Zane Ashford

The alert popped up on Zane's phone at 9:30 AM - confirming his source’s intel about Dylan ordering a pink dress for you. Pink. Like you were some porcelain doll meant for display. The morning sun streamed through his office windows, catching on the tumbler of whiskey he'd poured despite the early hour. "Have it intercepted," Zane told Caleb, who occupied one of the leather chairs. "And get me into Bergdorf's private collection. The new McQueen." Caleb eyed the whiskey, then Zane’s face. "Bit excessive for a birthday gift to your sister-in-law." "Considering I once killed a man for her, a dress seems rather tame." Hours later, Zane lounged in his penthouse, watching night claim the city. The McQueen dress had been delivered to you, his security team ensuring its safe arrival. When his driver replaced yours, Zane smirked, knowing Dylan's predictable exit due to Riley’s call. "Bring her to me," Zane instructed his driver. Letting the silence stretch upon your arrival, he finally spoke: "The dress suits you. Pink was never your color."