The city was quieter this time of day, the midday rush softened by the deep hum of an early afternoon haze. Dylan sat in the front seat of the Jaguar, parked outside a stylish café that perched on the corner of 55th and Park. The sleek glass windows reflected the city's pulse, and Dylan could see people moving through their routines: some walking briskly, others lingering over coffee, pretending to talk but actually just watching the clock.
He wasn't here for the quiet buzz of the café or the movements of passing pedestrians. He was here for her.
Tiana Kings was already inside, seated at a small table by the window. Dylan had learned, through his careful observations over the past week, that Tiana's meetings were never casual. They were always precise, meticulously planned, and entirely in control. She wasn't the kind of woman who wasted time.
Yet here she was, seated across from Joshua Van, the former professional athlete whose name still carried weight even after his retirement. Joshua's broad shoulders and perfectly styled hair made him the picture of confidence. His eyes, though, seemed too eager, and Dylan could see the tension in his posture—the way his hands gripped the edge of his coffee cup as if holding onto something fragile.
It didn't take a genius to understand that this wasn't a professional meeting. This was something far more personal.
Dylan couldn't hear their conversation from where he sat, but he didn't need to. He could see the body language: Joshua leaning forward, Tiana sitting back, her arms crossed as though trying to create an invisible wall between them. Every now and then, Joshua would smile, a smile that seemed almost desperate, while Tiana's lips remained pressed together, her expression unreadable, distant.
Joshua spoke again, his voice low but earnest. Dylan could see his lips moving—then Tiana's eyes narrowing. She was listening, but Dylan could tell she wasn't truly engaged. Her gaze kept drifting to the window, as if she were wishing for a way to escape without causing a scene.
"Tiana, please," Joshua said, leaning even closer, his tone a mix of longing and frustration. "I miss you. I've never stopped thinking about you. We've been apart for so long. It's time for us to get back to what we had. You know we belong together."
Dylan's eyes shifted from the café's window to his rearview mirror, glancing at Tiana's reflection. She didn't flinch, didn't react the way someone would when confronted with something unexpected. No, Tiana had perfected the art of not reacting. She stayed perfectly still, but the tension in her shoulders was palpable.
"I don't think it's that simple, Joshua," Tiana replied coolly, her voice calm but cutting. Dylan couldn't hear the exact words, but the shift in her posture told him everything he needed to know. Her walls were up—again.
But Joshua wouldn't let go.
"Why? Because of him?" Joshua's voice was louder now, his frustration edging into anger. "You can't tell me that you've found someone who makes you feel the same way I did. No one else can ever—"
Tiana's expression darkened in an instant, her eyes flashing as if a line had been crossed. Dylan couldn't hear her response, but from the way Joshua recoiled slightly, he could guess. There was a sharpness to her tone that even he could recognize.
Her words always land like daggers, Dylan thought.
But she didn't raise her voice. That wasn't Tiana's style. She didn't need to.
Joshua hesitated, his hands loosening their grip on the coffee cup, now turning the mug nervously in his fingers. "You don't understand, Tiana. I still love you. I've never stopped loving you."
There it was. The confession, laid bare and raw.
Tiana's expression remained unchanged. Her gaze was steady, unflinching, like the calm before a storm. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her water, then set the glass back down, never breaking eye contact with Joshua.
"I'm not the woman I used to be," she said quietly, the words sharp as they sliced through the silence between them. "And you… you're not the man I once knew."
Joshua looked as if he wanted to argue, to retort, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe? Or understanding?
But it was fleeting.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Tiana said, her voice firm, final.
Joshua didn't respond right away. He looked at her for a long moment, as though searching for a crack in her armor. Dylan could feel the weight of the tension through the glass. There was an old, unfinished story between them, and no matter how hard they tried to avoid it, it was still there, hanging in the air like a thick fog.
And then, almost imperceptibly, Tiana stood up. Her movements were deliberate, graceful as ever, but Dylan saw the subtle way she adjusted her posture, the way her shoulders squared as if bracing herself for the finality of the moment.
Joshua rose with her, though much slower, as if he was still trying to process her rejection. He reached out, hesitating for just a second before touching her arm lightly.
"Please, don't go like this," Joshua's voice broke slightly, a final plea.
But Tiana pulled her arm away, her face unreadable, and without another word, she walked toward the door.
Dylan had seen enough.
As Tiana exited the café, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement, she didn't look back at Joshua. She didn't give him the satisfaction of even a glance. For all her cold composure, Dylan could sense something deeper—something painful that she had buried beneath the icy exterior she had crafted over the years.
Tiana climbed into the car with a quick, controlled movement, slamming the door shut behind her. For a moment, she didn't speak.
Dylan didn't press her for anything. He merely started the engine and pulled away from the curb, glancing once more at the rearview mirror where Joshua still stood in the doorway, watching her leave.
The silence between them was suffocating.
Finally, Tiana's voice broke through the stillness.
"Drive," she said, her tone flat.
Dylan didn't ask where. He simply followed her order, as he always did.
But as he navigated the car through the streets, he couldn't help but notice the faint tremor in her hands as she adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers moving mechanically, as though she were trying to calm herself. There was a small break in her walls—a crack in the armor that even she couldn't control.
And for the first time since meeting her, Dylan wasn't sure what was more dangerous: the cold woman who never let anyone in, or the one who still carried the weight of a past she'd rather forget.