BOUND BY OBSESSION

DYLAN

Richard Green sits across from me, fidgeting with the cuffs of his overpriced suit, his eyes darting around my office like he's searching for an escape. He knows why he's here. He just doesn't want to admit it.

I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled together. "You've been stealing from Voss Enterprise for years, Richard." My voice is calm, deliberate. I watch as his face pales.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about."

I slide a folder across the desk. "You funneled contracts to your son's company, inflating costs and taking kickbacks. You thought no one would notice?" I tilt my head. "That was your first mistake."

His hands shake as he flips through the evidence. Bank transactions. Emails. Even a recorded phone call.

"Dylan, please—"

"Mr. Voss," I corrected him coldly. "Pack your things. Security will escort you out."

He hesitates, looking like he wants to argue, but he knows it's useless. The moment he steps out, I pull out my phone and call Adrian.

"It's done," I say. "Call Hermione. Tell her to come to my office now."

Hermione arrives twenty minutes later.

She steps into my office, dressed in a fitted black dress that hugs every inch of her, her heels clicking against the floor. My eyes flick over her, noting how the warm caramel of her skin glows under the office lights. She looks effortlessly stunning, as always.

"I heard you fired Richard Green." She folds her arms, raising an eyebrow.

I gesture to the chair in front of me, but she doesn't sit. "He was stealing from us."

Her expression shifts, a flicker of approval in her dark eyes. "And you want me to take his place."

I stand, walking around the desk until I'm standing right in front of her. "I don't want you to," I murmur. "I need you to."

She exhales sharply. "Dylan—"

"Mr. Voss," I correct, smirking.

She glares at me, but I can see the amusement in her eyes. "You're impossible."

I reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She stiffens slightly but doesn't pull away. "Come with me," I say, stepping back. "I want to show you something."

Hermione doesn't respond immediately, but I can feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, like we're both walking on the edge of something. I know she's trying to figure out how much of this is business and how much of it is personal. It's hard to separate the two when she's standing in front of me, looking like she's ready to challenge me at any moment. The fire in her eyes makes my pulse quicken.

She finally uncrosses her arms, her expression unreadable as she takes a step closer. "Fine," she says, her voice firm but laced with curiosity. "What do you want to show me?"

I smile, a slow, knowing curve of my lips. I take a step back, gesturing toward the door. "Follow me." My voice has dropped an octave, deliberate, commanding. She follows without hesitation, and I can tell she's trying to maintain her composure, though I can see the way she's holding herself just a little more tightly now.

I gave her the full tour of Voss Enterprise, and finally we arrived at her new office.

Hermione steps into her new office, and the door slides shut behind her with a soft, almost final click. The air in the room feels charged, like the calm before a storm. Everything about this office says power: sleek, minimalist design, with a view that commands the skyline of the city. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the pulse of the streets below—bright, never-ending. But here, with the plush leather chair and her polished mahogany desk, it feels almost sterile, devoid of warmth. There's a coldness to it, an unfamiliar chill that makes her pause, just for a moment, as she takes it all in.

Her eyes flick over the space—judging, analyzing. She notices the subtle design choices that speak to efficiency: the assistant's desk outside the office, the cutting-edge technology, the layout that encourages both collaboration and seclusion. She's already planning in her mind how she can make this space her own, how she'll take control of it. I watch her, standing back, letting her absorb it all without interrupting.

"It's... impressive," she finally says, her voice laced with the barest hint of awe, though she quickly masks it with a neutral expression. I know Hermione well enough by now to recognize the careful mask she wears. She might not admit it, but I can see the wheels turning in her head. She's already thinking about how she'll make this place work for her, how she'll carve out her own space, how she'll take over.

"Not bad, huh?" I ask, my tone casual, though my eyes never leave her. I'm watching her too closely, memorizing every flicker of emotion that crosses her face.

She meets my gaze briefly before looking away again, her eyes scanning the room. She doesn't respond right away, but I see the approval in her stance. She's not just taking it all in for the first time—she's already imagining how she'll run it, how she'll make her mark here.

"Let's see the rest of it," I say, stepping forward, my voice soft.

