HERMIONE
The second I step into Dylan's office, I feel it — like gravity shifting.
His eyes lift from his phone, and the look on his face is pure, unguarded relief.
"Hermione," he breathes.
He's around the desk in three strides before I can respond, arms closing around me like a storm pulling me in.
"I saw your message," I whisper into his shoulder. "I had to come."
He buries his face in my neck, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything. We just breathe — like we've both been holding it in all night.
"I didn't want you to go through this alone," he murmurs. "Not for a second."
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "You weren't wrong. Everything you said last night… about wanting to protect me… I felt it. I still feel it."
His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "I'll always protect you."
We're quiet again. The city lights spill in behind us, casting soft shadows over the polished floors. His fingers lace with mine, and slowly, he guides me to the couch across from his desk.
We sit.
He watches me for a moment. "Tell me what you need."
"I need…" I swallow. "I need to know this won't break us."
"It won't." His voice is solid. "Not even close."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes violently on the table.
Grandma.
My heart lurches. "Oh no."
"Answer it," Dylan says gently, pulling me into his lap without hesitation. "You're not facing this alone."
I blink, stunned as he settles me on his thighs, his arms looping around my waist, grounding me.
"You're serious?"
"Always."
I swipe to answer. "Grandma?"
Her voice is sharp, frazzled. "Hermione Isabelle Vale! What is going on?! Why are people saying our granddaughter is a mistress? On the news, Hermione!"
"Grandma—"
"No! You listen. I sent you to the best schools. We raised you to have morals. We did not raise you to climb into a billionaire's bed like some kind of—some kind of—"
"Evelyn," Grandpa's voice cuts in. "Give me the phone. You're making it worse."
There's rustling. I press my hand to my eyes, trying to keep it together. Dylan's hand moves slowly up and down my spine.
"Grandpa," I try, "please, let me expla—"
"I don't need an explanation," he booms. "I know who we raised. But I can't have our neighbors looking at me like I failed my own granddaughter. Your grandmother is crying. She hasn't stopped all day."
"I didn't do anything wrong," I whisper.
"Then why are people calling you names, Hermione? Why are your pictures everywhere? Why are they saying you seduced a man for a job?"
Dylan's hand stills on my back.
"I need to talk to him," Grandpa adds. "Whoever this man is, he's ruined your reputation. And I want to know exactly who he thinks he is—"
"I'm right here," Dylan says smoothly, taking the phone from my hand before I can stop him. "Mr. Vale?"
A pause.
"This is Dylan Alexander Voss. I'm the man your granddaughter is dating."
The silence is deafening.
"I take full responsibility for what's happened," Dylan continues. "But I want you to understand something. Hermione didn't seduce me. She challenged me. She impressed me. And I offered her a job because she earned it. Her integrity has never been in question."
More silence. Then:
"She's sitting on your what?"
Dylan glances at me and smirks. "She's fine. Safe. With me. And very much loved."
I bury my face in his shoulder, stifling a shocked laugh.
"Sir," Dylan continues, "I intend to protect her name, her reputation, and her heart. No one disrespects her without answering to me."
It's quiet for a moment.
Then Grandpa speaks again — grudgingly, almost gruff:
"Well… I suppose if you really mean all that… you'll be marrying her someday."
Dylan's eyes find mine.
He smiles.
"I intend to," he says.
My heart stutters.
He says it like a promise.
And just like that…
the storm doesn't feel so big anymore.