My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

Dad opens the door.

The night air rushes in—cool and damp from the garden, carrying the faint sweetness of white roses and wet grass. It swirls around their feet, tugging at Mom’s dress and slipping past Dad’s shoulders.

Outside, the car is already waiting. Dad waits at the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.

Mom turns back. One last time.

She steps toward Silas. Her hand lifts—gentle, slow—and pats his head. Just once. Just lightly. Like he’s something precious she’s afraid to break.

"Dinner was so good," she says. Her voice is soft, almost wistful. "I didn’t know you were such a good cook."

She pauses. Her fingers linger near his hair for a moment longer than necessary. "Next time... you’ll have to teach me that special soup recipe."

Silas looks up at her. A soft smile spreads across his lips. He nods. Lightly. Barely.

I stand leaning against the wall, arms crossed over my chest. The cool wall presses against my shoulder. My eyes stay on them—watching, waiting, trying not to care.

Didn’t she say she missed both of us?

Then why does it feel like they came here just for him?

Mom’s gaze shifts to me. Her smile doesn’t waver, but something in her eyes softens—hopeful, almost cautious.

"Ellis, son..." She pauses. "At least let some servants in here now. You’re making Silas do all the work."

A pause. "Should I send some from the mansion?"

I look away. My voice is flat. "You know I don’t like anyone in my space."

"Then at least help Silas with the cooking."

"No."

The answer comes immediately. Without hesitation.

Dad’s eyes remain fixed on the dimly lit garden beyond the doorway, where the white roses sway gently in the night breeze. His voice is quiet—almost a murmur, almost to himself.

"You’re never going to change, anyway..."

Mom sighs. Just a little. Just enough to be heard. Defeated, but not surprised. The smile stays on her lips—worn in, familiar, the same smile she’s worn for years when she’s given up on winning an argument.

She looks back at Silas.

"Now we’re going." Her voice softens further, if that’s possible. "Take care of yourselves. Both of you."

She walks toward the door. Waves lightly.

Silas waves back. Just as lightly.

Dad steps aside, letting her pass. Before following, he glances at me. Just once. Then he disappears through the doorway.

The door begins to close.

Then—Mom’s face appears in the gap. Just her eyes. Just her smile.

"And..." She pauses. Her voice drops to a whisper—conspiratorial, playful, almost girlish. "You may continue what we interrupted."

She winks. Lightly.

The door closes.

Click.

Silence returns.

But it’s not the same silence as before.

It’s heavier. Thicker. Charged with something that wasn’t there when they arrived. The air feels different—warmer, tighter, like the house is holding its breath.

Mom’s whispered goodbye still hangs in the air, delicate as smoke.

And you may continue what we interrupted.

Silas stands where they left him. Frozen. His eyes are wide. Just a little.

He stares at the door for a moment, as if expecting it to open again. Then he looks down.

His cheeks flush. Not pale pink. Not a hint of color. Deep red. Spreading from his cheekbones to his jaw, creeping up to his ears.

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth.

There he is.

The cherry tomato.

I push off from the wall.

Each step is slow, deliberate, measured. The sound echoes in the quiet—soft, but loud enough to be heard.

Let’s push him a little.

Silas senses me coming. I can see it in the way his shoulders tense. The way his fingers curl into his palms. He turns to look at me.

I stop in front of him. Close.

"What’s wrong?"

He shakes his head quickly.

Nothing.

I step closer.

"Then why is your face so red?"

He touches his cheeks—a reflexive, panicked movement. His fingers press against the heat, as if trying to push it back down.

He looks away.

I step closer.

Our slippers brush.

He steps back.

I step forward without hesitation. The distance between us shrinks again.

"When we were sitting on the couch..." My voice is low. Measured. Each word placed carefully, almost lazily. "Your face was red then too. Fingers fumbling. Nervous. Tense."

He blinks. Confused. Looks at me, then away, then at me again.

"Were you embarrassed?" I tilt my head. "That they almost saw us kissing?"

He steps back again. His eyes drop to the floor. He won’t meet mine.

I step into the space he left behind. Closing the distance. Erasing it.

"Why are you shy?" My voice softens—just a little, just enough. "We’re already married. It’s not a big deal."

He steps back. His back hits the door. A soft thud. Muffled. Final.

He has nowhere else to go.

I step closer. My chest is inches from his. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"Where are you running now?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

My hand rises. My fingers find his chin. I lift his face—gently, slowly, like lifting the cover of something fragile.

His eyes meet mine.

Brown. Gold. Shining. The long lashes cast tiny shadows on his burning cheeks.

"Didn’t you hear what Mom said...?"

His breath quickens. Just a little. His lips part—just barely—like he wants to say something, but no sound comes.

I lean closer. My lips brush against the edge of his ear. I whisper.

"Let’s finish what we started."

His breath catches.

I feel it—the small hitch in his chest, the way his body tenses, then softens. His breath is warm against my lips. His lips tremble.

Like he doesn’t know what to do. Like his body is torn between instinct and uncertainty.

His fists clench at his sides. Nervous. Fingers curling into the fabric of his pants.

I slide my other hand to his waist. Pull him closer. His body presses against mine—soft, warm, trembling just slightly.

"Don’t be so shy." My voice is a whisper now, meant only for him. "I’m your husband."

I tilt my head slightly.

I lean closer.

Our breaths mingle—mine and his, warm and soft, weaving together in the small space between us.

Our lips are an inch apart. Maybe less.

Silas’s eyes lock with mine.

Something changes in his gaze. The shyness doesn’t disappear—but something else rises beneath it. Something deeper. Something quieter.

His brown-gold eyes hold mine without blinking. The long lashes frame them like curtains parting to reveal something hidden.

Not shy anymore.

Not nervous.

Just... present.

I stare at him. My playful smirk fades. The teasing edge I’ve been holding onto slips away, forgotten.

I just stay still. Close to his lips. Eyes locked on his.

Neither of us moves.

The house is silent.

The whole world feels silent too—like it’s holding its breath.

Alara’s voice echoes in my mind. Uninvited. Unwanted. But there.

Ellis... sometimes, we just have to let things happen.

Silas’s eyes close slowly. His lashes rest against his cheeks—brown against pale pink, delicate, almost fragile.

An invitation.

Just let things happen.

I close my own eyes. The darkness behind my lids is warm. Quiet. Safe.

I close the last distance between us.

Our lips meet.