My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. Fragile.

"Please... don’t go."

A pause. A shaky breath.

"I can explain."

I stay still.

His voice lingers in my ears, unwelcome. It slips beneath my ribs, testing the fragile hold I have on my anger.

I can explain.

What exactly can he explain?

Is there anything left to explain that won’t unravel into another beautifully told lie?

He lied.He stayed silent. He let me fall for him while hiding the truth of who he really was.

My hand rises, trembling with the effort. I pry at his fingers, trying to break free from the cage of his arms around my waist. My nails dig into his skin, hoping the sting will force him to let go.

Instead, his grip tightens.

Stubborn. Desperate.

His fingers bunch the fabric of my shirt, refusing to release me as though I’m the only thing keeping his world from falling apart.

I throw everything I have into breaking free—every ounce of strength left in my weakened body.

Nothing.

His hold doesn’t budge.

It shouldn’t be possible. The strength wrapped around me doesn’t belong to the man I thought I knew.

My voice comes out cold, sharp enough to cut through the silence.

"Leave me, you liar."

He shakes his head against my shoulder. His lips brush my ear, his voice low and trembling, like a secret he’s terrified to speak aloud.

"No. Please..."

My fingers fight his, angry and relentless. I dig my nails into his skin, twist, pull—

Finally.

His grip breaks.

I wrench myself free and turn to face him, the sudden movement stealing what little strength I have left.

My voice rises, frustration and fury bleeding through every syllable.

"Now what the hell—"

The words die in my throat.

A sharp wave of dizziness crashes through me, sudden and merciless.

My vision blurs at the edges.

The room tilts violently, colors bleeding into one another like watercolors left in the rain. My body turns strangely weightless, as though I’m watching myself from somewhere far away—a stranger trapped inside my own skin.

My knees buckle.

I fall backward, suspended for a heartbeat in air that feels thick as water. The ceiling spins above me. The chandeliers dissolve into streaks of gold.

Before I can hit the ground, Silas catches me. His arms close around me, solid and sure, pulling me against his chest.

The careful calm on his face shatters. Fear breaks through. Raw. Unhidden.

"Ellis..."

I stare at him. His voice sounds far away, like it’s traveling through water, through layers of glass.

What the hell is happening to me?

Silas slides one arm beneath my knees, the other around my back. He lifts me effortlessly—too effortlessly, as though I weigh nothing at all—and carries me toward the bed.

Every instinct in me screams to fight. To shove him away. To claw at his face. To wipe that look from his lying eyes.

But my body refuses. My arms hang limp. My fingers won’t even curl into fists.

He lowers me onto the bed with infuriating care, almost reverently, as though I’m something fragile. The sheets shift beneath me, cool against my heated skin. My back settles against the headboard as the pillows cradle me, holding me upright when my own body no longer can.

My breathing comes shallow, catching in my throat. I blink, forcing my vision to clear.

Slowly...

The blur begins to fade. The room sharpens. And then his face comes into focus.

Those eyes.

Silas sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. He takes my hand, enclosing it between both of his before pressing it gently against his cheek.

His skin is warm. Almost feverish. His eyes search mine, dark with an emotion I can’t bring myself to name.

Love...

Or just another lie.

"Ellis..."

I stare at him. My name on his lips feels wrong.

Fucking wrong.

"I can’t bear seeing you like this." His voice cracks at the edges, splintering like old wood. "After I marked you, you were unconscious for seven days. You just woke up, and you’re already trying to walk around without eating anything. It’s dangerous."

Seven days.

Marking.

The words land like stones in my chest.

I stay silent. Just stare at him.

"First, eat something. Rest a little." His thumb traces slow circles over the back of my hand. "Then we can talk. Okay?"

With a sharp jerk, I rip my hand from his grasp. The sudden movement sends a spike of pain through my shoulder, but I don’t care.

"What the hell are you saying? Marking?" My voice is a blade, honed and sharp, cutting through the space between us. "Do you think I’m some Omega you can mark? Someone you can claim without my permission?"

Silas doesn’t look away.

"I’m not talking nonsense." His eyes stay locked on mine, desperate for me to understand. "You were poisoned. It was spreading too fast. Marking you was the last option I had to save you."

He reaches for my hand again, his fingers hesitating before they brush against mine.

"I’m sorry for marking you without your permission." His voice drops lower, softer, like he’s speaking to himself. "I didn’t want things to be like this."

I shove his hand away, my palm striking his wrist hard enough to sting.

"Didn’t want things to be like this?" A hollow laugh escapes me, brittle and broken. "Those words don’t suit a liar. Nothing you say does."

His face crumbles. Sadness settles into every line of it, carving shadows beneath his eyes.

"I’m sorry..."

I turn my gaze to the glass wall, refusing to look at him, refusing to give him even that much. My fists clench in the sheets, knuckles white, the fabric twisting between my fingers as I hold back the storm inside me.

"Get lost."

My reflection stares back at me from the glass. A bite mark mars my neck—dark, vivid, impossible to ignore. It rests at the curve of my throat like a brand.

Like a claim.

My fingers lift on their own, brushing over the mark. It stings beneath my touch, a dull ache spreading through my chest.

What the hell did this liar do?

Did he really mark me?

No... no. I’m an Alpha...

Silas takes the glass of water from the bedside table and holds it out to me. His hands are steady, his gaze fixed on mine.

I don’t take it.

I shove his hand away. Water sloshes over the rim, splashing onto the sheets.

He doesn’t offer it again.

Instead, he lifts the glass to his own lips and takes a slow, deliberate sip, holding the water in his mouth instead of swallowing.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, suspicion curling in my chest.

What is he doing?

Before I can react, he reaches for my chin. His fingers are gentle but firm as they tilt my face upward, his thumb lightly parting my lips.

Then his lips are on mine.

Warm.

Insistent.

My eyes fly open.

My hand slams against his chest, shoving with everything I have, but he doesn’t budge. His grip is firm, unyielding—a wall I can’t break through.

Cool water slips from his mouth into mine, catching me completely off guard. Before I can spit it out, the pressure forces me to swallow.

Gulp...

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