BOUND BY OBSESSION

HERMIONE

That night, I arrived at my apartment, ready for a quiet evening alone. But as I approach the door, I freeze. There he is. Standing there, as if he owns the very building I live in, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his expression unreadable.

"Dylan," I say, my voice a mix of surprise and unease.

His lips curl into a knowing smile. "I was wondering when you'd get home."

"Did you follow me?" I ask, my heartbeat quickening. It's not the first time, but tonight feels different. More intense. Dangerous.

"I like to know where you are, Hermione. It's important." His voice is low, but it carries a weight that makes my pulse race. He doesn't wait for an invitation, just steps forward, his body closing the distance between us. "You looked stunning tonight. But I didn't like seeing those men look at you the way they did."

I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. "I'm not yours to control, Dylan."

His eyes darken. "You belong to me. Not just in the office, but everywhere. You know that, don't you?"

I feel a cold shiver run through me, but my lips don't part to argue. Instead, I say, "I don't want to be controlled."

He steps closer, so close I can feel the heat of his body against mine. His scent envelops me, and for a moment, I can't breathe. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, fingers sliding across my skin, sending jolts of electricity through me.

"You already are," he murmurs. "You have been for a long time. You just didn't know it."

NEXT DAY AT VOSS ENTERPRISE

The towering glass building of Voss Enterprise looms ahead, sleek and commanding against the morning skyline. As I step out of my car, I smooth down the fabric of my fitted blazer, inhaling deeply to steady myself. It's my first official day as the Head of Legal, and I refuse to let anything—not even Dylan—throw me off balance.

The lobby is a whirlwind of efficiency. Employees move with purpose, their voices a hushed murmur against the backdrop of polished marble floors and state-of-the-art design. I offer a polite nod to the receptionist, who greets me with a warm but knowing smile, and step into the elevator. My office is on the top floor, just two doors down from Dylan's.

The doors slide open, revealing the executive wing—pristine, modern, and exuding quiet power. As I walk toward my office, my heels clicking against the floor, I mentally prepare myself for the day ahead. I expect to enter my space, take a moment to breathe, and settle in. But the moment I open the door, I realize that won't be happening.

Dylan is already there, seated in one of the leather chairs opposite my desk, as if he owns the place. Which, technically, he does.

He's dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, perfectly tailored to his tall, broad frame. His dark hair is styled with meticulous precision, and there's an air of absolute authority about him. But it's his eyes—sharp, knowing, and unapologetically intense—that have me gripping the doorknob just a little too hard.

"Good morning, Ms. Vale." His voice is smooth, controlled, yet laced with something darker beneath the surface. "Right on time."

I step inside, closing the door behind me. "I didn't realize my office came with unexpected guests."

He smirks, but there's no humor in it. "I wanted to discuss business." He gestures toward my desk, silently instructing me to sit.

I cross the room, lowering myself into my chair and meeting his gaze head-on. "Then let's talk."

Dylan leans back slightly, but the power in his posture doesn't lessen. "Your responsibilities here are significant. I expect nothing but excellence."

I nod, keeping my expression neutral. "Understood."

"You'll be handling our highest-profile legal affairs. That means contracts worth billions, disputes that could shake entire industries, and cases that require absolute discretion." His tone is businesslike, but the way he's watching me—like I'm more than just an employee—sends a shiver down my spine.

"I wouldn't have accepted the position if I weren't prepared," I reply evenly.

His lips curve, but his eyes darken. "Good."

A thick silence settles between us. There's more he wants to say. More he wants to do. The air crackles with something unsaid, something inevitable.

"I assume this conversation is purely professional?" I arch a brow, challenging him.

Dylan's fingers drum lightly against the armrest. "For now."

The implication is clear. This isn't just business—not with us. It never has been.

I straighten, keeping my voice steady. "Then if there's nothing else, I'd like to get started on reviewing the cases I'll be handling."

Dylan stands, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. He moves toward the door, but before he leaves, he stops, turning back to face me.

"Don't forget, Hermione," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous promise. "You work for me now."

I hold my breath as he walks out, leaving behind a silence that feels far too heavy.

I exhale slowly, pressing my palms against my desk. This is only the beginning.

And I have a feeling Dylan is going to make sure I never forget it.

The next week at the office, I'm more on edge than ever. I keep expecting Dylan to show up at any moment, his presence looming over me. And when he does, it's no less unsettling. He walks into my office like he owns it, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me.

"I've been thinking about your performance lately," he says, his voice casual but laced with something darker. "You've been doing well. Too well, actually."

I raise an eyebrow, trying to mask the unease in my chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're handling the team well. A little too well, if you ask me." He steps forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "I don't like things being too easy for you. It makes me wonder what you're not telling me."

I meet his eyes, determined not to back down. "I've done everything you've asked of me. My loyalty is to the company."

"Your loyalty is to me, Hermione," he says, his voice a whisper now, but it's full of command. "The company is just a side note. And soon, you'll realize that."

The air between us crackles with tension. I want to fight back, to remind him that I'm not his possession. But deep down, I know that every word he says has been carefully calculated, each one breaking down the walls I've tried so hard to keep up.

That evening, Dylan insists on taking me to dinner. "We need to talk business," he says, but I know better. This isn't just business—it's another of his power plays.

The restaurant is intimate, exclusive—just like everything else in his life. The private room he's reserved is dimly lit, the table set with elegant precision. It's impossible to ignore the way he controls everything, the way he arranges the world around him as if it's meant only for us. For him and me.

As we sit down, he presses me on personal matters—my past, my grandparents, my struggle to build a life on my own. I can't help but wonder if he's been studying me, researching me in ways that are far more invasive than I ever imagined.

"You never told me about your childhood," he says, his voice smooth, but there's a bite to it. "What was it like being raised by your grandparents?"

I try to remain neutral. "It wasn't easy. But I made it through."

"You made it through," he repeats, leaning forward, his eyes piercing. "And now you're here. Sitting across from me, pretending you're not already mine."

I feel my stomach twist. "I'm not yours, Dylan."

"Not yet," he says, almost too softly. "But you will be."

When the dinner ends, he insists on driving me home. The ride is silent, but the tension between us is palpable. It's a suffocating kind of quiet, one that weighs heavy on my chest.

We reach my apartment, and before I can even open the door, he's there—his hand on my arm, pulling me towards him. His lips crash against mine in a kiss that isn't just passionate; it's possessive. Claiming.

My mind races. Every part of me knows I should pull away. I should fight this. But when his hands slide down my back, pulling me closer, I feel a heat rise in me, one that I can't control.

He pulls away just enough to whisper in my ear, his voice dark and low. "What are you willing to sacrifice for me, Hermione?"

I freeze. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. I'm not sure I can answer him. But I know that my answer, whatever it is, will change everything.

I close the car door with trembling hands, my heart racing. Dylan's gaze follows me as I walk to the building entrance. The weight of his words settles on my shoulders, and I wonder if I'm already too far gone to break free.