27. Maeve
Maeve
"You know..." I shake my head, smiling toward the camera tucked into the corner of the room. "You're a terrible influence."
"Who are you talking to?" The words slide through the room so quietly they barely sound real.
My smile falls away. Every muscle in my body locks. Slowly, I turn.
Ronan stands only a few feet behind me, one hand still tucked into the pocket of his slacks as if he'd been standing there for several seconds, simply... watching.
I hadn't heard the front door. I hadn't heard his footsteps. I hadn't heard anything.
The music keeps playing. It suddenly sounds too loud. Too cheerful. Too alive.
"I..." My mouth goes dry. "No one, I was listening to music."
His eyes stay on mine. "You were talking."
Not accusing. Not questioning. Simply stating what he'd heard.
"I didn't know you were home. How was your day?”
Ronan takes another step. "Give me your phone."
I freeze. "What?"
"Your phone."
"Ronan—"
"Now." He isn't angry. Anger I know how to navigate. This… This feels different.
He extends his hand toward me. "Your phone."
I instinctively tighten my grip around it again. Why? I don't know. Maybe because it's mine. Maybe because it's the only thing that still feels like mine.
"Ronan..."
"Your phone." Not louder. Not harsher. Just... final.
I look down at the screen. The conversation with Taibhse is still open. His last message sitting there. Waiting. I think about locking it. Deleting it. Doing something. Anything.
I don't move. Not because I'm refusing. Because somehow my feet have forgotten how. Ronan watches me for one long heartbeat. Then he closes the distance between us. His hand wraps around my upper arm. Hard enough that my breath catches.
"Maeve." My eyes snap to his. "Your phone."
He isn't squeezing. He doesn't need to. The pressure is steady. Certain. A reminder. My fingers loosen around the phone almost immediately.
Before I can move, Ronan quietly says, "It doesn't matter what's on it."
My breath catches. He knows. Or maybe...Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just knows me.
"It isn't the messages I'm taking.” His hand remains outstretched. "It's the door."
My fingers loosen. One at a time. Until the phone rests in his palm. He doesn't unlock it. Doesn't read it. Doesn't even glance at the screen. He slips it into his pocket beside his own. Exactly as if he'd picked up a set of keys.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
"I asked how your day was."
"You did." He studies me for another long moment before reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket.
My pulse jumps. Not because I think he's reaching for a weapon. Because I suddenly don't know what to expect anymore.
He pulls out his phone. Unlocks it. Lifts it to his ear.
I wait for him to step away to make his call like he normally does but he doesn’t.
He keeps looking directly at me.
"Shut the network down." Silence. My heart begins to pound. "Every internal feed." Another pause. "The cameras outside are to remain operational." I frown. "Now."
He ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.
"What..." My voice comes out smaller than I intended. "What does that mean?"
"It means someone found a door into my house."
I stare at him. "I don't understand."
"I know." His gaze drifts toward the television. Then the speaker. Then the security camera in the corner. "You've been happier."
The observation catches me completely off guard. "What?"
"You've smiled more this week than you have since we were married."
The room feels suddenly too small. "I..."
"You've laughed." He says it almost thoughtfully. "As if someone has reminded you how."
A chill races down my spine. He noticed. He noticed everything. The music. My moods. My smiles. My laughter. Every single thing.
"I've been trying to determine why." His attention returns to me. "I thought perhaps it was your parents." The memory of seeing my mother flashes through my mind. "I was wrong."
My stomach twists.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"No." His voice remains impossibly calm. "I don't believe you do."
He walks past me. Not close enough to touch. Not close enough that I have to move. Just close enough that I can smell the cedar and bergamot of his cologne.
He stops beside the built-in speaker. The song changes. Another one of my favorites.
For one heartbreaking second I think maybe… Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe none of this is what it feels like.
Then he reaches behind the speaker. The music dies in the middle of the chorus. The silence that replaces it feels suffocating.
He doesn't look at me. He simply walks to the media cabinet beneath the television.
Opens the doors. Unplugs the smart hub. One cord. Then another. The tiny blue light disappears.
"What are you doing?" My voice trembles despite my best effort to steady it.
He closes the cabinet. "The same thing I should have done weeks ago."
He crosses the room toward the hallway. A maintenance panel sits tucked behind a framed painting. I'd never noticed it before. He opens it with a small key attached to his key ring.
Inside, rows of blinking lights fill the cabinet. One switch after another...He flips them off. The blinking lights disappear.
"What are you doing?" I ask again, louder this time.
He closes the panel. Turns the key. Then finally looks at me.
"There were too many ways in."
I don't understand. "I don't..."
"I secured this house." His voice stays level. "I secured the gates."
"The staff."
"The guards."
"The perimeter."
He holds my gaze. "But I overlooked the things inside."
Something cold settles deep in my stomach. "I don't know what you mean."
"I know." Again. Always those two words. Not dismissive. Not cruel. Certain. As though my confusion changes nothing.
A knock sounds somewhere deeper in the house. Moments later, I hear footsteps.
The head housekeeper appears first. Behind her, two men in black polos carrying tool bags. Neither one acknowledges me.
Ronan addresses them without taking his eyes off me. "Begin."
They nod once. Then disappear down opposite hallways.
"What are they doing?"
"They're removing the doors." The words make no sense. I must look as confused as I feel because he softens.
Actually softens. "I don't blame you for this, Maeve.
" The kindness in his voice breaks something inside me.
"I blame myself. I gave the world too many ways to reach you.
" His thumb brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
The touch is gentle. Tender. "I won't make that mistake again. I've tried giving you freedom."
Freedom? The word catches me so completely off guard that I almost laugh.
"I've tried believing that you'd make good decisions." His gaze searches mine. "You continue proving me wrong."
Something inside me cracks. "I saw my parents."
"You ignored my instructions."
"I talked to my mother."
"You disobeyed me."
I stare at him. Really stare. Looking for the man I married.
"I've changed the internet password." The words are almost conversational. "The televisions are being replaced tomorrow."
My pulse stumbles.
"The staff has been instructed to limit conversations to household necessities."
I blink. Surely...Surely I misunderstood.
"My phone..."
"You won't be needing one."
"My laptop?"
"Gone."
"The library..."
"The smart devices have already been disconnected."
One by one. Not in anger. Not impulsively. Methodically. He isn't taking electronics. He's removing every doorway I have left to the outside world.
The realization steals the air from my lungs. I take a step backward. He doesn't follow. Doesn't have to. Because he's already won.
"I don't want to lose you, Maeve." His voice is heartbreakingly gentle. "If that means making the world a little smaller until it's safe again..." He gives me that same soft smile. "...then that's what I'll do."
He turns toward the doorway. "Declan." The head of security appears immediately. "As of tonight, Mrs. Gallagher is not to leave the estate under any circumstances."
My breath catches. Ronan never looks back at me. He doesn't need to. He already knows I'll still be standing exactly where he left me.
The bedroom door closes somewhere upstairs. A guard speaks quietly into his radio.
Footsteps echo through the hallway as the staff begins carrying out new instructions.
And I'm left standing in the middle of a silent room...Finally understanding that prisons don't always have bars.