The Mute Wife's Silent Revenge

The consommé in the bowl had lost its steam an hour ago. A film of oil had formed on the surface, creating a stagnant, golden mirror. Edlyn sat at the end of the long mahogany table, her hands folded in her lap. The silence in the penthouse was absolute, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator in the distant kitchen.

The wall clock, a minimalist piece that cost more than her father's annual care, read 2:55 AM.

The front door beeped. The sound of the biometric lock disengaging was like a gunshot in the quiet room. Edlyn straightened her spine, forcing her breathing to slow.

Arno walked in. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He didn't look at her. He loosened his tie with a sharp, jerky motion and threw his jacket onto the cream-colored sofa.

Edlyn stood up. It was part of the protocol. The dutiful wife greets the husband. She walked toward him, reaching for the jacket to hang it up.

As she got close, the smell hit her. It wasn't just the cold night air. It was antiseptic. Sharp, medicinal, chemical. And beneath that, a faint, floral sweetness. Orchids.

Arno sidestepped her, avoiding her touch as if she were contagious.

"Still up?" he asked. His voice was gravelly, devoid of warmth. "I don't recall a clause in the contract that requires waiting."

Edlyn bit the inside of her lip. She raised her hands and signed, Are you hungry?

Arno glanced at the cold soup on the table. His lip curled.

"Dump it. I don't eat garbage."

He walked past her toward the master bedroom. He didn't ask about her day. He didn't ask why she was awake. He simply existed in a space where she was furniture.

Edlyn stood there for a moment, her hands empty. Then she followed him.

In the bedroom, Arno was already stripping off his shirt. His back was a landscape of tense muscle. He threw the shirt into the hamper and walked into the bathroom. He didn't close the door fully.

Edlyn heard the shower turn on. She looked at the nightstand. His tablet was gone, likely in his briefcase, but his personal phone sat on the marble surface. The screen lit up with a notification.

It was a generic alert, but the timing was suspicious.

She walked to the nightstand. The water ran loudly in the shower. Through the frosted glass, she could see his silhouette, head bowed under the spray.

She reached out. Her finger hovered over the phone.

The water stopped abruptly.

Edlyn snatched her hand back and grabbed the glass of water sitting next to the phone. She brought it to her lips just as Arno stepped out, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Water dripped from his hair onto his chest.

He stopped when he saw her. His eyes narrowed. They were the color of steel, unyielding and cold.

"What are you doing?"

Edlyn lowered the glass. She took a step toward him. She reached out, placing her hand on his damp arm. It was a test. A probe. She needed to know if he was human tonight.

Arno's muscles bunched under her fingers. For a second, he did nothing. Then, he grabbed her wrist. His grip was hard, bordering on painful. He pulled her hand away from his skin.

"Is this a new strategy?" he asked. His voice was low, mocking. "Trying to increase your value?"

Edlyn shook her head. She tried to look into his eyes, to find the man she had married, even if it was a sham.

Arno dropped her wrist.

"I'm sleeping in the study," he said. "I have to manage some asset volatility."

Asset volatility. That was what he called the woman in the hospital. A fluctuation in his portfolio.

He walked to the closet, grabbed a fresh set of lounge wear, and left the room.

Edlyn stood alone in the master suite. The bed was huge and empty. She looked at the nightstand.

He had taken the clothes. He had taken his watch. But in his haste, or perhaps his arrogance, he had left the phone.

Edlyn stared at the black rectangle. It was a trap. Or it was a key.

She reached out and picked it up. The metal was cool against her sweating palm.