My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot! Chapter 52: So This Is His Surprise

The stone path is uneven beneath our steps—rough-hewn and ancient, worn smooth in so places by rain and ti, jagged in others where the mountain refused to be tad. The long trees rise on either side of us, their branches heavy with golden fairy lights that glow softly against the deepening dark, casting shifting shadows across the ground.

Silas walks ahead, holding my hand. His fingers are laced through mine, his skin still cold against my warmth—like he’s been carved from winter itself and placed beside . His face is bright with excitent, untouched by exhaustion, as if the hours of driving and the climb uphill have cost him nothing at all.

His hair is still soft, still falling across his temple in that sa careless way it did this morning. His cheeks are flushed—not from effort, but from the cold, or maybe from sothing else entirely.

I follow behind him, my face flat, my thoughts tangled sowhere between irritation and sothing I refuse to na.

Where the hell is he taking ?

We’ve been walking for almost half an hour now. Climbing. The hill has grown steeper with every step, the air thinner and colder against my cheeks. My legs are beginning to ache—not enough to matter, just enough to notice.

A silent sigh slips from my lips.

Why did I agree to hold his hand?

No...

Why did I even agree to co here?

But then I rember his face from earlier.

When he pouted.

Dramatically. Like a child who’d been told he couldn’t have dessert before dinner. His lower lip pushed out slightly, his brown eyes wide and pleading, so earnest it was almost absurd.

Almost ridiculous.

It was kind of cute....

I quickly shake my head, as if the motion alone can scatter the thought away.

No.

It’s annoying. He’s annoying. The walk is annoying. The cold digging into my skin is annoying.

My voice cos out cold. Flat. Exhaustion slips through anyway, and I don’t bother hiding it.

"How much longer are we going to walk? I’m tired."

Silas turns, looking back at over his shoulder. The soft smile never left his lips—it’s been there since we arrived, since we stepped out of the car this morning. Like he’s carrying sothing fragile and precious in his chest, and the smile is the only way to keep it safe.

He nods—just a little—and raises his free hand. Two fingers.

I stare at him, unimpressed.

Two minutes?

Is that what he’s trying to say?

I look away, letting my gaze drift to the trees surrounding us.

Is he testing my patience?

The forest has changed as we climbed higher. The trees are older here—taller, broader, their bark dark and furrowed with age. The golden lights strung through their branches flicker like captured stars, guiding us deeper into the mountain. The air slls of pine and earth and sothing sweeter beneath—night-blooming flowers I can’t na, opening their petals to the dark.

Silas’s steps quicken. He tugs forward gently—not pulling, not demanding, just... inviting. Like he’s afraid I’ll turn back if he lets go.

I blink and look ahead.

The path ends.

We step onto green grass—soft beneath our shoes, springy with moisture, wet with night dew that seeps through the fabric and sends a chill up my ankles. The sensation is sharp, sudden, waking sothing in my legs that had begun to drift toward sleep.

The trees fall away behind us, opening into a vast clearing at the summit of the hill. No more branches overhead. No more shadows dancing at the edges of my vision.

Just open sky above us, vast and dark and waiting.

Silas looks up. The soft smile spreads wider on his lips—so wide it almost reaches his eyes, almost cracks open whatever door he keeps closed behind his calm.

I stare at him, confused. Then I look up too. And I freeze.

The sky is overflowing with stars—but they’re not ordinary. They hang larger than life, closer than they should be, as if soone reached into the heavens and pulled them down just for this place. They pulse with soft light—so white, so gold, so faintly blue—scattered across the darkness like seeds thrown by an invisible hand.

I stare at them. I cannot look away.

So this is his surprise.

The anger I have been carrying—the tight knot in my chest, the sharp edge behind my ribs, the constant hum of resentnt I have learned to live with—softens. Unwinds.

Just a little. Just enough to feel. Just enough to notice.

Silas looks at . I can feel his gaze against the side of my face, warm despite the cold. But my eyes stay on the stars.

They’re beautiful.

He squeezes my hand gently—just once, just enough to remind that his fingers are still laced through mine.

I blink. Look down at him.

Silas gestures with his free hand toward sothing else in the clearing. I follow his gaze.

The place is lit with fairy lights—golden strands wound around wooden posts and strung between invisible lines, casting a soft glow across the grass. A mattress rests in the center of the clearing, dressed in white sheets that glow faintly in the dark. Pillows are scattered across it—too many, almost excessive, as if soone wanted to make sure there would be comfort no matter where you lay.

A perfect place to lie down and watch the sky.

Silas walks. I follow in silence, the grass whispering against our shoes.

We sit on the mattress. He settles beside —close enough to feel his warmth, but still keeping a careful distance. Our hands remain joined, resting on the white sheets between us.

He takes a note from his pocket. Already written—the paper creased from being folded and unfolded, the edges soft from handling. He offers it to .

I look down at his hand. Then at his face.

Without a word, I take the note.

Did you like it?

His brown eyes stay on . Patient. Waiting. The soft glow of the fairy lights catches warm gold in his irises.

I look at his face for a long while. I just stay silent. Then I blink and look away.

"Hmm." The sound cos out softer than I intended. I clear my throat and try again. "It’s good."

I lie back quickly.

The mattress dips beneath , the white sheets cool and smooth against my back. The pillows cradle my head, soft as clouds. Above , the stars stretch on forever—unlimited, uncountable, scattered across the darkness like soone spilled a jar of diamonds across black velvet.

Silas lies down beside . The mattress shifts softly beneath his weight. His eyes stay on .

The soft smile is still on his lips—small now, almost private, as if it’s ant only for him.

I can still feel him looking at . My eyes stay on the stars.

Why the hell is he staring at ?