We move down the hall, the quiet hum of voices from the legal department filtering into the air. Her new team, her new world. I know she's already sizing them up, calculating the dynamics, making mental notes on who'll be easy to work with and who might challenge her. But I'm watching her more closely than anyone else in this room. I can see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her body tenses just the slightest bit when she meets the eyes of the others in the department. She's a force, I know that—but this? This is something different. She's stepping into a world where everyone is on edge, knowing she's the new queen on the chessboard.

"Your assistant, Marissa, is here," I say, gesturing toward a petite woman who's sitting at the desk just outside her office. She's already working, her fingers flying across a tablet. She looks up when she hears us, smiling brightly.

"Welcome, Ms. Vale," Marissa says, her voice friendly, but I can tell she's just a little too eager to impress. Hermione offers a polite smile, but her eyes are already scanning the desk, taking in the papers, the neatly organized files. She doesn't miss a detail. She's already deciding how to change things, how to make them more efficient.

We continue the tour, Hermione nodding here and there, offering quiet assessments. I can almost hear her internal monologue as she walks through the space—she's already imagining herself running it, taking over with precision and power. I know she doesn't want to admit it, but I can feel it in the way she holds herself, in the way she assesses everything around her.

When we reach her office again, it's almost as if the air has shifted, thick with expectation, with tension. I'm standing a few feet away, my eyes lingering on her. She doesn't look at me immediately, her focus still on the details of her new domain. But there's something in the way she stands, something in her posture, that tells me she's aware of me. And maybe, just maybe, she's aware of what's coming next.

I walk toward her, my footsteps slow, deliberate. She turns toward me, eyes meeting mine, her breath catching in her throat just the slightest bit. I step closer, the gap between us narrowing with every inch I move. Her lips part, but before she can speak, I'm already there, my hand reaching out to gently cup her face, tilting her head back just enough to bring her lips to mine.

It's not soft. It's not slow. It's hard, urgent, like we've been waiting for this moment for too long. I pull her flush against me, my body pressing hers into the cool, smooth surface of the door behind her. She gasps, her hands finding my chest, then my neck, as if to hold on or push me away—maybe both.

I don't give her the space to resist. My lips move against hers, urgent and demanding, as I deepen the kiss. She's already melting against me, her body responding even as she's still fighting it. Her hands move to my shoulders, gripping me with an intensity that matches my own. I can feel her heart pounding in her chest, the heat between us growing with every passing second.

She pulls back just enough to catch her breath, but I'm not finished. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers grazing the soft skin of her neck. Her breath hitches, her eyes darkened with a mix of defiance and something else—something that tells me she's fighting the same pull I'm feeling.

"Dylan—" she starts, but I don't let her finish.

"Say my name again," I demand, my voice a low growl as I trace my thumb along her jawline, savoring the way she shivers under my touch.

Her lips tremble slightly, but she doesn't pull away. I know she's caught between wanting to resist and giving in, wanting to hold on to some sense of control but unable to deny the attraction that pulses between us.

"Dylan…" she whispers, the sound of my name on her lips like a challenge, an invitation.

I groan, my hands slipping lower, tracing the curve of her waist. "Say it again," I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. "I need to hear it."

Her eyes meet mine, dark and heavy with emotion. Her breathing is uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Dylan," she says, this time with more conviction, more certainty.

I growl, pulling her back to me, my lips claiming hers once more. It's desperate now, a frenzy of tangled lips and hands, a clash of need and hunger that neither of us can control. I press her against the door harder, feeling the soft curve of her body against me as I move with her, our bodies moving as one.

I break the kiss just long enough to speak. "Be mine, Hermione," I rasp, my voice rough with the weight of everything I'm feeling. "Say yes."

She pulls back slightly, her hands still gripping my shirt, her breathing ragged, her lips swollen from the kiss. She looks at me—really looks at me—and there's a flicker of something in her eyes. I know it's there. I know she's already lost in this, in us.

"I'll think about it," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. Her eyes don't leave mine, and for a moment, I can't tell if she's teasing or telling the truth.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, but the hunger in my chest only deepens. "You're killing me, baby," I reply, my hands lingering on her body, not ready to let go.

She laughs softly, but I can feel the shift in her touch, the way her hands linger just a moment longer than necessary. She's not pulling away. Not yet. And that's all I need to know.

This isn't over. Not by a long shot.