My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

The car streaks through the night, a dark blur against the city lights.

Too fast. Too reckless.

The engine growls low and hungry beneath me. My hands grip the steering wheel like I’m holding onto the last piece of myself.

Knuckles white. Veins raised beneath the skin. Streetlights blur past—golden smears against the darkness, bleeding into one another.

My parents don’t really care about me.

The thought doesn’t arrive gently. It never does anymore. It claws its way up from somewhere deep—somewhere I’ve been trying to seal shut for weeks.

They don’t see me. They’ve never seen me. Not the real me. All they see is him.

Him. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Silas.

Their perfect prince.

The thought burns, settling deep in my chest like a coal that refuses to die. It glows there, constant, feeding on everything I am.

And it makes me want to turn that Beta’s life into hell.

He’s staying at my place.

A dangerous smile spreads across my lips—slow, deliberate, cruel. I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. My own eyes stare back at me, cold, calculating, hungry.

Perfect.

I’ll make every day special for you, my dear partner.

My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. The vibration hums against the leather—insistent, impatient. I glance at the screen. A message. I pick it up. Unlock it.

Unknown number.

Two messages.

I’m waiting. Come home safely.

Dinner’s getting cold.

My brows draw together. The words blur for a moment—then sharpen.

Who is this?

Waiting for you...

My grip tightens around the phone, edges biting into my palm.

Silas. Of course.

So he dares to message me.

I throw the phone onto the passenger seat. It lands with a dull thud, then slides off, disappearing into the shadows beneath. I don’t reach for it.

"First." My voice is low, almost a whisper, but the car swallows it whole. "You enter my life without permission. Without asking. Without caring what I wanted."

Streetlights bleed past.

"Second." My jaw tightens. "You take the place that should have been mine."

The engine roars as I press harder on the accelerator.

"And now you’re in my house. The only place I had left. Cooking for me. Waiting for me." A bitter laugh slips out—sharp, hollow. "Like a perfect little wife."

You want to play house?

Fine.

Let’s play.

Let’s see how long you last.

The car slows, the engine settling into a low purr as the headlights wash over the front of the house—my house. My sanctuary. The only place where no one’s thoughts reach me, where the silence belongs to me, where I can finally breathe without the endless noise I never asked to carry.

But now he’s inside.

I step out, the night air wrapping around me—cool, damp, carrying the faint scent of rain that hasn’t fallen yet. I straighten my jacket, run a hand through my hair, composing myself the way I’ve been forced to for weeks. I walk to the door, unlock it, and push it open.

The warmth hits me first. Then the smell—garlic, herbs, something roasting, something simmering.

Home.

But not my home.

Not anymore.

My eyes move around the space—scanning, searching, hunting. Everything is different. The table is set. Plates arranged. Silverware gleaming. Candles flicker in the center, small flames casting shifting shadows along the walls.

He did this.

I step forward. A sound comes from the kitchen—soft, careful. The clink of a spatula against a pan.

Silas stands there, cooking, his attention fixed on the pan.

Then he looks up.

Our eyes meet across the room.

A soft smile spreads across his lips the moment he sees me—bright, warm, like he’s been waiting for this. Like my arrival is the answer to a prayer I didn’t know he was whispering.

He sets the spatula down—too quickly—and pours a glass of water. The liquid catches the candlelight, shimmering gold. He walks toward me, his steps soft on the wooden floor, measured and deliberate.

He offers me the glass.

His eyes are smiling too—brown, warm, glowing, like embers stirred back to life.

I stare into his eyes, searching.

Nothing.

How is that possible?

Silas glances down at the glass, a quiet hint—take it, drink.

I take it from his hand. Then set it down on the dining table.

Hard.

Water sloshes over the rim, spilling across the white tablecloth, spreading like a wound. It drips onto the floor—slow, steady.

Silas’s expression shifts.

Just a flicker—something there and gone, like a shadow passing over sunlight.

I don’t give him time to recover. I grab his wrists and pin him against the wall.

How is this possible?

Why can’t I hear anything?

His back hits the wall—soft, but the sound echoes through the room like a heartbeat. His eyes widen, just a fraction, just enough for me to catch it.

The space between us shrinks—then disappears. The air thickens, heavy with something I can’t name, something pressing against my skin, my chest, my throat.

He blinks.

His smile fades.

Completely.

I stare into his eyes.

For a long moment, I just stare.

The candlelight flickers behind me, catching on polished marble and glass. Steam rises from the dishes on the table, curling into the warm air. Somewhere beyond the grounds, a car passes—its headlights briefly grazing the windows before fading.

We stand like this, both of us frozen. And I hear— nothing.

Just silence. The silence before a storm. The silence of a mind I cannot reach.

Why is everything so quiet?

Is he hiding his thoughts? Building walls I can’t break through?

Or did I lose my ability? When did I lose it?

I release his wrists and step back—quickly. The distance between us returns, cold, empty, safe.

I need to think. I need to calm my mind. This is impossible. I can’t lose my ability.

I turn and walk away. I hear his footsteps behind me—soft, uncertain, following. I don’t stop. I don’t speak. I don’t look back. I just keep walking.

I enter my room and reach for the door. Silas’s hand catches it. His expression shifts, like he wants to say something—but I don’t give him the chance.

"Leave me alone."

My voice is flat. He just stares at me. Then his hand slowly falls away.

I close the door in his face. The sound is final. Absolute. A door closing on something I don’t have words for. I lean back against the wood, pressing my palms flat against it.

What the hell is happening to me?