My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot! Chapter 20: I Can’t Lose My Ability

The car streaks through the night, a dark blur against the city lights.

Too fast. Too reckless.

The engine growls low and hungry beneath . My hands grip the steering wheel like I’m holding onto the last piece of myself.

Knuckles white. Veins raised beneath the skin. Streetlights blur past—golden sars against the darkness, bleeding into one another.

My parents don’t really care about .

The thought doesn’t arrive gently. It never does anymore. It claws its way up from sowhere deep—sowhere I’ve been trying to seal shut for weeks.

They don’t see . They’ve never seen . Not the real . All they see is him.

Him.

Silas.

Their perfect prince.

The thought burns, settling deep in my chest like a coal that refuses to die. It glows there, constant, feeding on everything I am.

And it makes want to turn that Beta’s life into hell.

He’s staying at my place.

A dangerous smile spreads across my lips—slow, deliberate, cruel. I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. My own eyes stare back at , cold, calculating, hungry.

Perfect.

I’ll make every day special for you, my dear partner.

My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. The vibration hums against the leather—insistent, impatient. I glance at the screen. A ssage. I pick it up. Unlock it.

Unknown number.

Two ssages.

I’m waiting. Co ho safely.

Dinner’s getting cold.

My brows draw together. The words blur for a mont—then sharpen.

Who is this?

Waiting for you...

My grip tightens around the phone, edges biting into my palm.

Silas. Of course.

So he dares to ssage .

I throw the phone onto the passenger seat. It lands with a dull thud, then slides off, disappearing into the shadows beneath. I don’t reach for it.

"First." My voice is low, almost a whisper, but the car swallows it whole. "You enter my life without permission. Without asking. Without caring what I wanted."

Streetlights bleed past.

"Second." My jaw tightens. "You take the place that should have been mine."

The engine roars as I press harder on the accelerator.

"And now you’re in my house. The only place I had left. Cooking for . Waiting for ." A bitter laugh slips out—sharp, hollow. "Like a perfect little wife."

You want to play house?

Fine.

Let’s play.

Let’s see how long you last.

The car slows, the engine settling into a low purr as the headlights wash over the front of the house—my house. My sanctuary. The only place where no one’s thoughts reach , where the silence belongs to , where I can finally breathe without the endless noise I never asked to carry.

But now he’s inside.

I step out, the night air wrapping around —cool, damp, carrying the faint scent of rain that hasn’t fallen yet. I straighten my jacket, run a hand through my hair, composing myself the way I’ve been forced to for weeks. I walk to the door, unlock it, and push it open.

The warmth hits first. Then the sll—garlic, herbs, sothing roasting, sothing simring.

Ho.

But not my ho.

Not anymore.

My eyes move around the space—scanning, searching, hunting. Everything is different. The table is set. Plates arranged. Silverware gleaming. Candles flicker in the center, small flas casting shifting shadows along the walls.

He did this.

I step forward. A sound cos from the kitchen—soft, careful. The clink of a spatula against a pan.

Silas stands there, cooking, his attention fixed on the pan.

Then he looks up.

Our eyes et across the room.

A soft smile spreads across his lips the mont he sees —bright, warm, like he’s been waiting for this. Like my arrival is the answer to a prayer I didn’t know he was whispering.

He sets the spatula down—too quickly—and pours a glass of water. The liquid catches the candlelight, shimring gold. He walks toward , his steps soft on the wooden floor, asured and deliberate.

He offers the glass.

His eyes are smiling too—brown, warm, glowing, like embers stirred back to life.

I stare into his eyes, searching.

Nothing.

How is that possible?

Silas glances down at the glass, a quiet hint—take it, drink.

I take it from his hand. Then set it down on the dining table.

Hard.

Water sloshes over the rim, spilling across the white tablecloth, spreading like a wound. It drips onto the floor—slow, steady.

Silas’s expression shifts.

Just a flicker—sothing there and gone, like a shadow passing over sunlight.

I don’t give him ti to recover. I grab his wrists and pin him against the wall.

How is this possible?

Why can’t I hear anything?

His back hits the wall—soft, but the sound echoes through the room like a heartbeat. His eyes widen, just a fraction, just enough for to catch it.

The space between us shrinks—then disappears. The air thickens, heavy with sothing I can’t na, sothing pressing against my skin, my chest, my throat.

He blinks.

His smile fades.

Completely.

I stare into his eyes.

For a long mont, I just stare.

The candlelight flickers behind , catching on polished marble and glass. Steam rises from the dishes on the table, curling into the warm air. Sowhere beyond the grounds, a car passes—its headlights briefly grazing the windows before fading.

We stand like this, both of us frozen. And I hear— nothing.

Just silence. The silence before a storm. The silence of a mind I cannot reach.

Why is everything so quiet?

Is he hiding his thoughts? Building walls I can’t break through?

Or did I lose my ability? When did I lose it?

I release his wrists and step back—quickly. The distance between us returns, cold, empty, safe.

I need to think. I need to calm my mind. This is impossible. I can’t lose my ability.

I turn and walk away. I hear his footsteps behind —soft, uncertain, following. I don’t stop. I don’t speak. I don’t look back. I just keep walking.

I enter my room and reach for the door. Silas’s hand catches it. His expression shifts, like he wants to say sothing—but I don’t give him the chance.

"Leave alone."

My voice is flat. He just stares at . Then his hand slowly falls away.

I close the door in his face. The sound is final. Absolute. A door closing on sothing I don’t have words for. I lean back against the wood, pressing my palms flat against it.

What the hell is happening to ?