My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot! Chapter 11: Kiss.Your. Bride

The officiant smiles.

He looks at us like we’re sothing holy—like this mont deserves to be carved into marble and rembered for generations. His eyes shine with sothing that might be joy... or might be performance.

Silas’s eyes stay on .

Warm. Steady. Unblinking.

I look away.

Frustration burns behind my eyes—hot, sharp, pressing against my skull like sothing trying to break free.

Even if I try.

Even if I force it.

Even if I dig down to the part of where obedience used to live—

I can’t make a smile appear.

The muscles have forgotten how.

They’ve been frozen too long—locked into an expression of nothing.

A mask that isn’t a mask... because there’s nothing underneath to hide.

A servant walks forward.

The tray in their hands is beautiful—polished wood, dark as midnight, carved with flowers that don’t exist in nature.

White petals scatter across its surface, like snow that forgot to lt.

At the center, nestled in velvet the color of blood, rests a box.

Heavy. Polished. Expensive.

Inside—two rings.

They catch the dying light—diamonds flashing, gold gleaming. Beautiful in the way cages are... before you realize they lock from the outside.

I barely glance at them.

The officiant’s voice rings out—cheerful, practiced, polished smooth by a thousand weddings before this one.

A voice that’s never been trapped. A voice that doesn’t know what it’s asking for.

"And now... please. Exchange the rings."

I stare at them.

Then my gaze shifts to Silas.

That smile. Still there. Soft. Patient.

Waiting—like he has all the ti in the world... and he’s willing to spend it on .

Fine.

Just this one thing.

Just one more.

Then it’s over.

I take the ring.

Cold against my fingers. Heavy in a way that has nothing to do with weight.

Silas raises his hand.

Fingers slightly parted.

Trembling— or maybe that’s my imagination. Maybe I’m the only one trembling. Maybe he’s carved from sothing steadier than flesh and bone.

I take his hand.

His skin is warm. Soft. His fingers curl slightly around mine—not holding, just... there. Just saying I’m here.

I slide the ring onto his finger.

Applause swells—wave after wave crashing against my skull.

Silas takes the other ring.

His fingers brush mine as he lifts it—warm, gentle, unhurried. Like he’s touching sothing precious. Like my hand is worth holding. He slides the ring onto my finger.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Like he’s savoring sothing I don’t understand. Sothing I can’t feel.

The officiant’s voice lifts—bright with happiness, with the kind of certainty that only belongs to people who’ve never had their lives stolen from them.

"I now pronounce you married."

A pause. A breath.

His voice lowers—heavier, almost reverent.

"May you remain together... forever."

Forever.

I look away.

A faint, cruel smile touches the corner of my lips—the most honest expression I’ve worn all day.

Let’s see how long that lasts.

I step back.

Just one step—enough to create distance. Enough to remind my lungs how to expand when no one’s standing too close.

I’ll make an excuse. I feel unwell. I need the restroom. I can’t breathe.

Any excuse. Any lie. Anything that gets off this dais— and away from all of this.

Done with the drama.

Done with the performance.

Done pretending I’m soone I’m not.

Before I can turn—

The officiant’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.

"And now..."

A pause.

The world holds its breath.

"...you may kiss your bride."

I freeze.

My eyes widen—just a fraction. Just enough for anyone watching to notice.

If anyone was looking at ... instead of him.

Kiss.

Your.

Bride.

I forgot.

I forgot this part.

How could I forget?

No.

No—no.

I’m not doing this.

My gaze shifts to the officiant.

Dangerous. Deadly. A stare sharp enough to turn him to ash where he stands.

I want to throw him off the dais.Grab him by that perfect collar and ask who gave him the right— who decided he could stand between two people and command them to perform.

The officiant looks at .

His smile cracks at the edges—fine fissures spreading through the polish.

He sees my eyes.

Feels the weight of my gaze.

And understands—too late—that he’s standing at the edge of sothing volatile. Sothing that might swallow him whole.

All eyes are on us.

Waiting.

The guests. The servants. The photographer, cara raised.

Waiting.

My parents—smiles frozen, eyes sharp.

Waiting.

Silas. His jewel-bright eyes. His soft lips.

Waiting.

My fists clench at my sides—nails biting into my palms, knuckles whitening.

I’m not playing along with this anymore.

"Ellis."

My father’s voice.

Sharp. Controlled. The tone he uses when he’s about to remind who holds the leash.

I look at him. A smile stretches across his lips—perfect for strangers, for caras, for anyone who needs to believe the lie.

His eyes don’t match.

They never do.

His mind screams—

{Ellis. What are you doing? Do it. Lift the veil. Kiss him. Now.}

I stare at him.

Anger burns behind my eyes—hot, bright, hungry. The kind fed on silence for too long. The kind that doesn’t starve. It waits.

This selfish old man.

My gaze shifts.

To Silas.

His jewel-soft eyes et mine. Watching. Waiting. Not demanding. Not pleading. Just... there.

Then lower.

His lips.

Pink. Soft. Slightly parted. Still.

It’s just a kiss.

Just a touch.

Just skin against skin.

It ans nothing.

I step forward.

Slow.

Each step asured. Each breath deliberate. The space between us closes—inch by inch.

My eyes never leave his lips.

My hands rise. My fingers find the veil—thin, delicate, almost weightless, like spun sugar.

I lift it from his face.

The fabric drifts aside, catching the dying light—revealing him completely.

Everyone watches.

Everyone stares.

Silas—unveiled. Unobscured. Visible in a way he wasn’t before.

A soft gasp. A whisper I don’t catch.

I don’t look at them.

I hold his face.

My fingers press against his skin—warm, soft, alive. Softer than I expected. Softer than anything I’ve touched in years. His jaw fits in my palm—like it was made to be held. Like it belongs there.

Our eyes lock.

I lean forward.

His breath brushes my lips—warm, steady, carrying sothing faintly sweet. Tea, maybe. Or honey. Sothing I can’t na. His eyes shine brighter this close—brown depths flickering with sothing I can’t na.

Just a kiss, Ellis.

Just a kiss.

It ans nothing.

I close my eyes.

No.

I can’t.

My thumb moves. Presses against his lips—soft, warm—covering them completely.

And I kiss my thumb.

At an angle no one can see.

My eyes open slowly.

Our faces are close—so close that if I breathed deeper, our lips would touch. Close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. Close enough to count his eyelashes.

His eyes stay on mine.

Open.

Watching.

Sothing in his gaze shifts. Not soft anymore. Sothing else.

Sothing I don’t recognize.