My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

The club’s private room breathes differently tonight.

No music. No bass thrumming through the walls like a second heartbeat. No neon bleeding across the room.

Just silence. The kind that settles into bones. The kind that waits.

I sit on the couch, swirling whiskey in my glass. Watching the amber liquid catch the light—spinning, settling, spinning again. The ice clinks softly against the crystal. The only sound in the room.

Sum sits across from me. His eyes fixed on my face. His expression twisted into something so dramatically annoyed I’d laugh—if I cared enough to try.

I don’t need to ask what’s wrong with him. His mind screams loud enough to wake the dead.

{I want to party. I want to drink until the room spins. I want hot Alphas around me—close enough to touch, close enough to feel. Strong shoulders. Warm skin. Hands that don’t hesitate. Maybe let one buy me a drink. Maybe let one stay. But Ellis. Ellis ruins everything. He wants silence. He wants darkness. He wants to sit here like a corpse at his own funeral.}

He sighs. Looks away. Stares at the empty wall like it might offer him something.

I sip lightly. The whiskey burns. I welcome it.

"Did you intentionally do this?"

He leans back, stretching his arms along the couch. Effortless. Casual.

"Do what..."

"Stare at me." I don’t look at him. Keep my eyes on the glass. On the liquid swirling. On anything but his face. "So I can know what’s going on in your mind."

"Yeah." No hesitation. No shame.

"Because you won’t listen when I talk. So I figured—at least you’ll listen to my mind."

A grin tugs at his lips.

"Since you’re always in there anyway. Renting space. Not paying rent."

I take another sip.

"Stop complaining."

He groans. Drops his head back. Stares at the ceiling like it owes him money.

"Ellis. This is boring."

I glance at him. Just a flicker.

"What."

He gestures around the room—the dark walls swallowing light, the empty space between us, the untouched bottles lined up like soldiers waiting for a war that never came.

"It’s boring. This looks like a library." A pause. "A library with whiskey and bad lighting."

"I want silence." My voice flat. Final. A door closing. "If you don’t like it, you can go."

Sum pours himself a glass. Slow. Deliberate. The wine dark against the crystal.

"Fine." He doesn’t look at me. "I won’t say anything."

A beat. Then—

"At least tell me about the Beta."

My grip tightens around the glass.

This. This is exactly what I’m trying to forget.

"How he looks." Sum’s voice softens—careful now, treading on ground he knows is mined.

"How was your meeting with him?"

My gaze shifts to him. Darkens. Cools like ash over embers.

He sees it. Understands before I speak. His body flinches—just a fraction. Just enough.

"Fine." He lifts his hands in surrender. Drops his eyes.

"I won’t ask. I won’t say anything. I’ll just sit here. In silence. Like a ghost. Like I’m already dead and no one told me."

He stands. Walks around the low table. Drops onto the couch beside me—close enough that our shoulders almost touch, close enough that I can feel his warmth through my shirt.

His hand comes around my neck. Rests on my shoulder. Familiar. Easy.

An old habit. From years of friendship.

"You don’t want to talk." His voice quiet now. Gentle in a way he only lets me see. "Don’t want noise."

A slow smile spreads across his lips. Mischievous. Familiar.

"The manager hired new staff. Hot ones. Sweet ones."

A pause. Just enough.

"Beautiful Omegas. And some Alphas too—the kind that make you look twice and forget your own name."

He winks.

"At least let them in the room. You don’t have to talk to them. You don’t even have to look."

A small shrug. Casual. Pretending it doesn’t matter.

"Just... let them exist. Maybe you’ll enjoy it. Maybe it’ll help you relax."

He blinks at me. Innocent. Knowing.

"Please? Can we?"

I stare at him from the corner of my eye. Say nothing.

Sum is an Alpha who likes Alphas. He’s hidden it for years—from our families, from strangers, from anyone who might look at him twice.

But I’ve always known. I can read minds, after all. And lately... he’s stopped hiding. From me, at least. From himself. Soon, maybe, from the world.

He blinks again. Amplifies the innocence.

"Please?"

I take a long sip of whiskey. Let it burn.

"Fine." My voice flat. Unmoved. "But I don’t want noise."

His eyes light up—bright, grateful, alive.

"Okay. Okay. I promise. No noise. Just... pretty people standing in corners looking pretty."

He gestures to the manager by the door—a sharp nod, a flick of fingers. The manager understands. Nods once. Disappears into the hallway.

Sum pours more whiskey into my glass. The liquid swirls—dark, endless, bottomless. His fingers brush the back of my neck as he pulls his hand away. Just a graze. Just skin against skin.

The touch lands like a spark in dry grass.

My body jerks before I think. My hand shoots up. Shoves his away. Hard. The glass wobbles. Whiskey spills.

Sum flinches. Stares at me. Shock carved into every line of his face.

"Ellis?" His voice small now. Uncertain. "What happened?"

I rub the back of my neck. Where the memory still burns under my skin.

Why is his touch still lingering? Why won’t my skin forget?

My anger rises—sudden, hot. A wave I don’t see coming.

I throw the glass.

It shatters against the far wall. A sharp, violent sound that splits the silence open. Glass scatters. Whiskey runs down the dark paint in slow streaks.

The room goes still. Sum stares at the wall. Then at the broken glass on the floor. Then back at me.

"Ellis." His voice barely above a whisper now. Careful. Very careful.

"Are you okay?"

I close my eyes. Press my fingers to my temples. Breathe. Deep. Slow. Force the air in and out until my chest steadies.

"I’m..." The word won’t come. Fine. I’m fine. I’m not fine. I don’t know what I am.

A pause. The silence settles back into the room—thicker now, heavier. Sum’s hand finds my shoulder. Patting. Gentle. The way he’s done a hundred times before.

"Calm down."

"Sum."

"Mm?"

I open my eyes. Stare at the wall where the glass hit—at the dark stain spreading slowly down the paint. Then I look at him.

"Can Betas smell pheromones?"

His hand stills on my shoulder.

"No. Betas can’t smell pheromones."

He shrugs. "That’s the whole point."

A pause. His mind stirs—

{Why is he asking this? what happened? what did that Beta do?}

I don’t answer the questions he isn’t asking.

My fists clench on my lap. Nails biting into my palms. The pain grounds me. Keeps me here. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Then why—

Why did he inhale like that? Like he was searching for something beneath my skin.

What was he trying to smell?