My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

The car glides through the night like a blade through silk.

I sit behind the wheel, my face a mask of calm—composed, controlled, the kind of stillness I’ve perfected over years of hiding what churns beneath.

But inside, I’m anything but calm.

The question spins in my skull—relentless, a carousel that won’t stop, won’t slow, won’t let me off.

How is it possible?

How is it possible... that I never noticed?

I was so lost. So buried.

Drowning in the wreckage of this marriage before it even began. Suffocating under the weight of my parents’ expectations—their threats, their casual cruelty disguised as love.

Sold like cattle. Forced to wear a mask every waking moment.

I didn’t realize. I never heard his mind. Not once. Not a whisper. Not a flicker. Not the faintest echo of thought.

Even when we stood face to face. Even when I stared directly into those brown eyes—warm, unreadable, watching me like I was something worth watching.

Even when I searched for something—anything—to arm myself with. Some secret to hold against him. Some weakness to exploit.

Nothing.

Silence.

A void where a voice should be.

Did I just ignore it?

The thought slips in like a thief in the night. Did I simply not pay attention?

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. Leather creaks beneath my fingers. The city lights smear across the windshield—gold, red, blurred like tears.

It’s impossible.

My ability has never failed me. Not once.

Not since childhood, when I first realized I could slip into people’s heads like a key turning in a lock.

Their thoughts spill out whether they want them to or not—secrets bleeding through the smallest cracks, breaking through the thinnest walls.

No matter who stands in front of me. No matter how strong their will. No matter how carefully they build their defenses. I always hear them.

Always.

But him?

Nothing.

The car rolls through the iron gates of the Roselle mansion.

The house glows in the darkness—windows spilling warm, golden light onto the manicured lawn, the hedges trimmed into submission, the flowers still blooming as if nothing has changed.

I step out.

The night air wraps around me—cool, damp, smelling of earth and roses. My shoes crunch against the gravel. Each step feels like an accusation.

Inside.

The hallway stretches before me—marble floors polished to a mirror shine, chandeliers dripping crystal, catching the light and scattering it like broken promises.

My footsteps echo. Too loud. Too sharp. The sound of someone who doesn’t belong here anymore.

I need to find out what the hell is happening.

I open the living room door.

Mom and Dad sit exactly as they always do—frozen in their rituals, their performances. Mom strokes her Persian cat, fingers moving through its white fur in slow, hypnotic motions. The cat’s eyes are half-closed, purring, content in a way I’ve never known. Dad sips his wine—deep red, almost black.

The same kind he always drinks. The same glass. The same posture. The same man who traded his son for a promise. I ignore them. Walk toward the stairs.

Silas must be in the room.

"Ellis."

Dad’s voice—sharp. A blade wrapped in velvet.

My steps stop.

Now what do they want from me?

"Are you ignoring us?"

I exhale slowly. Turn. My voice comes out flat—empty, scraped clean of everything I feel.

"I’m in a hurry."

Dad gestures to the couch across from them. The leather is dark, expensive—soft as a lover’s touch.

"Sit. I need to talk."

I glance at him.

"What now? Another order?"

"Ellis—"

Mom’s voice softens—that particular softness she uses when she wants something. "Son..."

I walk back. Sit. The couch swallows me.

"What."

Dad sets his glass down. The clink echoes through the quiet room like a bell tolling.

"What did you do this morning?" His voice turns colder. "Explain yourself."

I blink at him. Innocent. Unreadable.

"What did I do?"

His voice drops—colder now, the tone of a man used to being obeyed.

"You dragged Silas with you like a servant. Like a slave. You ruined the entire breakfast." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

I cross my arms, letting my posture close off. "Dad. What happens between a couple isn’t something for parents to interfere in."

His eyes narrow.

"Since when have you accepted him as your partner?"

I tilt my head slightly.

"Did he complain to you about me?" A pause. I let it sit. "About anything?"

Dad hesitates. Just a breath. Just a flicker. "No."

A smirk spreads across my lips—slow, deliberate, sharp at the edges.

Of course he didn’t. Not after my warning.

Dad’s eyes narrow further. "Did you do something he should complain about?"

"Dad." My voice is flat. Final. "You shouldn’t be asking about what happens between us. Respect some privacy."

He leans forward. His voice rises—not shouting, not yet, but climbing toward something dangerous.

"Do you really care about your partner?"

Each word lands like a stone. "You canceled your honeymoon. You can’t even spend an hour with him. You left this morning—and now you come back late at night."

His eyes bore into me—searching, accusing.

"And you’re talking about privacy?"

A pause.

The cat stops purring.

"Ellis. Don’t fool me." His voice drops—quiet now, almost gentle. Which makes it worse. "If you do anything wrong... I won’t warn you again."

I look away.

The cat blinks at me with slow, ancient eyes. "I already did what you wanted." My voice comes out tired. Worn. "What more do you want from me?"

I stand. Start toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Mom’s voice follows—light, curious, unconcerned.

"To your precious beta."

"He’s not here."

I stop. Turn.

"Where is he?"

Mom’s hands move through her cat’s fur—slow, rhythmic, soothing. "At your place."

My expression shifts. Just a fraction. Just enough.

"Why?"

She looks at me—calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that already knows how this ends. "He’s your partner. He’s going to live with you."

"Why can’t he stay here?" My voice sharpens. "With you?"

Mom sighs. Almost sad. Almost convincing.

"I want you both here," she says softly. "With us." She glances down at her cat, fingers still moving. "But what can we do?"

Dad’s voice cuts through—brisk, businesslike, finished with sentiment. "You two need time alone. To spend together. To get to know each other."

He looks at me—a long look, the kind that measures, judges, and finds me lacking.

"You should go. Silas must be waiting."

A pause.

"Be good with him."

My fists clench at my sides. Nails biting into my palms.

They care about him like he’s their son. And I’m just— an outsider. In my own home.

I don’t say anything.

I just turn— and walk away.