pace and disappeared behind a secure elevator that required both a keycard and a fingerprint scan. Efficient. Friendly, but firm.
Emily was… different.
She smiled often, not in a fake way, but in the way someone did when they still believed people had some goodness in them. He didn't trust her for that alone.
But she was observant.
She was also the only person in the entire building who'd asked him, on his first day, if he needed anything. He hadn't answered, only nodded once and walked away.
Now, a week into his probation, Dylan had learned most of the ground-level rhythms. There were three assistants in constant rotation between departments. The head of security, Marshall, did two rounds each morning and one in the evening. The CFO drove a white Tesla and always arrived six minutes late.
And the real hierarchy of Diamonds? It wasn't on any org chart.
It lived in body language. In who held eye contact with whom. In who flinched when Tiana entered a room.
And who didn't.
The first time Dylan left the car during a shift, it wasn't because he wanted to. It was because the parking garage's lighting had shorted, and maintenance was rerouting all parked drivers to the adjacent lounge while they repaired it.
He entered the staff area like a shadow slipping into daylight—silent, unreadable.
The lounge was modest. Coffee machine, vending area, soft chairs in navy and charcoal. A wall-mounted screen flickered with muted news updates. Two staffers were already there—Lexi from PR, and a guy from Legal who always wore brown shoes with everything.
Lexi looked up as Dylan walked in. "You're the new driver, right?"
He gave a curt nod.
"I'm Lexi," she said with a polite smile. "Tiana's... well, everything PR."
Dylan offered a flat "Dylan," and nothing more.
Legal Guy grunted a hello and returned to his phone.
Lexi didn't seem fazed by Dylan's lack of engagement. She kept talking, albeit gently, like testing the edge of a lake before jumping in. "So how's it been? Surviving the Queen of Ice?"
"She pays on time," Dylan said, grabbing a bottle of water from the vending machine.
Lexi laughed, almost surprised. "Fair enough."
There was a pause.
"Most people don't last long," she added. "Drivers, I mean. She had a guy from last two years, Reuben—"
"I'm not Reuben," Dylan said sharply.
Lexi blinked. "Okay. Noted."
Silence returned, and this time Lexi let it stay. Dylan sat in a far chair, angled toward the window, eyes on the sky like it might give him some peace.
He was back in the Jaguar by early afternoon, engine off, windows cracked just enough to let stale air out. The sun had shifted, cutting long shadows across the polished hood of the car.
Tiana came out at exactly 3:12, flanked by two team members who looked like they'd rather not be seen speaking to her. She gave a brief nod to Dylan and slid into the back seat.
"Main showroom. Fifth Avenue. And don't take 31st," she said. "Construction."
He already knew that.
They drove in silence, as always. But this time, Dylan risked a glance in the mirror.
She looked tired. Not worn—just wound. Like a violin string tuned a note too high.
He almost asked if she was alright.
But he didn't.
While Tiana met with wardrobe designers and model consultants, Dylan waited outside in the showroom's private garage. Another driver—older, softer in the face—approached him near the vending area.
"You're the new guy," the man said. "Driving for Kings."
Dylan nodded. "Yeah."
"She tough?"
"She's clear."
The man snorted. "That's one word."
Dylan didn't engage further.
Instead, he returned to the Jaguar, leaned back slightly in the seat, and looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
Still him.
Still cold.
Still waiting.
Dylan didn't mind the silence. The showroom was hushed, its polished floors absorbing even the heeled footsteps of the staff, and the distant hum of design consultations from the other side of the building felt like a low-frequency sound that barely reached his ears.
He had no interest in the showroom itself—he wasn't there to witness Tiana's world of glossy fabrics and innovative designs. No, his job was simple: wait. The vast expanse of quiet space around him was the perfect moment to observe, and Dylan's mind was always in motion, processing more in a minute than most could in an hour.
He was no stranger to power dynamics. He had seen them play out in every corner of the world. What he was beginning to understand at Diamonds was the subtler play—the calm before the storm. Tiana Kings didn't need to raise her voice. She didn't need to push her authority. She simply commanded it by being present, by being aware of everything.
Her eyes saw more than anyone knew.
After her meeting with the designers, Tiana briefly returned to her office to handle a few more urgent emails. Dylan had long been attuned to the rhythms of the building, and he understood the subtle shifts that preceded her departure. She was wrapping up, and that meant soon it would be time for him to drive her again.
He observed a small exchange between Emily and Tiana as they passed by the door. Tiana handed her a sleek black folder—one that Dylan knew contained details about the "Girls" launch. Emily's eyes flicked quickly from the folder to Tiana, a moment of uncertainty flashing across her face before she nodded.
She's nervous, Dylan thought. Not an uncommon feeling around someone like Tiana. But he couldn't figure out if it was because of the weight of the task at hand or something more.
The door to Tiana's office opened, and she stepped out with the usual certainty in her stride.
"Dylan, let's go," she called, her voice carrying an edge of finality that brooked no room for questions.
He opened the door for her without a word. As she slid into the back seat of the car, he noted how the cool air of the evening had begun to slip in, reminding him that their workday was nearly over.
"Where to?" he asked, already starting the engine.
"Back to the penthouse," she said, her tone sharper now, as though a new layer of tension had settled in her chest. "But first, take 52nd. It's quieter. We'll talk."
The streets had started to clear, the rush-hour traffic easing, and Dylan shifted the Jaguar into the evening rhythm of the city. It felt strange to him—how alive the city was after hours. The neon lights, the street vendors calling out, the hum of idle chatter from sidewalk cafés—all of it clashing with his cold, calculated state of mind.
But it wasn't the city that intrigued him. It was the woman in the back seat.
Tiana's eyes were trained outside the window, her posture stiff, as though she had a thousand thoughts racing behind that calm expression of hers. She hadn't spoken since the brief exchange in the showroom.
Dylan waited.
"I don't think you're like the others," she said suddenly, her voice low, almost thoughtful.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting her gaze. "And what makes you think that?"
"Everyone else in this company is chasing approval," Tiana continued. "Trying to fit into what's expected of them. You… you don't care about that. You're an observer, not a participant. But I need participants. I need people who will act."
Dylan's eyes flicked back to the road. "I do my job."
There was a pause. Then Tiana leaned back against the seat, her fingers tapping lightly against the folder in her lap. "Do you?" she asked softly. "You're not just a driver, Dylan. I've seen the way you watch people. The way you see them. You're more than just a shadow in the background. You have a mind, don't you?"
Dylan didn't answer immediately. He had no reason to. Her probing, though subtle, was just a new layer of this strange, silent game they'd begun to play. But he did catch the challenge in her words. Tiana was testing him, as if trying to assess how far she could push him without breaking his cool exterior.
"Everyone has a purpose," Dylan finally said, his voice clipped, as if closing the door on the conversation. "Mine is to drive."
Tiana didn't press any further. They continued in silence until they reached her penthouse.
When they arrived at the sleek, glass-enclosed building, Dylan opened the door for Tiana without a word, his usual professionalism in place. She stepped out of the car with a slight sigh, then turned to face him as he closed the door behind her.
"Get some rest, Dylan," she said, her voice almost imperceptible against the rush of the night wind. "Tomorrow is going to be harder."
He nodded, but didn't speak. The penthouse doors slid open as Tiana disappeared into the building, leaving Dylan alone with his thoughts once again.