The Mute Wife's Secret Genius Comeback

The biological clock in Heinrich's brain woke him at 6:00 AM sharp. He didn't need an alarm.

He opened his eyes and turned his head. Calleigh was asleep beside him, her dark hair fanned out over his grey pillowcase. She looked younger in her sleep, less guarded.

He watched her for a moment, a frown creasing his forehead. Then he sat up and swung his legs out of bed.

The moment the mattress shifted, Calleigh's eyes snapped open. She didn't move a muscle, but her breathing changed. She was awake.

Heinrich walked into the bathroom. The shower turned on.

Calleigh bolted upright. She scanned the room. Her dress from last night was a ruined heap on the floor. She couldn't wear that.

She ran to his closet. It was a row of identical suits and shirts. She grabbed a white dress shirt and pulled it on. It hung to her mid-thighs, the sleeves swallowing her hands. She rolled them up hastily.

She walked out into the living area. Breakfast had been delivered-a spread of fruits, pastries, and coffee on the dining table.

Heinrich emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed in a navy three-piece suit. His hair was wet, combed back perfectly. The savage lover from the night before was gone, replaced by the CEO.

He sat at the head of the table and picked up his iPad. He began to read, scrolling with a precise finger.

Calleigh stood by the table, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Sit, Heinrich said without looking up. Eat.

Calleigh sat. She picked up a fork and pushed a piece of melon around her plate.

I'll handle Gerri, Heinrich said, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. You don't need to worry about the clinic.

Calleigh looked up, surprised. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She nodded.

However, Heinrich continued, his eyes finally lifting to meet hers. They were cold. That doesn't mean you can go running to dive bars and act like a common drunk.

He reached into his jacket pocket and slid a black credit card across the table. It spun and stopped in front of her plate.

Buy some decent clothes. Stop embarrassing me.

Calleigh stared at the card. The Centurion card. Unlimited limit.

It felt like payment. Like he was leaving money on the dresser.

She didn't touch it. She went back to stabbing her melon.

Heinrich's jaw tightened. He didn't like being ignored.

The doorbell rang.

Enter, Heinrich called out.

Xavier Tate, Heinrich's personal assistant, walked in. He was carrying several garment bags and a tablet.

Good morning, sir. Xavier placed the bags on the sofa. Clothes for Mrs. Holman. And the morning briefing.

He handed the tablet to Heinrich.

The PR team has scrubbed 90% of the images from last night, Xavier reported, keeping his eyes strictly on his boss. The narrative is that you were assisting a friend who had a medical episode. No names mentioned.

Heinrich swiped through the report. Make it 100%. If I see one pixel of her face on Twitter, someone gets fired.

Calleigh let out a silent breath.

Heinrich stood up, buttoning his jacket. I'm going to the office. Xavier will drive you to... that little hobby of yours.

He meant her job. Her job as a data analyst at a mid-tier media company. He thought it was cute that she wanted to work. He had no idea it was her command center.

He walked around the table and stopped behind her chair. He placed a hand on the back of her neck, his thumb resting on her pulse point.

Remember who you are, he whispered. Mrs. Lloyd.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. It was a brand. A claim of ownership.

Then he walked out. The door clicked shut.

Calleigh slumped in her chair, the tension leaving her body in a rush.

Xavier cleared his throat. Ms. Holman?

Calleigh looked up.

Xavier held out a small velvet pouch. Mr. Sterling from The Vault sent this over by courier this morning. He said you left it.

Calleigh stood up so fast her chair tipped over. She snatched the pouch from Xavier's hand.

She opened it. The pearls spilled out.

She squeezed them in her fist, feeling the hard, round shapes. The recorder was still nestled inside the tiny, repaired clasp.

She looked at Xavier. He was smiling politely, his face blank.

Thank you, she signed.

She clutched the necklace to her chest. She had her life back.