My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot! Chapter 32: Worried About Me

I surface from sleep like a man rising through dark water.

Slow. Unsteady. Unwilling.

My eyes open. Blink once. Twice.

The ceiling cos into focus—the sa one I’ve stared at for years. Dim lights set into polished marble, their glow soft. Indifferent. They’ve watched fall asleep a thousand tis. They’ve never seen like this.

Everything is where it should be. Everything is normal. Except for the weight on my chest.

Except for the warmth pressed against my side—like a second skin I never asked for.

I don’t rember falling asleep. The last thing I recall is his crying—soft, broken breaths against my shirt, settling sowhere beneath my ribs.

Unwanted. Persistent.

Then nothing. A blank space. Darkness swallowing everything whole.

And now—this.

Silas’s head still rests on my chest. Like sothing that landed without permission—and stayed.

His arms are wrapped around my waist, fingers curled into my shirt, holding on with a grip that speaks of nightmares. Fear. Sothing else I don’t na.

I look down at him.

His breathing is slow now. Steady. The frantic rhythm from before has settled into sothing deeper. Quieter.

His lashes are dark against his pale cheeks—clumped, still tacky with dried tears, faint tracks marking his skin. His face presses into my chest, lips slightly parted.

My shirt is damp where he cried into it.

And my hand—my traitorous hand—rests on his back. Rising. Falling. With each breath.

Like it belongs there. Like I let it.

I push back. Quick. Too quick.

The movent jars us both. For a mont, I feel the pull of his weight—the way his body instinctively tries to hold on.

I don’t let myself stop. I can’t.

I can’t believe I fell asleep like this. Letting him cling to . Letting him use like I’m nothing more than a pillow. Like this—my chest—is all I have to offer.

I try to shift him.

He’s heavier than he looks.

Not muscle—no. There’s nothing formidable about his fra. Slender. Almost delicate. The kind of build that makes other Alphas look twice and think easy prey.

My face tightens.

He’s sleeping so peacefully. Like I’m nothing more than a place to rest. A warm body in the dark.

My arm has gone numb beneath him. Not from weight—from stillness. From holding there too long. From not knowing what to do with soone who clings like that.

I look at his face. Innocent. Untroubled. Untouched by whatever’s tearing through .

My voice cos out flat. Hard. "Hey. Wake up."

He doesn’t move at first. Just shifts—a small sound slipping from his lips, sowhere between a sigh and a protest.

His face brushes against my chest. Seeking warmth. Comfort. Sothing I don’t na.

His grip tightens around my waist.

What the hell is this...

He’s getting on my nerves.

My hand lifts to his cheek. I pinch. Hard enough to sting. Hard enough to wake him.

His eyes fly open.

Wide. Unfocused. Caught between sleep and waking as his pupils slowly settle on my face. Confusion flickers. Then sothing else— guilt.

"Finally," I say, voice clipped. "You’re awake."

He blinks at . His hair is a ss—strands falling over his forehead, softened from sleep.

"Don’t stare." I shift beneath him. "Move. You’re heavy."

He straightens quickly—too quickly, like my words burned him.

His hands retreat from my waist. The sudden absence of warmth leaves sothing cold in its wake. Sothing I don’t acknowledge.

He sits there. Hair ssy. Eyes still glistening. Cheeks faintly flushed.

I straighten. Stretch my arms above my head, working the stiffness from my shoulders, the numbness in my legs.

My voice is cold when I speak. "This is the last ti. Don’t cling to like that again. I warned you."

I pause. Let it settle. "Next ti, I’ll throw you out of this house. Do you understand?"

He nods. Slow. Careful. Like he’s afraid of getting it wrong.

I look away.

"Now explain." My voice sharpens. "What were you doing there?"

He doesn’t answer. He never does. Instead, he reaches for the notebook and pencil on the table—his hands still trembling, the movent giving it away.

He writes. Tears the page. Hands it to .

I take the note without looking at him. Force my eyes to the words.

I was texting you. You didn’t reply. I was worried. I asked Everic. He said you go to that club often, so I went there to find you. Before I could reach you—those n dragged into the bathroom. Against my will.

My brows draw together. Anger rises—sharp, imdiate. Familiar. Easy.

Worried about .

The paper crumples in my fist. I toss it aside and look at him. "Are you stalking now?" My voice cuts. "Like so typical wife?"

He shakes his head—quick, frantic.

No.

His pencil moves again. Faster this ti. Another page. He holds it out.

I take it. Rough. Look down.

No. I wasn’t stalking you. I thought you might be drunk. I went there to bring you back. I was worried.

A laugh slips out—dry. Hollow. It cuts through the silence. "Worried about ?"

I crush the note in my fist.

"You should worry about yourself." My voice drops. Low. Controlled. "If you follow like that again—" A pause. "I’ll hand you over to them myself."

Another beat. "I won’t intervene." My gaze stays on him. "I’ll let them do whatever they want."

He looks down at his hands. His shoulders fold in on themselves—smaller. Quieter.

I stand.

Worried about . What a joke.

I walk toward my room.

My footsteps echo against the polished marble—heavy, deliberate. Each one putting distance between us.

Then I stop. Suddenly. Irritatingly.

I don’t want to turn back. Every instinct tells to keep walking. To close the door. Let the silence swallow whatever this is.

Before I think—

I turn.

My voice is flat.

"Don’t go outside alone again. Take your guards. Or your secretary. I don’t care who. Just don’t go alone."

His head lifts.

He looks at —those brown eyes wide, searching. Like he’s trying to understand sothing I’m not saying.

Then he nods. Slow.

My voice hardens. "This is the last ti. I won’t help you again." A beat. "Do you hear ? I won’t co for you."

He nods again. Small. Enough.

I turn. Walk through the doorway.

Seriously.

Soone who can’t even protect himself—Worried about .