My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot! Chapter 43: This is The Condition

The living room exhales around .

Not silent. Not truly. The kind of quiet that exists in the space between heartbeats—where words have been spoken and now hang suspended, waiting to either land or fall.

The chandelier casts its golden light over polished marble, untouched wine in crystal, and my father’s face—set into sothing old and unmoving.

Mom is gone. She took her Persian cat with her, cradling it against her chest like sothing she never lost, her fingers buried deep in its white fur. The door closed behind her with a whisper.

Everic is gone too. He took Silas by the arm—light, casual, as if leading an old friend sowhere pleasant. I want to talk to him about sothing, he said. No one asked what.

Now only the wine remains.

It rests in my glass—dark, patient. I swirl it slowly, watching it catch the chandelier’s light, watching it cling to the crystal before sliding back down.

Red as bruises. Red as heartblood.

I don’t drink. I don’t want to drink.

I want to leave. To walk out of this house and never co back. But I don’t move. So habits—so chains—are stronger than will.

"What do you want to talk about?"

My voice is flat. Empty—the voice of soone who already knows the answer, but asks anyway.

Dad’s eyes stay on . They haven’t moved since I sat down. The sa eyes that watched grow—and decided how I could be used. Those eyes are sharp now. Hard.

"Ellis." His voice is low. Controlled. "Have you forgotten who is sitting in front of you?"

I set the glass down on the table. The clink echoes in the quiet—small and sharp, like a single note from a piano no one asked to hear.

I look at him.

"What do you want to hear? Dad? Or Mr. Elias Roselle?"

The question hangs between us like smoke.

Dad sighs.

It’s a heavy sound. The kind that carries years of disappointnt—of expectations unt, of watching a son who refuses to beco what he was ant to be.

"I never thought my son would beco like this."

I lean back, the cushions soft beneath .

"Exactly." My voice is quiet. Almost soft—but there’s no softness in it. "I never thought my family would beco like this. My own parents forced to marry soone I never t. Against my will."

Dad’s jaw tightens.

"You’re still clinging to that?"

He looks away. His gaze lands on the wall—a painting, maybe. Sothing expensive. Sothing aningless.

"Forget the past. Move on."

A pause.

Then his voice hardens—the one he uses in boardrooms, the one that closes deals.

"I want you to join the family business. How long are you going to live like this? No work. Staying ho. Doing nothing. Wasting your ti in clubs."

I lean back on the couch, my head resting against the cushion. My gaze drifts to the ceiling.

The business.

Always the business.

"Dad." My voice is calm. asured. "I already told you—I’m not interested."

His voice hardens further—if that’s possible. Like steel being forged.

"Ellis. Why can’t you understand? No matter what—you’re going to join it."

He takes a breath. Slow, asured—like he’s already decided how this ends.

"Now you’re married. Look at Silas. Look at how hardworking he is."

A pause. He lets it settle.

"Do you ever think about what people say about you? That you’re married and still doing nothing?" Another pause. "Your partner is perfect."

A beat.

"And you’re nothing."

My voice cos out cold. Flat. A blade wrapped in silk.

"Then why did you marry that perfect person to ?"

"Ellis. Don’t make repeat myself."

"No."

"You’re joining."

"I’m not."

"Ellis." His voice drops—lower, darker. "I don’t want to be ashad in front of people." A beat. "Having a son like you. Who does nothing."

A laugh slips from my lips. Not happy. Not even bitter. Just... sothing left over after hearing too much.

Ashad.

I look at my father. Really look at him—the silver in his hair, the lines around his eyes, the way his mouth tightens before he says sothing he thinks is final.

He looks old.

He looks tired.

He looks like a man who has spent his entire life building sothing he expects to carry—and cannot understand why I keep letting it fall.

"Fine."

The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it. Or maybe I don’t want to.

Dad’s expression shifts. Sothing flickers behind his eyes—relief, maybe. Or surprise.

"Good. Next week, I’ll arrange—"

I cut him off. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just quietly.

"But."

He stops.

I lean forward. My elbows rest on my knees. My eyes find his—and hold.

His mind flickers—

{What does he an... ’but’?}

"If you want to join the business..." I let the words hang. Let him feel their weight. "In return—I want a divorce from Silas."

Dad’s face changes.

Subtle. A tightening at his mouth. A flicker in his eyes—the kind of reaction a man like him has when sothing lands outside his expectations.

"Ellis." His voice is quieter now. Cautious. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"No." His tone hardens, cutting through the space between us. "That’s not happening. Don’t even think about it."

I stand. Slow. Deliberate. Nothing about this is impulsive.

"This is the condition." My voice is calm. Final. "If you want in the business—remove that Beta from my life."

"Ellis—"

I don’t wait.

I turn and walk out.

The door closes behind with a soft click—quiet, almost gentle. Like the period at the end of a sentence no one wanted to read. Silas is standing in the hallway.

His face is a blank page. No smile. No softness. Nothing but his eyes—brown, bright, fixed on with an intensity that should feel like accusation, but doesn’t.

Did he hear everything?

I don’t ask. I step forward. Walk past him.

The distance between us is nothing—a breath, a heartbeat. The space between two people who have never understood each other.

Who cares?