BOUND BY OBSESSION

HERMIONE

It's finally Friday. The week feels like it's been a blur, with every minute spent trying to maintain some semblance of control in my life—trying to keep the chaos of my emotions from spilling over. But now, as the clock ticks closer to the end of the workday, I know what's coming.

Dylan's been subtle, but he's been watching me more closely this week. And I can feel it. The tension between us has grown unbearable, and it's no longer just about business. It's personal. And when he asks me to join him for dinner after work, there's no escaping it.

The office empties out, and I grab my bag, walking to the elevator where Dylan's already waiting. He stands tall, impeccably dressed in one of his custom suits, his dark eyes holding an intensity I can't quite shake off.

"You ready?" he asks, voice low, but with that hint of command I'm learning to dread.

"Yeah," I answer, my voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn't say anything else as the elevator descends, but I feel his presence like a weight pressing down on me. When the doors open to the ground floor, we walk out in silence, the hum of the city filling the space between us.

Dylan doesn't take me to a fancy restaurant like I expected. Instead, he leads me to a quieter, intimate place. A low-lit bistro tucked away from the chaos of the city streets. It's the kind of place where the air smells like rich wine and aged leather, where people speak in hushed tones, as though the atmosphere itself demands a certain reverence.

He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit down, trying to ignore the feeling that I'm drowning in his presence. He takes the seat across from me, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I thought we could talk," he says, his voice smooth as silk, but there's a depth to it. A demand that I'm beginning to understand.

I nod, feeling my palms begin to sweat. I try to tell myself that I don't need to be nervous. But this man has a way of unravelling everything inside me.

The waiter comes to take our orders, but Dylan barely acknowledges him, his attention solely on me. Once the man leaves, the air between us thickens.

"Why are you so hesitant about us, Hermione?" Dylan's voice is soft but carries weight. The kind of question that demands an answer.

I swallow hard, wishing I could just say something, anything, to end this conversation before it gets too deep. But it's impossible to ignore the way he watches me, like he's waiting for the truth to spill from my lips.

"I'm not hesitant," I reply, my words coming out too quickly, too defensively. "I just... I don't know. I'm focused on my work."

"Work," he murmurs, lips curving into a smile. "You and I both know that's not the real reason. You're avoiding this, avoiding me. Why?"

I flinch at the accusation. He's right. But I don't want to admit it. Not to him, and not to myself.

"I just don't know if this is a good idea," I finally say, the words coming out heavier than I expected.

"Why not?" Dylan leans forward, his voice lowering, becoming more insistent. "You can't deny the chemistry between us. The attraction. The way your body responds to mine... Why fight it?"

My heart pounds in my chest. He's right. I can't deny it. I feel the pull every time he's near me. The warmth of his touch, the weight of his stare. It's all consuming. But that's the problem.

I lower my gaze, unable to meet his eyes. "It's not just that," I whisper, my fingers fiddling with the edge of my napkin. "I have... baggage. Things that I haven't dealt with."

Dylan's gaze softens, but I see the flicker of something darker in his eyes. He doesn't push me for more, not immediately. Instead, he waits, patient, as if he knows I'll speak when I'm ready.

"I used to work for a man—my former boss," I begin, my voice trembling with memory. "He... used his power to control me. To manipulate me. He thought because he was in charge, he could do whatever he wanted. He... he tried to use that power to get me to sleep with him. To break me down. And I—I couldn't take it. I left my job because of it."

The words feel like a confession, like I'm finally letting someone see a part of me I've kept hidden for so long. Dylan watches me intently, his face unreadable, but I know he's listening, really listening.

"I'm afraid of what's going to happen between us," I admit, my voice small now. "I don't want to lose control again. I don't want to be vulnerable, to let someone else... take charge of me."

For a moment, there's silence. I can feel the weight of my words between us, hanging like a thick fog. Dylan doesn't speak, doesn't move. But I can see the wheels turning in his mind, processing what I've said.

And then, slowly, he leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving mine.

"You think I'm going to do that to you?" His voice is low, barely a whisper. "You think I'm like him?"

"No, but—"

"Hermione." He cuts me off gently, but firmly. "I'm not him. And I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here because I want you. All of you."

He reaches across the table, his hand hovering near mine, as if waiting for permission. And I don't pull away. I won't stop him.

"I'm not trying to control you," Dylan says, his voice thick with something I can't quite place. "I'm trying to protect you. To keep you safe. And I'll do whatever it takes to prove that to you."

His words hit me like a wave. The sincerity in his voice. The weight of his promise. It's more than I ever expected from him.

But there's a part of me that still doesn't trust it. A part of me that's scared of losing myself in him. Scared of giving in to what he wants, to what we both want.

"I'm not sure I can give you everything you want," I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can let myself fall for you."

Dylan smiles, a slow, knowing smile. "You already have, Hermione. The only question now is whether you're ready to admit it."

I open my mouth to say something, but the words get stuck in my throat. The truth is, he's right. I can't deny it anymore. There's something between us, something I can't control. But I'm terrified of what happens if I let go.

Dylan's hand rests on top of mine, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. It's a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt of heat through my body.

"We'll take it slow," he says, his voice a soothing promise. "But I'm not going anywhere." 

As we sit there, the city lights flickering outside, I feel the weight of his words settle deep in my chest. And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if I can allow myself to believe him.