Page 116 of Override

The bedroom door opens behind me. My shoulders stiffen automatically. The reaction annoys me instantly.

Ronan isn't angry. He hasn't been angry since returning from his trip. If anything, he's been unusually attentive.

The realization only makes me feel worse.

His reflection appears in the mirror behind me.

Dark suit. Black tie. Perfect as always. His gaze lands on mine. Then lingers. For a moment, neither of us says anything.

I return my attention to my earrings. Ronan continues watching me.

Finally he smiles. Softly. "You look beautiful."

The compliment catches me off guard. Not because of the words. Because of how normal they sound. How familiar. How much they remind me of the man I thought I married.

"Thank you."

His reflection moves closer. Not touching. Just standing behind me. Studying me. The silence stretches.

"You're smiling."

My fingers pause. Only for a second. "You sound surprised."

"I am." The honesty in his voice pulls my attention back toward the mirror. Ronan's expression looks thoughtful. Curious. Not suspicious. Just curious.

"You seem happier." The words settle heavily in my chest. Because he isn't wrong. And for one terrible moment, I know exactly why.

I think about coffee. About music. About text messages that make me laugh when I least expect it. About a ghost who somehow knows me better than he should.

Guilt twists through my stomach before I can catch it.

"You must have missed me." The words are accompanied by a small smile. A teasing one. The kind husbands are probably supposed to make.

My chest tightens. Because he thinks he's the reason. And part of me desperately wishes he was.

It would make everything simpler. Safer. Easier.

Instead, I force a smile and look away first. "Maybe."

The lie leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Not because I didn't miss him. I did. At least the version of him I keep trying to find again.

The version that existed before schedules and restrictions and guards. The version who used to make me feel chosen instead of managed.

Ronan seems satisfied with the answer. His hand settles briefly against my shoulder. Affectionate. Possessive. I can't decide which.

Then he steps away. "We should leave soon."

I nod.

The bedroom falls quiet again. Ronan disappears into the adjoining office to take a phone call.

The second he's gone, my eyes drift toward my phone sitting on the vanity.

The screen remains dark. Silent. No messages. No notifications. Nothing. And somehow that's when the guilt gets worse.

Because the first thing I feel isn't relief.

It's disappointment.