My Useless Mute Beta Wife Is A Big Shot! Chapter 56: Sweet Pheromones

I sit on the edge of the bed, the towel draped over my shoulders, still working it through the damp ends of my hair. The warmth from the bath still clings to my body, loosening the knots in my muscles, softening the sharp edges of my mood. I should feel relaxed.

I do feel relaxed.

But sothing stirs beneath my skin. A strange warmth low in my spine. Restless. Wrong.

My hand drifts to the back of my neck—to the place where his breath touched earlier, where his chin rested against my shoulder. The mory flickers through my mind uninvited.

I rub the spot slowly.

Why does it feel like my rut is coming?

The thought settles heavily in my chest.

I reach for my phone on the bedside table. The screen glows too bright in the dim room. I squint and scroll. The calendar stares back at , neat and indifferent.

No. It’s not ti.

Not for another week. Maybe longer. My cycles have always been predictable. This strange heat beneath my skin shouldn’t be here yet.

I set the phone back down slowly. The tension in my chest eases a little.

The towel moves through my hair again. chanical. Thoughtless.

I glance down at myself.

Red.

The night suit is a deep, wine-dark crimson that settles against my skin like spilled wine—soft, expensive, dangerous in a way a color shouldn’t be. The fabric is ridiculously comfortable. The color alone makes my jaw tighten.

Seriously? Did he have no other color to choose from?

Of all the colors in the world—

Red.

A quiet sigh slips past my lips. I can’t do anything about it now. I have nothing else to wear.

The bathroom door opens.

Steam spills out first—a slow, white fog curling into the cooler air of the bedroom, carrying with it the faint scent of body wash and warmth and sothing else beneath it. Sothing clean.

Silas steps through the mist.

My gaze finds him before I can stop it.

He’s wearing the sa red night suit. The sa deep crimson that looks strangely softer on him. His brown hair is dark with water, damp strands clinging to his forehead and temples while droplets slide slowly down the pale line of his neck.

He rubs a towel through his hair. Slow. Unhurried. His movents are gentle, almost drowsy, like he’s already halfway to sleep and walking through it.

My gaze drifts over him.

Head to toe. Slowly.

Red suits him.....

I stop.

The thought arrives without permission. I tear my eyes away.

My voice cos out cold. Flat. A door slamming shut on sothing I don’t want to na.

"Don’t you have any other color for night suits? Or did you buy out the entire red section of every store in the city?"

Silas pauses and looks at before moving toward the bedside table. His bare feet make no sound against the wooden floor. He picks up the notebook and pencil—always nearby, always waiting—and writes.

The soft scratch of pencil against paper fills the quiet room. Then he tears out the page and hands it to .

I take it.

I’m sorry. I told my secretary to buy clothes. I didn’t know he would choose these colors.

I read the words twice before looking away.

"Fine."

He doesn’t move. He’s still standing there, close enough that I can feel the cool dampness radiating from his skin, the faint scent of body wash lingering around him.

Then he writes again.

Can I ask you sothing?

I glance at him.

"What?"

He sits on the edge of the bed. Not close. Not far. A careful distance, like he’s still learning where the boundaries are. The pencil moves across the paper again.

Now... what do you think of ?

I stare at the words. The question hangs between us, fragile as glass.

Curiosity flickers across my face before I can hide it. "What do you an?"

He writes again. Faster this ti.

I an... have I succeeded? In pursuing you?

My voice stays flat.

"No."

He blinks.

The word hits him quietly. His expression doesn’t crumble, doesn’t fall apart, but sothing flickers behind his eyes. Sothing that might be disappointnt, if disappointnt could stay silent.

He writes again.

Not even a little?

I don’t answer imdiately. The silence settles between us, thick with leftover warmth from the bath and everything neither of us says aloud.

Then—

"No."

My voice stays flat.

Silas blinks again. This ti, he can’t quite hide the disappointnt.

A soft smile spreads across my lips before I can stop it. Sothing cruel and strangely gentle at the sa ti.

"Do you really think pursuing is that easy?" I lean closer, lowering my voice. "Or do you think I’m so Oga? You take outside, show so stars, give a surprise—and I’m supposed to fall at your feet?"

I lean back again, letting the distance return between us.

"I’m an Alpha." My voice turns flat again. "If you had sweet pheromones, maybe this would be easier. But you don’t."

Silas looks at . He just stares. No blink. No flinch. No visible reaction.

Just those bright brown eyes fixed on mine like he’s searching for sothing beneath the words I’m saying.

"It’s only been a few days," I continue. "And you’re already expecting soone to fall for you?"

Silas lowers his gaze to the notebook in his hands. For a mont, he doesn’t move. Then he writes sothing down, tears out the page, and slides it across the bedsheet toward before standing.

I watch him for a second before looking down at the note.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked so soon. And I can’t give you sweet pheromones. But I’ll try my best to make you stay.

Another line sits beneath it, smaller this ti.

Good night.

He walks to the other side of the bed and reaches for the lamp.

The room falls into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the fairy lights beyond the glass walls.

Then he lies down. His back facing .

I stare at the shape of him in the dark. The curve of his shoulder. The fall of his damp hair against the pillow. The steady rhythm of his breathing.

What happened to him?

Did what I said... hurt him?

The thing about pheromones?

I set the note on the bedside table and lie down too. The distance between us feels enormous.

I stare up at the wooden ceiling. The golden lights are off now. Just shadows. Just the slow rhythm of my breathing and the quieter rhythm of his beside .

What did I say wrong?

Nothing. It’s true. I don’t like Betas.

I like sweet pheromones. I like Ogas. I like warmth and instinct and the kind of attraction that cos naturally.

I turn my head. Look at Silas. His back is still turned toward . Quiet. Still. He looks smaller in the dark sohow.

No matter what you do...

After two months...

You’re going back ho.