My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

I sit on the edge of the bed, the towel draped over my shoulders, still working it through the damp ends of my hair. The warmth from the bath still clings to my body, loosening the knots in my muscles, softening the sharp edges of my mood. I should feel relaxed.

I do feel relaxed.

But something stirs beneath my skin. A strange warmth low in my spine. Restless. Wrong.

My hand drifts to the back of my neck—to the place where his breath touched earlier, where his chin rested against my shoulder. The memory flickers through my mind uninvited.

I rub the spot slowly.

Why does it feel like my rut is coming?

The thought settles heavily in my chest. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

I reach for my phone on the bedside table. The screen glows too bright in the dim room. I squint and scroll. The calendar stares back at me, neat and indifferent.

No. It’s not time.

Not for another week. Maybe longer. My cycles have always been predictable. This strange heat beneath my skin shouldn’t be here yet.

I set the phone back down slowly. The tension in my chest eases a little.

The towel moves through my hair again. Mechanical. Thoughtless.

I glance down at myself.

Red.

The night suit is a deep, wine-dark crimson that settles against my skin like spilled wine—soft, expensive, dangerous in a way a color shouldn’t be. The fabric is ridiculously comfortable. The color alone makes my jaw tighten.

Seriously? Did he have no other color to choose from?

Of all the colors in the world—

Red.

A quiet sigh slips past my lips. I can’t do anything about it now. I have nothing else to wear.

The bathroom door opens.

Steam spills out first—a slow, white fog curling into the cooler air of the bedroom, carrying with it the faint scent of body wash and warmth and something else beneath it. Something clean.

Silas steps through the mist.

My gaze finds him before I can stop it.

He’s wearing the same red night suit. The same deep crimson that looks strangely softer on him. His brown hair is dark with water, damp strands clinging to his forehead and temples while droplets slide slowly down the pale line of his neck.

He rubs a towel through his hair. Slow. Unhurried. His movements are gentle, almost drowsy, like he’s already halfway to sleep and walking through it.

My gaze drifts over him.

Head to toe. Slowly.

Red suits him.....

I stop.

The thought arrives without permission. I tear my eyes away.

My voice comes out cold. Flat. A door slamming shut on something I don’t want to name.

"Don’t you have any other color for night suits? Or did you buy out the entire red section of every store in the city?"

Silas pauses and looks at me before moving toward the bedside table. His bare feet make no sound against the wooden floor. He picks up the notebook and pencil—always nearby, always waiting—and writes.

The soft scratch of pencil against paper fills the quiet room. Then he tears out the page and hands it to me.

I take it.

I’m sorry. I told my secretary to buy clothes. I didn’t know he would choose these colors.

I read the words twice before looking away.

"Fine."

He doesn’t move. He’s still standing there, close enough that I can feel the cool dampness radiating from his skin, the faint scent of body wash lingering around him.

Then he writes again.

Can I ask you something?

I glance at him.

"What?"

He sits on the edge of the bed. Not close. Not far. A careful distance, like he’s still learning where the boundaries are. The pencil moves across the paper again.

Now... what do you think of me?

I stare at the words. The question hangs between us, fragile as glass.

Curiosity flickers across my face before I can hide it. "What do you mean?"

He writes again. Faster this time.

I mean... have I succeeded? In pursuing you?

My voice stays flat.

"No."

He blinks.

The word hits him quietly. His expression doesn’t crumble, doesn’t fall apart, but something flickers behind his eyes. Something that might be disappointment, if disappointment could stay silent.

He writes again.

Not even a little?

I don’t answer immediately. The silence settles between us, thick with leftover warmth from the bath and everything neither of us says aloud.

Then—

"No."

My voice stays flat.

Silas blinks again. This time, he can’t quite hide the disappointment.

A soft smile spreads across my lips before I can stop it. Something cruel and strangely gentle at the same time.

"Do you really think pursuing me is that easy?" I lean closer, lowering my voice. "Or do you think I’m some Omega? You take me outside, show me some stars, give me a surprise—and I’m supposed to fall at your feet?"

I lean back again, letting the distance return between us.

"I’m an Alpha." My voice turns flat again. "If you had sweet pheromones, maybe this would be easier. But you don’t."

Silas looks at me. He just stares. No blink. No flinch. No visible reaction.

Just those bright brown eyes fixed on mine like he’s searching for something beneath the words I’m saying.

"It’s only been a few days," I continue. "And you’re already expecting someone to fall for you?"

Silas lowers his gaze to the notebook in his hands. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he writes something down, tears out the page, and slides it across the bedsheet toward me before standing.

I watch him for a second before looking down at the note.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked so soon. And I can’t give you sweet pheromones. But I’ll try my best to make you stay.

Another line sits beneath it, smaller this time.

Good night.

He walks to the other side of the bed and reaches for the lamp.

The room falls into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the fairy lights beyond the glass walls.

Then he lies down. His back facing me.

I stare at the shape of him in the dark. The curve of his shoulder. The fall of his damp hair against the pillow. The steady rhythm of his breathing.

What happened to him?

Did what I said... hurt him?

The thing about pheromones?

I set the note on the bedside table and lie down too. The distance between us feels enormous.

I stare up at the wooden ceiling. The golden lights are off now. Just shadows. Just the slow rhythm of my breathing and the quieter rhythm of his beside me.

What did I say wrong?

Nothing. It’s true. I don’t like Betas.

I like sweet pheromones. I like Omegas. I like warmth and instinct and the kind of attraction that comes naturally.

I turn my head. Look at Silas. His back is still turned toward me. Quiet. Still. He looks smaller in the dark somehow.

No matter what you do...

After two months...

You’re going back home.