Bound By Obsession

Chapter Ten

The paper bag crinkled in her hands as Gracie hurried down the sidewalk, heels clicking against the pavement. The

night was cool, the city buzzing with the usual weekend rhythm—cars honking, people laughing outside bars, a faint echo of music from somewhere down the block.

She should’ve blended into it easily, melted back into the ordinary. But her pulse was still racing.

Gracie adjusted the strap of her tote bag, cursing under her breath. What the hell was that?

She’d gone in for pasta and cannolis, not a silent staring contest with the walking definition of temptation.

Jeremiah.

The way he’d appeared again—like it was nothing, like the city wasn’t big enough for her to avoid him—threw her off balance. She told herself it was coincidence. It had to be coincidence.

But the way he’d looked at her? No. That wasn’t casual. That wasn’t “oh hey, fancy seeing you here.” That was raw heat, unapologetic want, so thick in his eyes she could almost feel it on her skin.

And God help her, some traitorous part of her liked it.

She bit down on her lip, shaking her head.

“Nope. Not doing this, Matthews,” she muttered under her breath. “Hot guy with murder-eyes is not your type. He’s nobody’s type. He’s danger with a pulse.”

Still, she couldn’t ignore the truth her body whispered: when their eyes met, it felt like a spark had lodged itself in her chest, lighting her from the inside out.

Gracie pushed through the front door of her house, tossing her keys on the table and setting her food on the counter. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, pressing her palms flat against the cool granite, willing her heartbeat to calm down.

“Get a grip,” she said to herself. “He’s just a guy. A big… ridiculously gorgeous… kind of scary guy. But still a guy. You don’t do this, remember? You don’t let men in. You don’t let anyone in.”

Her eyes flicked to the darkened window above the sink. For the briefest moment, a shiver trickled down her spine—as though someone might be out there, watching.

She shook it off quickly, rolling her eyes. Paranoid. Just paranoid..

She carried her food to the table, opened her laptop, and tried to distract herself with work. But as she typed, her thoughts betrayed her.

The curve of his jaw. The rough power in his shoulders. The way his presence filled the restaurant, commanding attention without a single word.

She hated herself for thinking it, but the memory of him standing behind her still lingered—the phantom heat of him too close, too solid, like if she leaned back just an inch, she’d collide with something that might undo her entirely.

Gracie dug her fork into her pasta, frustrated. “Nope. Absolutely not. We are not doing this.”

But her heart beat a different story.

Because for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure her walls were as unshakable as she thought.