BOUND BY OBSESSION

HERMIONE

It's a strange thing, having friends over when there's someone like Dylan in your life. I had invited them, of course, but deep down, I knew tonight would be different. Dylan had agreed to cook for all of us, a surprise that threw me for a loop, but when he insisted, how could I say no?

As the evening drew closer, I busied myself with last-minute preparations. I knew my friends would have a lot to say, and I was already bracing for their teasing about the man who seemed to be taking over my life in the most unexpected ways.

By the time they arrived, Dylan was in the kitchen, moving around with an ease that made everything seem effortless. His presence filled the space, his confidence radiating from every inch of him. When the doorbell rang, I opened the door, greeted by my friends' laughter.

"Hello, beautiful!" Lia greeted me with a hug, the actress and model flashing her usual charismatic smile. "I hope Dylan's not too much of a perfectionist in the kitchen, or I might just steal him away."

"Oh, please," Isabelle, the businesswoman, teased, walking in with a smirk. "You couldn't keep up with him, Lia."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "He's a bit of a show-off, but I'm sure he's just making a simple meal."

Lia raised an eyebrow. "Simple? Have you seen the way he carries himself? There's nothing simple about that man."

Before I could respond, Dylan appeared at the kitchen entrance, his tall frame looking even more imposing in the casual black shirt he wore, an apron tied around his waist. He looked at my friends with a calm smile. "Dinner's almost ready," he said smoothly. "Make yourselves comfortable."

I felt a flutter in my chest. It was as if he was effortlessly taking control of everything—his presence, his voice, the way he moved.

Seraphine, the doctor in our group, eyed him with curiosity. "You cook?"

Dylan smirked, stepping closer. "I do a lot of things."

Claire, ever the writer, leaned forward with interest. "A billionaire who can cook? Now, that's a story waiting to be told."

Dylan met her gaze with amusement. "Let me know when you need inspiration."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, enough with the interrogation. Let's eat before the food gets cold."

We sat down to eat, and immediately, my friends started in with the teasing.

"So, Hermione," Claire said, a grin tugging at her lips, "is this the part where we hear about how you and Dylan met? Because I'm dying to know—especially after seeing him cook."

I glanced at Dylan, who was now sitting across from me, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything, but the way he watched me sent a rush of heat through me.

"Nothing too exciting," I replied, trying to play it cool. "We met at a party. The usual. It's only been a few days."

"You're so modest," Lia said, winking. "It's clear that you've got more than just a professional relationship going on. Don't worry, Hermione, we're not blind."

I almost choked on my wine. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play coy with us," Isabelle chimed in, her eyes narrowing in on me. "You're practically glowing whenever he's around. And the way he looks at you? There's no denying it."

I tried to maintain my composure, but it was hard with the heat rising in my cheeks. Dylan, for his part, seemed unaffected. He leaned back in his chair, his voice smooth when he spoke.

"I don't mind the attention," he said casually, reaching for his wine glass. "It's nothing serious, just dinner with friends."

The way he said it made it sound so easy, like it was nothing. But I could feel the weight of it—the unspoken connection between us, the quiet tension in every glance we exchanged.

Seraphine, ever the logical one, tilted her head. "Nothing serious?" she echoed, watching Dylan closely. "I don't know. You don't strike me as the kind of man who does things casually."

Dylan's gaze flicked to me, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't."

Silence fell over the table for a beat before Claire whistled. "Well, that's interesting."

Lia nudged my arm. "And you expect us to believe there's nothing going on between you two?"

I exhaled, feeling the scrutiny from every direction. "Can we change the subject?"

Dylan chuckled softly but didn't push. Instead, he stood up, grabbing the bottle of wine. "Refills?" he offered smoothly.

As the evening wore on, my friends kept the teasing going. It was relentless, and despite myself, I found my heart racing every time one of them mentioned Dylan or made a comment about us.

When dinner finally ended, I could feel the exhaustion creeping up on me. "Well," I said, standing from the table, "I think I'm going to call it a night."

But before I could make it to my bedroom, the teasing began.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Claire called after me with a wink. "Enjoy your 'simple' dinner with Mr. Perfect."

I groaned inwardly but didn't turn around. "Goodnight, guys. See you tomorrow."

Once I was behind closed doors, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. This was all getting too complicated.

The doorbell rang just as I was about to lie down. It was Dylan—of course. I opened the door to find him standing there, his face unreadable.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I was. "Yeah. Just tired. It's been a long day."

He looked at me for a moment before stepping closer, his presence filling the doorway. "You sure? You're not the type to let things like that slide."

I laughed softly, though it was tinged with nervousness. "My friends are just... a bit much sometimes."

Dylan smiled faintly. "I'm sure they mean well."

I wasn't so sure, but I didn't want to get into it. "Yeah. I guess so."

He stepped back, nodding. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know."

As he turned to leave, I called out, "Dylan?"

He paused, looking back at me, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. There's a moment where we both linger at the door. I feel the tension between us again—stronger than ever—and for a split second, I wonder if I should just give in. But before I can think too much, he leans in, his lips brushing mine in a soft, lingering kiss.

He pulls away, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder before I said.

"Thanks," I said quietly, though I wasn't sure exactly what I was thanking him for. "For dinner. For everything."

"You're welcome," he replied, his voice softer now, as if he understood.

He left, and I closed the door behind me, the weight of everything pressing down on me. My friends were right. There was something between Dylan and me. But what was it? What was he really after? And why was it so hard to ignore the pull between us?