My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot!

The night air is cold. Not the sharp, punishing cold of deep winter—but something softer. Something that settles on the skin like a secret. Dew clings to everything, invisible rain that leaves no trace except the dampness on your sleeves and the chill that blooms across your cheeks.

I stand near my car, scrolling through my phone. The screen glows pale blue against the darkness, casting shadows across my face. My thumb moves without purpose, sliding over messages I’m not really reading. Sum’s name appears. Then vanishes. Then appears again.

I glance at the door.

How much longer is he going to take?

A sigh slips from my lips—a small cloud of fog in the cold air, there for a moment, then gone.

Why did I even agree to take him out?

But the smile on his lips. The way his eyes catch the light—like the whole world is a gift he’s just been given, and he can’t believe his luck. All day he prepared like a child on the morning of a festival. Like this was his first time stepping outside.

Why is he always like this?

He’s rich. It’s not like he’s never been anywhere before.

My thumb stops mid-scroll. The screen goes still.

Before this—he must have had someone. Of course he did. Everyone does.

I stare at the screen without seeing it.

Did he have boyfriends before?

How many?

Were they—

I shake my head. Hard enough to feel the heat rise to my ears.

Why the hell am I thinking about this? Who cares if he had relationships or not? It doesn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

The door opens.

Silas steps out.

Without looking at him, I say, "Finally." I turn off the screen. Slide the phone into my pocket. Look up.

"Why do you always take so long to—"

I stop.

My eyes widen. Just a fraction.

He’s walking toward me, his footsteps soft on the stone path, and for a moment I forget what I was about to say.

The golden light from the garden lamps spills over him, catching on the white silk draped across his shoulders. The fabric shifts with every step, smooth and fluid.

He’s wearing the pearl necklace I bought for him. The white beads rest against his collarbone, glowing softly beneath the lights.

He stops in front of me.

A soft smile spreads across his lips. Not teasing. Not shy. Just... there.

I don’t speak.

I can’t.

My gaze moves without permission—over his shoulders, down the way the silk clings to his chest. The fabric is nearly transparent in places, catching shadows.

He’s beautiful.

The word lodges in my throat like something I swallowed wrong. Like a stone. Like a confession.

He looks so beauti—

Our eyes meet. He blinks. Confused, maybe. Or curious. Or waiting.

I blink too. Look away.

My voice breaks—just a hairline fracture, nothing more. I clear my throat.

"Now let’s go."

I turn before he can see my face. Open the car door. Slide into the driver’s seat. My hands find the steering wheel like it’s the only solid thing in the world.

Silas settles into the passenger seat. The seatbelt clicks into place.

The engine starts with a low hum. The car rolls forward, smooth and quiet, eating up the darkness.

I feel him move—the soft shift of fabric, the faint scent of something clean and warm. Cologne, maybe.

The scratch of pencil against paper breaks the silence.

A note appears on my lap, placed there with careful fingers, as if he’s afraid it might break.

I glance down.

I’m sorry for being late. I was nervous. Confused about what to wear.

My eyes stay on the road. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the white lines, the trees, the endless stretch of asphalt.

"Why were you nervous?"

Another note lands on my lap.

Because it’s my first time going to dinner like this. I wanted to look perfect.

My face changes.

First time?

I glance at him—just a flicker.

"You never had a boyfriend before? Before the marriage?"

He shakes his head.

No.

"You’re lying."

He shakes his head again. Faster this time. Almost desperate to make me believe him.

His eyes are wide. Earnest. No hesitation. No embarrassment. No attempt to hide anything.

Just the truth.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

He’s actually been single this whole time?

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. My knuckles pale beneath the skin.

The car eats up the miles. The city lights blur past—gold and red and white, smearing into streaks against the dark. Streetlamps flash overhead, casting brief pools of light that wash over us and then vanish.

I can feel his gaze on me.

Soft. Weighted. Like a question waiting to be asked.

Another note appears on my lap. I glance at him—just a short glance—then down at the paper.

Are you angry at me?

"No." My voice comes out sharper than I intended. "Why do you always ask that? Stop. It’s annoying."

He looks down.

The pencil rests in his lap, still. He nods. Slowly. The movement is small, almost invisible—but I see it.

I stop the car.

The restaurant glows in the night—warm light spilling from tall windows, ivy climbing the stone walls, the soft murmur of music drifting through the air. The building is old, elegant, wrapped in shadows and gold.

A valet appears at my window. I step out. Hand him the keys. Straighten my jacket.

Silas steps out too.

He walks ahead of me.

The servants at the entrance stop mid-greeting. Their mouths hang open. Their eyes fix on him—unblinking, frozen, like they’ve forgotten how to do their jobs. A wine glass tilts in one man’s hand, the dark liquid sloshing toward the rim.

I can feel their stares. The weight of them.

It’s true. He’s beautiful. But why the hell are they staring at him like—

I look at Silas.

My gaze catches his back.

And I freeze too.

Pale skin gleams beneath the restaurant’s golden lights. The silk drapes over his shoulders, then falls away completely, exposing the long line of his spine before disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers.

What the hell...

I never noticed it before.

His shirt...

It’s backless.