BOUND BY OBSESSION

DYLAN

Hermione Vale's entire life was condensed into a twenty-page report sitting in front of me.

I leaned back in my chair, fingers tapping against the smooth mahogany desk of my office as I scanned the details. I had asked for everything, and my assistant, Adrian, never disappointed.

Born in Nigeria. Adopted at birth by an American couple.

Raised in New York. Comfortable but not wealthy.

Tragedy at twelve. Parents killed in a car accident. Moved in with her grandparents. Middle class. Stable, but nothing excessive.

Stanford. Harvard Law. Top of her class. Fiercely independent. No financial backing—everything she earned, she fought for.

I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening around the pages.

She wasn't just intelligent. She was resilient.

A survivor.

I glanced at Adrian, who stood patiently across from me, hands folded. "What else?"

"She's worked exclusively on corporate law cases. No scandals. No questionable dealings. Her colleagues describe her as 'unyielding but fair.'"

I smirked. That sounded about right.

Adrian continued. "She left her last firm six months ago. No official reason was given, but sources suggest she was unhappy with the ethical direction the company was taking."

Interesting. A lawyer with a moral compass. In my world, those were rare.

I set the file down, my decision already made.

"Schedule a meeting," I ordered.

"She's already on her way up," Adrian said, not missing a beat.

I liked efficiency.

I turned my chair toward the window, watching the city stretch out below me. It was only a matter of time before she arrived, but patience had never been my strong suit.

Hermione Vale didn't know it yet, but her life was about to change.

The door swung open, and then there she was.

Hermione Vale.

Tall and commanding in five-inch black stilettos, her 5'9" frame sharpened by the precision of her movements. A navy-blue blazer hugged her form, tailored perfectly over a crisp white blouse tucked into slim black trousers that elongated her already endless legs. Her black leather handbag hung from her wrist, structured, expensive, but understated. Practical.

But it was her skin that caught the light first—warm caramel with a golden undertone, shimmering like liquid gold in the sunlight filtering through the windows. A shade so rich it demanded attention, impossible to ignore.

Her face was striking—full lips painted in deep red, dark eyes that locked onto mine without hesitation. Her thick curls were gathered into a sleek bun, exposing the elegant line of her neck.

She was stunning.

And she had no idea what she did to me.

I stood, keeping my expression composed as I met her gaze.

"Miss Vale."

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, but her voice was steady. "Mr. Voss."

She didn't sit.

I almost smiled.

I gestured toward the chair across from my desk. "Take a seat."

She held my stare for a second longer before lowering herself into the chair with slow, deliberate poise.

The tension between us was tangible, thick like smoke curling through the room.

She was waiting for me to speak first.

Smart.

I leaned forward, lacing my fingers together. "I have a proposition for you."

Her lips curved slightly, the barest hint of amusement. "I assumed this wasn't a social call." she replied "your assistant informed me about a deal before coming here".

I let a smirk slip through. "No. It's not and yes the deal."

I slid the contract toward her. "I want you at Voss Enterprise as the head of our legal department."

Her posture didn't shift, but I saw the briefest flicker of surprise in her eyes. She didn't reach for the folder.

Instead, she studied me.

Cool. Calculated.

Assessing whether I was a threat.

I was.

"And why exactly would I want to work for you?" she asked finally.

I smiled, slow and deliberate. "Because I'm not offering you a job, Hermione. I'm offering you power."

Her expression didn't falter. "Elaborate."

I leaned back. "Next month, I will take over Voss Enterprise from my father. When I do, I need the right people running the most critical divisions. Finance, Operations, Technology. Legal."

She arched her brow. "And you think I'm the right person?"

"I know you are."

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You don't know me, Dylan."

I chuckled. "That's where you're wrong."

Her eyes narrowed. "You did a background check."

"Of course."

Her jaw tightened. "That's invasive."

I tilted my head, considering her. "That's necessary."

She held my gaze, and I let the silence stretch. Let her feel the weight of my attention, the sheer force of my presence pressing down on her.

Then, slowly, she reached for the file and flipped it open.

Her brows furrowed as she scanned the offer—salary, benefits, incentives.

"This is…" She hesitated, her voice softer. "Generous."

I smiled. "It's what you're worth."

She closed the file, exhaling. "And if I say no?"

I stood, moving around the desk, closing the distance between us.

Her breath hitched as I leaned down, hands braced on the arms of her chair, caging her in.

"You won't."

Her scent wrapped around me—something warm, spiced vanilla and cedar, subtle but intoxicating.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't move.

I dropped my voice. "Take the job, Hermione."

She swallowed, and for the first time, her confidence wavered.

And then, after a long pause, she whispered, "I'll think about it."

I let out a quiet laugh, straightening. "Do that. But don't take too long."

I walked back around my desk, watching as she rose from the chair, smoothing her blazer as if collecting herself.

As if she hadn't just felt what I felt.

She turned to leave, but just before she reached the door, I called out—

"Hermione."

She stilled.

I waited until she faced me again.

"You should know," I said smoothly, "I don't lose."

A flicker of something crossed her face—annoyance, intrigue, maybe both.

She lifted her chin. "Neither do I."

Then she was gone.

I smiled to myself.

She thought she had a choice.

She didn't.

She was already mine.