Page 54 of Override

The words nearly scrape my throat raw on the way out.

Ronan crosses toward the bathroom a moment later, already pulling loose the rest of his tie while discussing tomorrow’s meetings like nothing significant just happened at all.

Like he didn’t quietly erase one more piece of me and replace it with something easier to control.

The bathroom door shuts behind him. Water starts running seconds later. I can’t breathe correctly inside the bedroom anymore.

Not dramatically. Not panic. Just…tight. Too tight.

I stand slowly before the feeling can fully reach my face and carry the new sweater toward the closet on automatic pilot.

Cream. Black. Gray. Navy.

The cashmere blends perfectly beside the rest of the expensive polished life hanging there.

It looks like it belongs. That realization hurts so much more than it should.

I stare at it for several seconds too long before closing the closet door again.

Then I leave the bedroom.

My feet carry me automatically down the hallway toward the guest bathroom near the library—the only room in the estate that still feels quiet enough to think inside.

The bathroom door locks behind me with a soft click.

And suddenly—I’m crying. Not loud. Not dramatic. Which only makes it worse. Tears spill silently down my face while I press the heels of my palms hard against my eyes like maybe I can force the emotion back inside before it fully breaks loose.

Because it’s a hoodie. That’s all. Not a person. Not a tragedy. Not something worth sitting on a cold bathroom floor crying over like your chest is splitting open from the inside.

Except it isn’t about the hoodie.

It’s about the way I knew instantly he took it. The way the staff wouldn’t look at me. The way every piece of myself that existed before this marriage seems to be quietly disappearing one by one while everyone around me pretends it’s normal.

My breathing turns uneven.

I curl tighter against myself beside the bathtub, pressing trembling fingers against my mouth to stay quiet even though no one can hear me in here anyway.

That’s the worst part.

This room is the only place in the entire estate that feels private anymore.

The only place that still feels mine.

And even that thought hurts.

I don’t know how long I sit there before my phone vibrates sharply against the bathroom counter.

The sound startles me hard enough my head jerks up.

I rarely bring my phone in here. No one knows I'm in here.

For one irrational second, panic flashes hot through my chest.

Slowly, I stand and reach for it with damp shaking fingers.

Unknown Number.

My pulse stumbles once.