My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

Something soft touches my face.

It moves slowly, deliberately—tracing the bridge of my nose, then the curve of my lips, pulling me from the depths of sleep like a thread unwinding from a distant dream. The warmth lingers, soft and insistent, coaxing me toward consciousness with the patience of someone who has all the time in the world.

A lazy, unconscious smile spreads across my lips as I stretch, my body waking in slow, unhurried waves. The last traces of sleep melt from my limbs, replaced by something lighter, something almost content.

My eyes flutter open, blinking against the golden morning light spilling through the curtains. The smile still lingers on my lips.

And then I see him.

Silas hovers above me, his face only inches from mine, his breath warm and steady against my skin. The smile on my lips fades little by little, replaced by something unreadable—something cautious. I blink again, trying to bridge the lingering haze between sleep and reality.

Our eyes meet.

He simply watches me, his gaze steady and unhurried. A soft smile slowly curves across his lips, as though he’s been waiting for the exact moment I open my eyes.

"Good morning, my love."

His voice is barely above a whisper, brushing against my skin like a secret meant only for me.

I stare at him, my thoughts still tangled in the remnants of sleep.

Then I feel it.

His palm, warm and deliberate, rests against my belly beneath the silk of my nightshirt. Gentle circles trace across my skin, each slow stroke sending an unfamiliar warmth spreading through my body.

My gaze drops to his hand, following the slow movement of his fingers against my skin before lifting back to his face.

I catch his wrist, my voice sharp but uneven, cracking at the edges.

"What the hell are you doing?"

His smile only deepens, completely unbothered by the sharpness in my voice.

"Patting our Honeybun."

I push him back with a sharp, startled motion, my hands finding his shoulders and shoving him away. I sit up quickly, fumbling with the upper buttons of my shirt he’d somehow managed to undo, my hurried movements betraying my composure.

"Stop this nonsense."

He doesn’t resist. Instead, he settles onto my lap as though it’s the most natural place in the world, completely unbothered, curling against me as if he belongs there. His weight is warm, familiar—a presence I’ve somehow grown accustomed to despite myself.

"Nonsense?"

A trace of amusement curls at the corners of his lips.

"Doesn’t our baby deserve a nickname? Something to call them before they arrive? Something that’s just for us?"

I press both hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off.

"Get off me."

He doesn’t budge. Instead, his fingers find the hem of my shirt, idly toying with the fabric.

"Our Honeybun will be sad if we don’t give them a proper name." His voice is soft, almost coaxing. "They’ll think we don’t care."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, uninvited and impossible to hide.

"Get lost."

He shifts again, making himself even more comfortable against me.

"Nope." He says it like it’s the only possible answer. "I want to stay with my Alpha... and our Honeybun."

My voice rises despite myself.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me that."

His lower lip pushes out into an exaggerated pout, softening the sharp lines of his face and making him look younger than he has any right to.

"Why?" he asks quietly. "Don’t you like it?"

I look away, crossing my arms over my chest like a shield against the weight of his words.

"No."

He falls silent.

The quiet stretches between us, filled with nothing but our breathing.

Then, slowly, a knowing smirk curves across his lips.

"What about ’Honey’ then?"

My head snaps back toward him, my eyes narrowing.

"What?"

He tilts his head, his eyes searching mine, his voice soft, almost tender, the words falling from his lips like a caress.

"You’re my Honey." A pause. "And our baby is Honeybun."

Heat crawls up my neck, burning deeper across my cheeks before spreading down to my chest.

My voice rises, sharp and incredulous, cutting through the quiet.

"Silas—"

"Yes, Honey?"

I push him off me roughly, my face burning hotter than before.

"Stop it." My voice is tight. "And how dare you come into my room? Didn’t I tell you not to?"

He moves closer again, completely undeterred, his body finding its way back to me like a compass returning to true north.

"Honey..." He says it like a prayer, like a promise. "How could I stay away from my Honey and our Honeybun?"

I try to push him back, desperate to put some distance between us, but he’s relentless—a quiet force that refuses to be denied. I lose my balance and fall back onto the pillows, my struggles swallowed by the softness of the mattress. He follows, leaning over me, both hands braced on either side of my head, caging me beneath him.

The teasing smile on his lips softens into something quieter. Something far more dangerous.

"You know..." His voice drops, low and intimate, brushing against my skin like a whisper. "After pregnancy, your body becomes overly sensitive."

I snap, my voice defensive, cutting through the warmth of his words.

"I’m not sensitive."

"You are."

His hand drifts down, pressing gently against my belly.

A strange sensation spreads through me the moment he touches me. Warmth pools low in my stomach before rippling through the rest of my body. Heat rushes back to my face, burning even hotter than before, and judging by the look in his eyes, he notices every bit of it.

His thumb begins tracing slow, lazy circles over my belly, his touch unhurried, almost reverent.

"Whenever I touch you," he murmurs, "I can see how much it affects you." His palm presses a little more firmly. "Especially here." His thumb traces another slow circle.

"You make the cutest reactions."

A pause. His smile deepens.

"So adorable." Another pause. "It makes me want to squeeze you even more."

I grab his wrist, my grip tight, my voice low and dangerous.

"Stop this nonsense, you liar."

His smirk softens into something quieter, more intimate.

"I’m not lying." His eyes never leave mine. "When I touched you in your sleep..." He lets the words linger between us before smiling.

"You were giggling."

My eyes widen.

"I even have a video." Another pause. "And pictures."

I grab his collar, pulling him closer, my voice a low growl.

"How dare you, you pervert."

He leans down, closing the distance between us, and presses a kiss to my lips—soft, warm, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

When he pulls away, a satisfied smile curves across his lips.

"I’m your pervert."

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