My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

The couch cushions soften beneath me as I shift, scrolling through my phone with one thumb—lazy, impatient, the glow of the screen casting shadows across my face.

I turn. Look toward the hallway.

Where is he?

Why isn’t he ready yet?

The silence of the house presses against my ears. The clock ticks—each second a small violence.

How much longer do I need to wait?

I shouldn’t have asked him to come with me to Sum’s sister’s party.

The thought circles back, stubborn. But I have no choice. I already lied to Dad. If he finds out—if he catches even a hint of it—he’ll start with his morals and his lectures and his I raised you better than this, nonstop, until my ears ring with it.

I’m done dealing with it.

It’s easier to use Silas as a shield.

The thought sits ugly in my chest. But it’s honest. He’s useful. He keeps the family dinners away—the conversations, the questions I don’t want to answer.

As long as he’s beside me, they leave me alone.

My phone buzzes. A soft chime that cuts through the quiet.

Sum.

Hey, Ellis. Where are you? I told you not to be late—and you’re still not here.

I can hear his voice through the words. Whiny. Exaggerated. My fingers move across the screen—slow. Deliberate.

I’m ready. Just coming.

His reply comes before the screen dims.

Dude. Come. Now.

I start to type—a sharp reply forming on my fingertips—

Then—

Footsteps. Soft. Barely there. The kind that try not to be heard.

I turn. And there he is.

Silas stands in the doorway, the light from the hall wrapping around him like something borrowed from another world.

I look at him—really look—my gaze moving slowly, taking inventory without permission. Brown outfit. Soft fabric draping over his shoulders, his arms, his chest. His pale brown hair isn’t styled—just falling across his temple, careless. Soft.

His eyes—like always—warm. Holding the light. And that smile. Soft. Waiting. Patient.

He looks beauti—

I cut the thought off. Before it settles.

I look away. Stand. The couch shifts beneath me—relieved, maybe, to be free of my weight.

My voice comes out cold. Flat. The voice I wear like armor.

"What the hell took you so long?"

I don’t wait for him to respond. Don’t look back.

"Let’s go."

Silas follows in silence. His footsteps whisper against the floor—soft, careful, like he’s afraid of breaking something.

We step out of the house. The evening air greets us—cool. The car unlocks with a soft click, lights flashing once, twice.

I slide into the driver’s seat. Silas slips into the passenger side, closing the door so quietly it’s almost polite.

The engine hums. The car rolls forward, the world outside beginning to blur. My eyes stay on the road. My grip tight on the wheel—knuckles pale, fingers pressing into the leather.

What was I thinking before?

The question lingers. Nipping at the edges of my mind.

Ellis. Remember.

He’s just a Beta.

No matter how he looks.

I drive calmly. The city slides past—streetlights flickering on, one by one, casting orange pools across the asphalt.

Silas sits beside me. Hands resting on his lap. Obedient. Silent. His breathing barely there.

I glance at him. Just a glance.

His wrist is hidden beneath the long sleeve of his silk shirt—the fabric pooling around his fingers, pale against pale.

My gaze shifts higher.

To his neck.

The bruise is darker now. Purple. Spreading. Blooming like something that shouldn’t exist. Too clear against his pale skin—violent. Wrong.

Silas looks at me. I feel his gaze before I meet it—warm, searching. I look away. Back to the road. My jaw tightens.

What am I doing?

I keep driving.

The car hums. The world outside settles into rhythm—streetlights, shadows, the occasional flash of headlights. Then my gaze catches something.

A jewelry shop.

Light spills from its windows—warm, gold. Pieces laid on velvet. Waiting.

I turn the wheel. The car glides to a stop in front of it. My voice is flat.

"Follow me."

I step out. The air feels different here—warmer, softer, like the shop is bleeding light into the street.

Silas blinks. Confusion flickers across his face—gone as quickly as it comes. He opens the door. Steps out. Follows.

The bell above the door chimes as we enter—a soft note that lingers in the air.

The shop assistant greets us. Her voice polite, practiced—the kind that has welcomed a thousand customers and forgotten every one.

"Good evening, sir. What would you like today?"

"Something to wear around the neck."

She glances at Silas.

And pauses.

Her gaze lingers longer than it should. Longer than is professional.

I watch her take him in—the softness of his features, the pale of his skin, the way the light seems to cling to him.

Her smile shifts. Brightens. Warms. Becomes real.

For a second, something flickers across her mind—

{beautiful...}

The word surfaces, uninvited. She blinks. Composes herself.

She nods. Gestures to the glass display—pendants resting on velvet, each one catching the light.

"Sir, these are our new collection." A pause. "May I ask—for which occasion? And is it for yourself?"

Her eyes shift to Silas.

"Or your partner?"

I don’t answer.

My gaze moves over the display—gold, silver, diamonds flashing under the light—

Then it stops.

Pearls.

A necklace.

Cream-white. Lustrous. Curving softly, like a line of quiet light. They glow under the glass—warm, restrained. Alive in a way stones aren’t.

I nod toward it.

"That one."

The shop assistant’s smile widens—if that’s possible.

"What a great choice."

She takes it from the display with practiced hands. Gentle. Careful. "This necklace is made with real, pure pearls," she says. "For pure people."

I take it from the box. It’s light in my hand—cool, smooth, each pearl brushing the next. Silas stands behind me. Waiting.

I turn. Step forward. The space between us disappears.

I lift the necklace. Bring it around his neck. The pearls settle against his skin—pale against pale, soft against soft. My fingers find the clasp. Press.

It clicks into place.

Silas’s eyes widen. Shock. Something else—something I can’t name—flickers in the brown.

The necklace rests against his pale skin. The bruise is gone now. Hidden. Buried beneath pearls that glow softly.

A smile spreads across Silas’s lips—slow, like sunrise. His fingers rise. Touch the pearls. Gently. Carefully. Like he’s afraid they might break.

I step back. Take out my wallet. Slide my card across the counter. The marble is cold beneath my fingers.

My eyes stay on his neck. The white pearls against his skin.

"I’ll take it."

The shop assistant smiles—that same practiced smile—but something real flickers beneath it. She takes the card, completes the transaction quickly, her movements precise.

She offers it back.

"Would you like the box, sir?"

I take the card.

"No."

She bows, lingering just a second longer than necessary. "Thank you for coming. Please come again."

I slide my wallet back into my pocket. Turn.

Start walking.

Without looking back.

Silas follows. I hear his footsteps—soft, quick, trying to keep up.

His cheeks are flushed. Pink spreading across pale skin, like watercolor bleeding into paper. The smile on his lips has widened—uncontrolled. Unhidden.

My voice comes out cold. Flat. I don’t look back.

"Don’t get the wrong idea. I bought it to hide the bruise on your neck. I don’t want rumors."

He doesn’t respond.

I glance at him.

He presses his lips together—trying to hide it. The smile. Still there. I see it in his eyes. In the faint crease at the corners. In the way he looks at the pearls.

"Do you understand?"

He nods. Quick. Almost eager.

I open the car door. Sit in the driver’s seat. The leather shifts softly beneath me.

What the hell is he smiling like that for?