Page 73 of Override

For one horrible suspended second, standing in the front hallway with rain dripping from my coat and panic clawing at my throat, I truly thought my father might reach for his phone and tell my husband exactly where I was.

Instead he stepped forward, kissed my forehead, and told me that couples fight. You can come home anytime you want.

The ache that memory leaves behind almost feels worse now—because he meant it. My father sets another signed paper aside before looking up again.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” The question lands softly. Carefully.

Like he already knows I’m balancing too close to some emotional edge.

I shake my head before I can reconsider it. “Just tired.”

“Mhm.” His eyes narrow slightly. Not suspicious. Worried. And suddenly I have to look away because guilt blooms sharp and ugly beneath my ribs.

I shouldn’t have left the estate like this. Shouldn’t have lied. Shouldn’t have disappeared without telling Ronan. Maybe he really was just worried.

The thought has been circling endlessly through my head all morning. Protection. Everything Ronan does always comes back to protection eventually.

The security. The cameras. The schedules. The trainers. Maybe he really believes he’s taking care of me.

Maybe this is simply what loving a powerful man looks like.

The thought settles heavier the longer I sit with it. Across the room, my father finally removes his glasses and leans back in his chair.

“You’ve gone quiet on me again.”

I blink back toward him. “Sorry.”

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs softly.

Something in my chest tightens painfully. I don’t feel like myself lately. Not fully. I feel edited.

Like pieces of me keep disappearing quietly while everyone around me acts like it’s normal.

My father watches me for another long moment before speaking again.

“Marriage takes time.”

There it is. The thing everyone keeps saying. Adjustment. Patience. Compromise.

“Your mother nearly killed me the first year,” he continues with a small smile.

Despite everything, a quiet laugh escapes me.

“She still threatens you sometimes.”

“She enjoys keeping me humble.”

The warmth in his voice cuts straight through me. Because my parents look at each other like partners. Like equals. Like home. I used to think all marriages eventually became that.

My father stands slowly when I push to my feet a few minutes later.

“I should go before traffic gets worse.”

He studies my face carefully enough that my stomach tightens again. And for one terrifying second, the words nearly come out. I think something’s wrong. I think I’m disappearing. I don’t know how to fix this.

But then he steps around the desk and rests one warm hand against the side of my head.

“Ronan’s a hard man,” he says quietly. “But he’ll provide for you. Protect you.”