The armored Escalade idled on the slick cobblestones of the Meatpacking District.
Inside the pressurized, climate-controlled cabin, the silence was absolute. Outside the tinted ballistic glass, the world had descended into a frenzied, chaotic riot of flashing strobes and shouting voices.
Ryan sat in the rear passenger seat, his bespoke charcoal suit immaculate, his expression carved from dark, immovable granite.
He didn't look at the screaming paparazzi pressing against the NYPD barricades. He didn't flinch at the blinding white light strobe lighting the interior of the vehicle.
He looked at the heavy, matte-black facade of the Osei Maison flagship store.
The building, which had been a quiet, heavily guarded sanctuary forty-eight hours ago, was now the epicenter of a global media storm.
The press didn't just want a photo of the supermodel's new billionaire boyfriend anymore. They wanted the Warlord.
