DYLAN
I'm halfway through reviewing the final acquisition documents when Adrian knocks once and steps into my office without waiting for a response. He knows better than to interrupt me unless it's urgent.
"There's someone here to see you," he says, his voice low with a barely concealed smirk.
I glance up, irritated. "Who?"
"Your mother."
I blink. "What?"
He nods. "She's... with Miss Vale."
I stand. Fast.
"She just walked into Hermione's office?" I ask, already heading for the door.
Adrian steps aside. "She said—and I quote—'If my son has nothing to hide, then this shouldn't be a problem.'"
Of course she did.
I stride down the corridor, every step louder than the last, anger curling beneath my skin. My mother never does random. If she's here, it's because she's calculated something, tested it, and now she's executing it.
And she went to Hermione first.
When I turn the corner, I freeze.
There they are—walking side by side down the hallway like they've known each other for years. My mother, regal and composed in the navy, walks like she owns the damn building. Hermione walks beside her, calm but slightly guarded. Still, there's a glimmer of something in her eyes—confidence. Curiosity. Maybe even amusement.
They look... good together.
Too good.
That unsettles me.
I approach slowly, slipping into their path like a shadow. "Mother," I say coolly.
She doesn't flinch. "Dylan. You're looking sharp."
I glance at Hermione. She meets my eyes. I can't read her.
"Didn't expect a visit today," I say, turning my gaze back to my mother.
"Yes, well. I couldn't sit at home any longer. I had to meet the woman who turned my son into a man who actually smiles on the phone."
I glance at Hermione again. Her lips twitch in the faintest smile, but she stays quiet.
My mother continues. "We had a lovely chat, didn't we, darling?"
Hermione nods. "Very... enlightening."
I narrow my eyes at her, then shift my attention to my mother. "You ambushed her."
"I introduced myself. There's a difference."
I clench my jaw.
She steps forward and brushes imaginary lint off my shoulder. "Relax, Dylan. I like her."
That stops me. "You... what?"
"I said I like her. She's intelligent. Grounded. Don't fall for your theatrics, which is a miracle in itself."
I blink slowly, processing that. "So this wasn't an interrogation?"
"Oh, it absolutely was," she says sweetly. "But she passed."
Hermione lets out a soft breath beside her.
"And now," my mother continues, "we're going shopping."
I stare at her.
"She has clothes."
"She has lawyer clothes. She needs Voss clothes."
I glance at Hermione. "You're okay with this?"
She lifts one brow. "Would you say no to a woman who looks like she can buy half of Paris and have it delivered to her penthouse by sunset?"
Fair point.
I exhale through my nose, pinching the bridge of it.
My mother leans in and whispers, "You look like you're about to combust. You should know by now—when I choose someone, I commit."
My eyes dart to Hermione again.
"And you've chosen her?" I ask, voice low.
She smiles. "Oh, I haven't chosen her for you. That was clearly out of my hands the moment you set eyes on her. But yes. I approve."
A strange tension unwinds in my chest. I hadn't realized how tightly I'd been holding that part of me in check—waiting for her to tear Hermione apart, to undermine this fragile beginning between us.
Instead, she's... embraced it?
I look at Hermione, who seems both amused and suspicious of this new alliance.
My mother turns to leave. "We'll see you tonight. Don't work too late, Dylan. It gives you those awful lines between your brows."
And then she's gone.
Hermione lingers, looking up at me.
"She's intense," she murmurs.
"So are you," I reply.
Her lips lift in that subtle, maddening curve. "Then maybe we'll get along just fine."
"Maybe," I say, voice lower now. "Or maybe you'll both drive me insane."
She leans closer, standing on her toes, her mouth near my ear. "You love it."
I do.
And it terrifies me.
Before I can reach for her, she's gone, heels clicking down the hall to catch up with my mother.
I watch them go, heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with the woman I've let into my life—and the storm she's quietly becoming.