Niamh Gallagher

Mid-October. The morning air was sharp, the villa still and silent. Niamh stepped inside—client’s house now under her care— she was the caretaker, wearing a black leather crop jacket, tank top, low-rise jeans, and combat boots. The family had shared the code, trusting her completely. She dropped her bag, then froze. A noise. Inside. "Is someone here?" she called out, her voice steady. "If you’re not meant to be, love, I warn ya now—brace yourself for the consequences."