The Mute Heiress: My Ruthless Husband's Prize

A soft knock on the door made Elenor freeze. She scrambled back into bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin, feigning exhaustion.

The door opened. Dr. Sophie Chen walked in, holding a clipboard. Two nurses followed her.

"Vitals check," Sophie said briskly. She moved around the bed, checking the monitors. "BP is stable. Pupils reactive."

She turned to the nurses. "Give us a moment. I need to conduct a cognitive assessment in private."

The nurses nodded and left.

The moment the latch clicked, Sophie's demeanor shattered. She dropped the clipboard on the bed and pulled a small white device from her pocket. She switched it on. A static hiss filled the room-a white noise generator.

"El," Sophie whispered, grabbing Elenor's hand. "You scared the hell out of me."

Elenor sat up, her eyes sharp and alert. The fragility was gone. She pointed to her throat.

"It's minor laryngeal edema from the intubation," Sophie explained quickly. "It's a perfect excuse. We'll tell everyone the trauma from the crash caused temporary aphonia. It gives you a physical reason to stay silent and buys us time to figure out how to handle your... usual aversion to speaking."

Elenor grabbed a notepad from the bedside table. She wrote furiously. Silas?

Sophie's face fell. She looked away. "Missing. The lab... El, the lab burned down the night of your crash. It's gone."

Elenor's pen tore through the paper. Gone. The data. The algorithms.

She wrote again. My brain scan?

"Concussion," Sophie said. "But no structural damage. Your memory is fine." She lowered her voice further. "And the baby... is fine too. The heartbeat is strong. You're tough, both of you. But Elenor, you cannot let Hilliard find out. Not yet."

Elenor flipped the page. Tell Hilliard I have amnesia. Dissociative. From the trauma.

"What?" Sophie hissed. "Why? He's your husband. He's paying for all of this."

Elenor wrote: He is a shark. If he knows I am The Analyst, he won't protect me. He will lock me in a basement and make me trade for him.

Sophie read the note. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay. I'll fake the notes."

Elenor wrote one last thing. I need to leave. Now.

"You can't," Sophie argued. "The press is outside."

Elenor's new phone-smuggled in by Sophie-buzzed under the pillow. Elenor pulled it out.

A text from an unknown number. An image. A single, charred loafer lying on the front steps of the Becker Manor. Silas's shoe.

Elenor showed the screen to Sophie.

Sophie went pale. "Okay. Okay. We have to get you out."

"MRI," Sophie said, formulating a plan. "I'll order an emergency MRI. The guards can't come into the magnet room. There's a staff exit in the back."

Sophie turned off the noise machine. She opened the door and shouted, "Get a gurney! Patient is showing signs of cerebral swelling. We need a scan immediately!"

The guards stepped forward. "Mr. Blackburn said she stays in the room."

"Mr. Blackburn isn't a doctor," Sophie snapped. "If she strokes out, you can explain it to him."

The guards hesitated. Then, they stepped aside.

Elenor was loaded onto a gurney. She closed her eyes, letting her lashes flutter weakly against her cheeks. But under the sheet, her fists were clenched so hard her nails cut into her palms.