BOUND BY OBSESSION

DYLAN

I sit on my couch, laptop open, scrolling through every available article and report about Voss Enterprise. If I'm going to work there, I need to know everything. Its history, leadership, legal battles—if any—and its financial standing. The weight of this decision presses against my chest, heavy with the knowledge that accepting this job will change everything.

Voss Enterprise isn't just another company—it's an empire. A corporate giant with a reach that extends across multiple industries, from real estate to technology, with subsidiaries in luxury fashion, aerospace, and even pharmaceuticals. Every article I find confirms what I already suspected: Dylan isn't just stepping into this role—he was sculpted for it. Groomed since birth to inherit power, to lead without hesitation, to command respect without demanding it.

And tomorrow, he takes over.

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. This is the kind of opportunity people would kill for, and yet, I still feel a gnawing uncertainty in my gut. Not about my qualifications—I know I'm capable—but about him. About the way he looks at me like he's already claimed me, about the way his presence alone seems to strip me bare.

My phone buzzes beside me, jolting me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen—Dylan. My heart jumps before I can stop it.

I hesitate, then take a breath before answering. "Hello?"

His voice comes through smooth, rich, with that unmistakable undertone of control. "You've been researching, haven't you?"

I freeze for a second, my fingers tightening around the phone. Then, I smile. "And how would you know that?"

"I have my ways." Amusement laces his tone.

I lean back into the couch, shaking my head. "Of course, you do."

"I figured you'd want to be prepared," he continues. "Any questions?"

I hesitate, biting my lip. There are plenty, but I keep my voice even. "A few," I admit. "Mainly about the legal team. What's the current structure like?"

"You'll have a team of fifteen under you," he says, his voice taking on that sharp, business-like precision. "All highly skilled. I'll introduce you to them personally on your first day." There's a slight pause. "But that's not why I called."

I arch a brow, even though he can't see me. "No?"

"No." His voice lowers, turning something as simple as a word into a promise. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Heat rushes through me, and I sit up straighter. His ability to turn a simple conversation into something else entirely is both infuriating and intoxicating.

I clear my throat, trying to ignore the way my pulse flutters. "Well, now you've heard it."

A soft chuckle. "That I have." A beat of silence. "Get some rest, Hermione. Tomorrow's a big day."

We end the call, but I don't move immediately. Instead, I let the conversation replay in my mind, overanalyzing every word, every pause, before finally shaking it off. I have other things to focus on—like packing.

I sigh, looking around my apartment. The company is providing me with a fully furnished penthouse, which means I only need to pack my essentials. Clothes, personal documents, and a few sentimental items. But as I pull out my suitcase, a part of me hesitates.

Leaving this place feels… final. Like I'm crossing a threshold I can't step back from.

My phone buzzes again. Dylan.

I roll my eyes but answer anyway. "Did you forget something?"

"I did." His voice is unhurried, confident. "Do you need help moving?"

"No, I've got it under control."

"I'll be there in twenty," he says, ignoring my response completely.

"Dylan, I don't need—"

The line goes dead.

I groan. Of course, he wouldn't listen.

Twenty Minutes Later

A knock sounds at my door.

I take a breath before opening it, already prepared to argue, but the words die in my throat. When I opened the door, Dylan stood there in casual clothes- dark jeans, white t-shirt and a black leather jacket that hugged his frame perfectly. He exudes confidence, dominance—like he owns everything in his sight.

I noticed the way he's watching me as I step aside from the door for him to come in. His eyes linger on me for just a second longer than usual, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"comfortable , I see," he remarks, his voice low and playful.

I roll my eyes, trying to maintain my composure. "I'm not trying to impress anyone just getting the job done." 

He stepped inside looking around the apartment. His presence fills the space, his eyes sweep over me, and something flickers in his expression. Approval, possession.

"I told you I didn't need help," I say, crossing my arms.

"And I ignored you." His voice is smooth, his expression unreadable. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped more inside.

I shake my head, watching as he scans the half-packed boxes. Without another word, he moves, lifting one of my suitcases like it weighs nothing.

Before I can protest, a knock sounds again. The movers.

Dylan opens the door before I can, and within minutes, they start hauling my boxes out. I reach for my purse to pay them, but before I can even open it, Dylan's already handing them the payment.

I glare at him. "I can pay for my own movers."

"I know," he says, pocketing his wallet. "But I wanted to."

I exhale sharply, knowing I won't win this argument. Instead of fighting, I let it go. I'm too tired to challenge his need to control everything.

Arriving at the Penthouse

The moment I step into my new apartment, I'm momentarily stunned.

It's breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire living room, offering an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The furniture is modern yet inviting—warm tones balanced by sleek lines. The space itself is massive, easily triple the size of my old place.

Dylan watches me closely. "Do you like it?"

I turn to him, still overwhelmed. "It's incredible. But this… it's too much."

His gaze darkens, like he doesn't agree with my assessment. "It's what you deserve."

I swallow, his words settling deep in my chest.

For a moment, neither of us speak. The silence isn't awkward—it's thick, charged with something unspoken.

I turn away, focusing on unpacking. Dylan doesn't leave. Instead, he helps, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up further as he starts unpacking a box. I don't know whether to be grateful or annoyed.

After a while, his voice breaks the quiet. "Have you eaten?"

I blink, realizing just how long it's been since I last ate. "No. Have you?"

His lips curve. "Then let's go grocery shopping."

I glance at him. "You shop for groceries?" The idea of Dylan Voss walking through a supermarket seems almost comical.

His smirk deepens. "You'll be surprised what I'm capable of."

I shake my head. "You don't have to come. I can handle it."

He tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "I know. But I want to."

That simple statement sends another wave of warmth through me. I should push back, set boundaries—but I don't. Because, deep down, I know something I'm not ready to admit yet.

Dylan Voss isn't just offering me a job.

He's pulling me into his world.

And part of me?

I think I want to be there.

"My friends are coming over for dinner later so you're doing all the cooking by yourself". I said in a teasing voice, absolutely expecting him to make an excuse to leave and avoid cooking for more people but to my surprise he just agreed.

"Fine by me", he teased back "come on. I'll even do all the grocery shopping and buy all the things you will need in your kitchen too".

So we go shopping together, walking aisles, laughing at some of the absurd items he picked up, and even debating over the best way to make pasta.

The normalcy of the situation almost makes it feels like we're just two people getting to know each other.

I grab my wallet, but before I can even reach for the cashier, Dylan slides his black card across the counter.

"Dylan, no. I can pay for it myself", I protest. 

The cashier looks between us, smiling. "You two look cute and perfect together," she says

I laugh nervously, but Dylan-being Dylan doesn't even bat an eye. He just smiles, tipping her generously, as if to say, keep the change for the compliment. I can't help but roll my eyes, but there's a warmth in my chest that I can't ignore.

After everything is paid for, Dylan carries all the bags to his car, opening the door for me once more and I noticed that it has become normal to him. I wonder if he does it for others too or just me.