Page 77 of Override

Waiting.

The second I park, tension slides sharply through my chest.

Here it is. I shut off the engine slowly before reaching for my bag and coffee.

The scent of French vanilla fills the SUV again.

Warm. Sweet. Dangerous.

My fingers tighten around the cup. Then I open the door and step out.

Declan watches me carefully while I round the front of the SUV.

Not aggressive. Not angry. Just assessing. That somehow irritates me more.

“Mrs. Gallagher.”

I stop near the entrance to the main house but don’t look away from him.

“Yes?”

His gaze flicks briefly toward the SUV. “You left the estate this morning.”

Not a question. I can practically hear the expectation beneath it anyway. Explain yourself. My hands curl into fists before I notice.

Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the lingering warmth from sitting in my father’s office this morning being reminded what it felt like to be loved without conditions.

Or maybe I’m just tired. Tired of being watched. Questioned. Managed.

I straighten slowly, lifting my chin the same way my father taught me years ago whenever men tried to mistake kindness for weakness.

“This is my house too,” I say calmly. “I don't require your permission.”

The words settle heavily into the garage. The words surprise me almost as much as they surprise him.

Declan actually looks surprised. Good—because suddenly I realize something terrifying. I’ve spent so long trying to keep everyone comfortable lately that somewhere along the way people stopped expecting me to push back at all.

His expression smooths quickly back into professionalism, but I still catch the flicker of hesitation before he dips his head once.

“Of course, ma’am.”

Then he reaches for his pocket. My eyes follow the movement automatically. His phone. Of course. Every instinct in my body immediately tells me who he's calling. Maybe he's confirming I'm home. Maybe he's asking where I've been. Maybe—No. I already know.

Fear flashes hot and immediate through my chest—but this time something steadier rises with it.

Anger, because I should not feel like a child sneaking back past curfew inside my own home.

I tighten my grip on the coffee cup before stepping past him toward the door.

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Declan,” I say coolly.

Then I leave him standing in the garage holding the phone to his ear while my pulse pounds violently against my ribs and Taibhse’s note burns like a secret inside my purse.

Chapter 16

Keaton (Skee)

Declan steps closer to her when she steps out of the vehicle.