My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

Flashback — Last Night

The house holds its breath.

Golden light drips from the polished ceiling onto the polished marble below, pooling quietly in the corners. The air is thick—heavy with something that wasn’t there before. Something that seeped through the walls, through the thin line beneath the doors, through the very bones of the house itself.

Moonflower.

The scent of Ellis’s pheromones spreads through every corridor, every room, every hidden space where light doesn’t reach. It clings to the fabric of the couches, settles deep into the carpet, lingers heavily in the air itself.

Sweet and sharp and wild—the scent of an Alpha in rut, untamed, desperate, burning.

Impossible to ignore.

Silas sits on the couch.

He is still. So still he might be carved from the same marble as the floors beneath him. His back rests against the cushions, one hand draped over the armrest, fingers loose and careless. His head tilts back slightly, exposing the pale line of his throat to the golden light. His eyes remain closed.

He breathes.

Moonflower fills his lungs—sweet, sharp, desperate—and he breathes it in like he has spent his whole life waiting for air that tastes like this.

How sweet.

He doesn’t open his eyes.

Then—

The doorbell rings.

A thin sound. Sharp. Out of place in the heavy stillness. It cuts through the silence like a blade through silk, and for a moment, the house itself seems to shudder.

The front door opens slowly. A voice drifts inside—light, uncertain, almost swallowed by the thickness of the air.

"Hello...? Is anyone home?"

An Omega boy steps across the threshold.

Small. Fragile. Pink hair falls across his forehead in soft waves, pale against the dim golden light. His steps are hesitant—each one careful, uncertain.

The pheromones hit him immediately. Ellis’s rut. Burning. Intimate. Everywhere.

They wrap around him like invisible hands, sliding against his skin, filling his lungs until breathing itself feels heavy.

"Oh..."

His voice trembles softly. Color rushes into his cheeks—pink at first, then darker, warmer.

"The house is filled with an Alpha’s rut pheromones..." His breath catches. "So strong. So..."

Heat spreads through his body too quickly, settling low in his stomach, making his knees feel weak.

He looks around uncertainly.

"Is Mr. Ellis here?"

His eyes find the couch.

Find Silas.

Silas hasn’t moved. His eyes remain closed. His breathing stays slow and even. He sits like a statue carved from something that was never truly alive—something ancient, something patient.

The Omega boy smiles softly. Cautiously.

"I’m sorry for entering without permission." His voice sounds uneven now, slightly breathless. "But Mr. Sum gave me the door code. He told me to go straight to the first room and find you."

Slowly—

Silas opens his eyes.

They are burning.

Molten gold glows beneath his lashes, bright against the dim light of the room. Too bright. Too ancient. There is something inside those eyes that doesn’t belong in someone so young.

The Omega boy flinches instinctively.

His breath stops.

Then—

A new scent rises. It pours from Silas like smoke from a hidden fire.

Oleander.

Poisonous.

Beautiful.

It doesn’t push against the moonflower. It covers it—draping itself over the room like a funeral shroud, sweet and suffocating. The air shifts. Becomes heavier.

The Omega boy’s eyes widen. His hand flies to his mouth, fingers pressing hard against his lips as if trying to hold himself together. His body starts trembling—small at first, then harder, deeper, until he can barely stay upright.

His knees finally give out beneath him.

What is this?

The thought barely forms before it breaks apart.

This isn’t an Alpha’s pheromones. This is something else. Something dangerous.

He collapses onto the marble floor, hands braced weakly against the cold surface. His breath comes in shattered gasps, uneven and desperate as the Oleander fills his lungs.

Sweet. Poisonous. Impossible to escape.

Silas stands.

Slowly. Deliberately. His movements are calm—too calm, the calm of something that has already decided what it will do. His eyes remain fixed on the boy, burning gold and unblinking.

He walks.

Each step is silent. The marble does not echo beneath his feet. The air parts around him softly as the Oleander curls through the room in slow waves.

He stops in front of the boy.

Looks down.

The Omega stares up at him—face flushed, eyes wet, lips parted around desperate, silent breaths. He cannot speak. Cannot move. He can only kneel there, trembling beneath the weight of something he doesn’t understand.

Silas kneels.

He lowers himself until their faces are level. His eyes still burn fever-bright in the dim room as the Oleander thickens around them both, wrapping through the air until breathing itself feels impossible.

Intimate.

Wrong.

His hand reaches for the boy’s face.

He holds his chin. Just a touch. Just enough to lift his gaze. Just enough to make him look at him.

His voice is deep. Slow. A whisper that somehow fills the entire room.

"Do you really think..."

A pause.

The boy’s tears slip silently down his cheeks.

"...my Alpha..."

Another pause. The Oleander thickens around them.

"...needs you?"

The boy cannot answer.

His lips part soundlessly. His breath breaks against Silas’s fingers. His eyes shine with terror and something else— something that almost looks like understanding.

Silas releases his chin.

Then stands. The air shifts immediately, the Oleander drawing back into him like a receding tide.

The boy gasps sharply, dragging desperate breaths into his lungs. His chest rises and falls unevenly as his trembling hands press against the marble floor.

Silas looks down at him.

"Get out."

The boy scrambles to his feet and runs.The front door opens. Then slams shut behind him. Silence settles over the house once more.

Silas turns.

He walks toward Ellis’s room.

The door is closed. He opens it and steps inside. The room is drowning.

Moonflower clings to everything—the tangled sheets, the walls, the air itself. Thick. Intimate. Desperate.

Ellis lies twisted in the white sheets, the fabric wrapped loosely around his limbs like vines. Sweat slicks his burning skin. His brow is furrowed tightly, lips parted around uneven breaths.

Even unconscious, he is still fighting something invisible beneath his skin.

Silas closes the door behind him. The click is soft. Almost silent. His eyes still burn gold in the dim room.

He walks to the bed.

The Oleander rises from his body again—softly now, gently, like a hand reaching out to soothe a wound. It doesn’t smother the moonflower.

It wraps around it. Holds it. Calms it.

He sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight. Ellis’s breath hitches—once, twice—then slowly steadies.

Silas’s fingers reach for Ellis’s face. Slowly. Gently. Cold fingertips brush against burning skin. The touch makes Ellis’s breathing catch, then deepen, then settle into something softer. Something almost peaceful.

The moonflower still pulses through the room, but the Oleander holds it now. Cradles it. Sings it to sleep.

Silas leans down.

His lips brush Ellis’s temple—soft, barely there, a whisper of a kiss that leaves no mark but changes everything.

And he whispers, his voice so low it almost disappears into the dark:

"My Alpha needs me."

The room holds its breath.

The moonflower trembles.

The Oleander wraps around them both like a promise.