The city was quiet in that special, rare way it could be after midnight—when even New York seemed to exhale. Streetlights flickered on wet asphalt, casting golden reflections like ghosts of the evening's brilliance.
Inside the Bentley, Tiana sat in the back seat, one leg crossed, the deep slit of her black velvet trousers revealing toned thigh beneath. Her jacket was draped over her lap, the plunging neckline of her bodysuit exposed to the ambient glow of passing streetlamps. Still flawless. Still composed.
Except her fingers kept fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
Dylan glanced at her once through the rearview mirror. She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed out the window, expression unreadable.
He knew that look now. She wasn't watching the skyline.
She was thinking.
Tiana never just sat still. When she wasn't commanding a room, she was dominating her thoughts.
"You're quiet," he said, eyes back on the road.
Her voice was soft, but laced with the steel she always wore. "Was I supposed to give you a post-show breakdown?"
"No," he said. "You already showed me everything."
She looked at him then. "And?"
He kept his eyes forward. "It was fire."
A pause.
Then she smirked. "You don't say that word."
"I do now."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Noted."
Another silence. This one wasn't uncomfortable. But it was full—of the night's tension, of unsaid things, of charged glances and moments that had hovered on the edge of something more.
Tiana broke it first.
"Why did you say that tonight?"
"Say what?"
"That I'm beautiful," she said, gaze pinned to the back of his head. "But not for the reasons I think."
He didn't answer right away. His hands were steady on the wheel, his jaw set.
Finally: "Because it's true."
"That's a dangerous thing to say to me, Dylan."
"Why?"
"Because people who say things like that usually want something."
He glanced at her in the mirror. "I don't want anything from you."
She held his gaze. "That's what makes it more dangerous."
His mouth quirked faintly. "So you're telling me you're afraid of someone who doesn't want anything from you?"
Tiana didn't blink. "I'm telling you it's unfamiliar."
He nodded slowly, eyes back on the road. "Yeah. I get that."
She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "You didn't belong there tonight."
"No?" he asked.
"You looked like someone watching a performance from backstage. Like you knew all the secrets, but didn't care to be impressed."
"That's how I look at everything."
"And me?" she asked, the word heavier than it should've been.
He didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched.
Then, without turning around: "You're not a performance, Tiana."
That landed.
Tiana sat up straighter, her throat tight. "You think I'm... real?"
"I think," Dylan said carefully, "that you work hard to convince people you're untouchable. But real power doesn't need to be loud."
Her voice was sharp again. Defensive. "Is that your way of saying I'm too much?"
"No. That's your way of testing me."
She glared at the back of his head. "You think you've got me all figured out."
"No," he said, smirking faintly. "But I think you want me to try."
She hated how much that sounded true.
They turned onto a quieter street in SoHo, the luxury of the city softening into something older. Cobblestones. Shadows. Windows glowing with the lives of people not playing characters.
Tiana exhaled, leaning her head back against the seat. "I don't remember the last time someone made me feel this…"
"Off-balance?" Dylan offered.
She turned slowly toward him. "Seen."
His hands tightened slightly on the wheel. Not because of the word—but the way she said it. Quiet. Careful. Like it was new on her tongue.
They pulled to a stop in front of her high-rise.
Dylan shifted into park but didn't move to open the door.
Neither did she.
The silence buzzed.
"You coming up?" she asked.
Her tone was cool. But there was a tremor in it—desire wrapped in detachment.
Dylan looked at her in the mirror.
"You sure that's a good idea?"
She leaned forward. "If I were interested in good ideas, I wouldn't have asked."
He turned fully now, one arm resting across the seat. "Tiana…"
She waited.
"I've been in your world long enough to know you don't invite people in."
"Maybe I'm tired of being alone in it."
His breath hitched. Just slightly.
"You don't do this with your drivers," he said.
She gave a soft, dangerous smile. "You're not just my driver."
A beat.
Then another.
And then Dylan got out.
He came around to her side, opened the door, and extended his hand—not as an employee, but as something... else.
She placed her fingers in his palm, cool and smooth.
As she stepped out, the space between them tightened. Breath to breath. Heat to heat.
Her lips parted.
But she didn't kiss him.
Instead, she whispered: "One night. No promises."
Dylan's voice was lower. Rougher. "You sure you're built for that?"
Tiana's gaze sharpened. "Don't ask me if I'm built for anything."
And just like that, she turned and walked inside.
Not looking back.
He followed.
**********
Her penthouse was modern opulence—glass walls, brushed steel, sharp lines softened by velvet and marble. The city lights washed everything in silver and gold.
Tiana slipped off her heels and walked barefoot to the minibar. "Whiskey?"
Dylan stood by the window. "Sure."
She poured two glasses, handed him one.
When their fingers brushed, her breath caught.
He didn't let go right away.
"You're trembling," he murmured.
She pulled back. "I'm not."
"Liar."
She didn't answer. Instead, she downed the whiskey in one clean shot and set the glass aside.
Then she turned toward him. Slowly. Deliberately.
And stepped in.
Dylan's eyes searched hers. Not lustful. Not urgent. Just... present.
"I don't need saving," she whispered.
"I'm not trying to save you."
"I don't fall in love."
He nodded. "Neither do I."
But they both knew they were already slipping.
Her fingers brushed his collarbone, tracing the line of his shirt.
He caught her wrist.
She met his eyes.
And this time, when they kissed, it wasn't power or seduction.
It was surrender.
Not loud.
Not fast.
Just real.
And for the first time in years, both of them stopped pretending they weren't lonely.