Page 37 of Override

I smile before the silence can stretch too long.

“And I repay him by ruining the aesthetic,” I joke lightly, gesturing between my champagne dress and his black tuxedo. “Now we don’t match at all. Honestly heartbreaking.”

The couple laughs softly. I lean slightly closer to Ronan like I’m sharing a private secret between newlyweds.

“The black dress was a little tight,” I murmur quietly enough only he can hear. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate me suffocating at a fundraiser.”

For one brief second, I think maybe I handled it correctly.

Then Ronan looks down at my body.

Slowly.

His gaze drifts over the silk against my waist before lifting back to my face again.

Expressionless.

“You may be right,” he says softly. “You’ve looked a little heavier lately.”

The words hit so hard my brain genuinely blanks for a second. Not because they’re shouted. Not because they’re cruelly delivered.

Because he says them so calmly.

Like an observation. Like fact.

Heat rushes to my face while something sharp twists unexpectedly beneath my ribs.

Before I can even process the embarrassment properly, Ronan reaches down and removes the appetizer plate from my hand smoothly.

“I’ll speak with the chef about adjusting your meal plans,” he continues, voice smooth .

Then he smiles. Actually smiles.

Polished and charming and warm enough that if someone walked by right now they’d probably think he’d whispered something affectionate instead.

The older couple says goodbye without me realizing the conversation is ending. Ronan hands my untouched appetizer plate to a passing waiter before guiding me farther into the ballroom with his hand still resting against my back.

I move automatically. Smile automatically. Breathe automatically.

The entire world suddenly feels strange around the edges.

“You didn’t need to say it like that,” I hear myself murmur once we’re out of earshot.

Ronan glances toward me calmly. “Like what?”

My throat tightens. Because suddenly I sound dramatic even to myself.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t call me names.

He simply made an observation.

Humiliation burns hot beneath my skin while another couple greets us near the center of the ballroom.

“Ronan,” one of the men says warmly. “Good to see you.”

Ronan smiles easily and shakes his hand while I stand beside him trying desperately not to think about every single thing I ate today.

Coffee. Half a croissant. Two bites of pasta at lunch. One champagne flute. Three shrimp from the appetizer tray.