Page 23 of Override

Callum hears the silence on the other end of the line and immediately groans. “Oh no.”

The Gallagher head of security reaches for his phone exactly three seconds later. Right on schedule. My reroute catches the call before it can hit the actual security company.

Incoming call: DECLAN MURPHY.

Perfect. I pick up before the second ring.

“Wright Security Solutions,” I say smoothly while Callum starts swearing in the background. “What seems to be the issue tonight?”

Chapter 5

Maeve

The alarms started just after midnight.

Not loud enough to panic me at first. More irritating than frightening, the sound muffled somewhere deeper in the estate while lights flickered briefly beneath the bedroom door. I'd shot upright anyway, heart already racing beneath silk sheets while Ronan cursed under his breath beside me and reached for his phone.

For nearly twenty minutes the house had moved around us in restless motion. Footsteps in the hallway. Voices downstairs. Security radios crackling faintly through the open bedroom door while camera notifications flashed one after another across Ronan’s phone screen.

He hadn’t let me see it. That bothered me more than the alarms themselves.

“It’s nothing,” he’d said eventually while buttoning his shirt near the edge of the bed. “System malfunction.”

At midnight. Across the entire estate.

Reasonable. Everything was always reasonable.

I watched him pace once across the bedroom, phone pressed to his ear while quiet irritation sharpened the edges of his voice. Even angry, Ronan rarely raised his tone. He became calmer instead. Colder. More precise.

More dangerous.

“There shouldn’t be vulnerabilities,” he snapped quietly into the phone before noticing I was watching him.

His expression smoothed. Like a curtain dropping.

“They’re fixing it first thing tomorrow,” he told me afterward while climbing back into bed beside me. “Go back to sleep.”

I tried. But long after Ronan’s breathing evened beside me, my eyes stayed fixed on the blinking green light tucked near the bedroom ceiling.

Camera.

For the first time since they’d been installed, I found myself wondering who exactly Ronan believed he was protecting me from.

The next morning the estate feels tense in the subtle quiet way houses do when wealthy men are angry.

Staff move quicker. Security speaks softer. Even breakfast arrives with less conversation than usual.

Ronan stands near the kitchen island reading emails from his tablet while two men in black security polos move somewhere upstairs wondering what the hell happened last night.

My opportunity sits directly in front of me. If Ronan is distracted by strangers inside the house, he won’t want me underfoot. The realization arrives fast enough that I speak before I can second guess myself.

“I was thinking maybe I could have brunch with my parents today.”

Ronan’s attention doesn’t lift from the tablet. “Today?”

I set my coffee cup down carefully. “I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“That’s dramatic.” Heat flickers faintly beneath my ribs. Not because the comment is cruel. Because lately every emotion I express somehow becomes exaggerated once it leaves my mouth.