My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot! Chapter 40: I Won’t Fall For You

I take the note.

I know our first eting wasn’t good.

But can we start again?

Start again.

The phrase hangs between us—small. Fragile. Absurd. I stare at the words until they blur, the pencil marks swimming against the cream of the paper. I still don’t understand.

What does he an by start again?

I lift my gaze slowly.

He’s watching .

Those eyes—brown, deep, impossibly patient—waiting for an answer. No tension in his shoulders. No crease in his brow. Just... calm. The sa maddening calm he’s had since the day he stepped off that helicopter.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Does he not understand?

A mont ago—I threatened him. I’ll make you suffer. Stay away from . And he just stood there. Took it. Let the words fall against him like stones into still water.

Now he’s asking to start again.

Like the past weeks never happened. Like my hatred ans nothing. Like my anger is just weather—sothing that passes, nothing that touches.

I crumple the note in my hand. The paper folds in on itself, tight in my grip.

"What do you an—start again?" My voice cuts through the quiet. "Don’t you understand what I’m saying?"

A pause. "I don’t like you."

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. He lowers his gaze to the notebook in his hand. The pencil moves—quick, deliberate. He tears the page and offers it to .

I take it. Roughly.

But I like you.

A sound escapes —sothing between a laugh and disbelief. Hollow.

He doesn’t even know . Not really. And still— he says he likes .

I let the paper fall. It drifts through the air, landing in the grass between us—a small white flag.

I step forward. Toward him. The grass is soft beneath my bare feet, cool in the shade. "Why are you so stubborn?"

Each step closes the distance until I’m close enough to see the faint pulse at his throat, just beneath the pearls.

My gaze is cold. My voice drops—low, deliberate.

"I hate you."

A beat.

"Do you hear ?"

He doesn’t move. No step back. No flinch. No flicker of hurt. Just his eyes on —brown, deep, maddeningly silent.

He looks down, writes, and hands another note.

How can you hate when you don’t even know ?

I blink.

Don’t know him?

My jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath my skin. That’s the problem.

Why can’t I read you? Why can’t I understand what’s behind those eyes?

Why are you still here, still standing in front of , when everything about tells you to leave?

"You want to know why I hate you?" My voice is quieter now, but no less sharp.

"First—you’re a Beta. No scent. No pull. Nothing that should matter to soone like ."

"Second—you entered my life without permission. You were handed to like sothing I never asked for."

A pause.

"And you stayed." My gaze hardens. "You kept staying. Against my words. Against my will."

I let the silence stretch.

"That’s enough."

Silas listens.

He takes in every word—I see it in the rise and fall of his chest, in the way his fingers tighten around the pencil. But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend himself.

He just writes. Another note. Handed to with that sa quiet calm.

Give a chance to pursue you.

Pursue ?

A slow smirk pulls at my lips—cold, disbelieving.

Impossible.

I lift my gaze to him. "Pursue ?" I let the words linger. "Are you sure you can?"

He nods. Not hesitant. Not doubtful. Certain. Like the answer was never in question.

I crumple the note between my fingers, my eyes still on him. "What if you can’t?" My voice drops. "Then what?"

He looks down at his notebook. His fingers tighten around the pencil—a small movent, almost invisible, but I catch it. He’s thinking. Then he writes. Tears the page. Holds it out.

I’ll do whatever you say.

Do whatever I say.

I pause.

The afternoon light shifts—a cloud passing over the sun, shadows stretching across the grass. Sowhere in the distance, a bird calls out, sharp and sudden, then falls silent.

And then— sothing clicks.

Finally.

I’ve found a way to get rid of him.

My voice turns calm. Controlled. The kind of calm that cos after a decision is made—when there’s no turning back.

"Fine. I’ll give you a chance."

Silas looks up at . His eyes—those impossible eyes—catch the light. They shine.

"You have two months." I hold his gaze, let him see it—the calculation behind my words, the certainty. "If you succeed... if you manage to pursue ..."

A pause.

"I’ll accept you as my partner."

I step closer. He doesn’t move. Just watches , breath steady, waiting like he already knows the ending.

"But if you don’t..."

I let the silence stretch between us, heavy and deliberate.

"You’ll sign the divorce papers."

"And you’ll return to your country."

A beat. "Without a word. Without fighting. Without looking back."

Silence stretches between us. The garden holds its breath. Then— a soft smile spreads across his lips. Not bitter. Not sad.

Eager.

Like he’s been waiting for this mont. Like none of this surprises him.

He nods.

I stare at him. A flicker of sothing—surprise, maybe—passes across my face. Just a flicker. Gone before it can settle.

He’s smiling. So confidently.

What is he planning?

He looks down at his notebook, writes, and hands the note.

For these two months—you won’t push away. You’ll eat with . Spend ti with . Don’t ignore my ssages. Reply to . Talk to .

I look at him.

"So now you’re setting conditions?"

Silas blinks. That soft smile still on his lips—confident. Annoying.

"Fine."

"I agree to your conditions." A pause. "But I have one of my own."

My voice hardens. "You don’t touch . You keep your distance. Keep your hands to yourself."

A beat.

"Understood?"

His smile widens. He nods, then writes another note and hands it to .

But at least let hold your hand.

My brows draw together. "Aren’t you being too demanding?"

He turns the notebook toward , showing what he’s already written.

Please. Just for a mont.

"No."

His smile fades—just a fraction. Just enough for to notice. He looks down again, pencil hovering, ready to ask once more—

"No ans no."

I turn and start walking. The grass is cool beneath my feet. The white roses stand quiet along the path.

I don’t look back.

"Rember—if you fail, you sign the divorce papers. No argunts. You leave."

A smirk curls on my lips—cold, certain.

Be ready to go back ho, Silas Stoneheart.

Because no matter what you do—

I won’t fall for you.