The Deaf Bride Isn't Deaf?

Perhaps it was guilt gnawing at Grayson. For the next few days, he stayed by her side, handling work from home while also going over the final details of the wedding.

Then came the business banquet he couldn't avoid attending.

He insisted that Violet accompany him. Before she had a chance to refuse, he had already arranged for a stylist to come over.

At the banquet, she realized Ruby was there too.

Dressed in a tight V-neck gown that left little to the imagination, Ruby approached them with a practiced smile. "Mr. Warhol. Miss Hudson."

Violet met her gaze. Calm and poised, there was no trace of the woman who had provoked her the night before. It was as if she had transformed into someone else entirely.

Quite the actress, just like Grayson.

A moment ago, she had clearly seen his expression shift the moment he laid eyes on Ruby. His gaze darkened, his Adam's apple moved slightly, but he still held her hand, maintaining his cold and distant facade as he gave Ruby a mere nod.

The moment Grayson appeared, guests flocked to him, glasses in hand, eager for conversation.

Some of the wealthy wives tried to engage Violet, but she continued to play the role of someone hard of hearing, letting their words fade into the background.

Grayson smiled as he offered explanations, worried she might grow bored. He personally selected the pastries she liked, placed a glass of juice beside her, drawing admiration from those around them.

"Mr. Warhol really is the perfect man."

"I've heard how much he dotes on his fiancée, and seeing it in person, I can't deny it."

Violet lowered her eyes, her long lashes casting a shadow over the mockery hidden within them.

As the chatter continued, Grayson's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting slightly before he spoke apologetically. "Excuse me, I have some work to handle."

Then, turning to her, he signed in fluid motions, "Violet, wait here for me. I'll be back soon."

She instinctively scanned the room. Ruby was gone too.

Moments later, her phone vibrated.

A message from Ruby.

It was a screenshot of a chat.

In the image, Ruby had sent a photo—her bare back exposed, the zipper at the bottom of her dress left teasingly undone.

Beneath it, a message: [Mr. Warhol, my zipper won't go up. Can you help me?]

Grayson's forwarded response was brief: [Location?]

Then came another message: [He couldn't even wait until he got to the restroom. People were walking by outside. The thrill of it all—he took me twice. My legs can barely hold me up. That's something you'll never be able to give him.]

[Oh, and we didn't use protection. We've lost count of how many times we haven't. He said that if I get pregnant, I should keep the baby. Who knows, maybe I already have his baby growing inside me.]

Violet closed her eyes and pressed a hand against her chest, trying to dull the ache.

He really couldn't even wait a few hours?

Her phone vibrated again.

She assumed it was another of Ruby's taunts, but when she looked, it was a message from the agency handling her fake death.

"Miss Hudson, your new identity is ready. We've booked your flight to the UK for five days from now, departing at 6 p.m. We need you to confirm if you're proceeding with the plan."

She turned on her camera and recorded a short video of herself.

"I confirm the departure."

Just as she was done, a panicked voice sounded behind her.

"What do you mean, leaving? Are you leaving, Violet?"