The Womanizer's Mute Wife

KIER

Three days later — Family Estate Mansion

“Y–Young Master,” Richard called out just as I was about to step into my car.

I paused, hand on the door handle, jaw tightening. Not this again.

I turned slowly. “What is it, Richard?”

He fidgeted, eyes darting like he was searching for the right words. “It’s about your wife, sir.”

My patience was already thinning. “What about her?”

“She hasn’t left her room since she arrived,” he said, voice low. “Barely eats. Doesn’t talk. The maids are... worried.”

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. “She can’t talk, remember? And if she’s eating, even a little, she’s fine. Let her sulk.”

“Young Master, it’s been three days,” he said, almost pleading. “She doesn’t even open the curtains. She also doesn't…”

I opened the car door with a sharp click. “That’s her problem, not mine.”

Richard flinched at the sound, his mouth pressing into a thin line. I ignored him and slid behind the wheel. This whole marriage was a mess I never asked for, a contract signed in my father’s study, not at an altar.

Now I had to run his empire too, pretend to be the perfect son, the perfect husband.

The drive to work was short, but every minute felt like a slow grind against my nerves. By the time I pulled into the company’s lot, I was already tired.

Employees lined up at the entrance, bowing slightly as if I were some prince. I didn’t even glance at them. Inside, my father stood waiting, his hands behind his back, gaze as cold as ever.

“You’re on time,” he said without looking at me.

“Barely,” I muttered.

He started his speech before we even reached the elevator, numbers, reports, expectations. The boardroom was full of stiff suits and empty words. I sat there, nodding when necessary, pretending to care.

But my thoughts kept drifting back to the mansion.

Why was she doing this? Was it fear? Spite? Or just her way of making me feel guilty? I didn’t even remember her name without checking the damn marriage certificate.

Still, something about the thought of her locked away in silence made my chest tighten, a feeling I didn’t want to name.

“Kier,” my father snapped suddenly, pulling me out of my head. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” I lied, straightening in my seat.

“Good. Because you’ll be handling tomorrow’s investor meeting.”

“Fine,” I said, though I barely heard him. I just wanted the day to end.

By the time I left the office, dusk had swallowed the city. The ride home was quiet, but my head wasn’t. The echo of Richard’s voice lingered.

When I pulled up to the mansion, he was there again, standing by the door like he’d been waiting all day. His face said it all before he spoke.

“She still hasn’t come out,” he said quietly.

Something in me shifted, not pity, not worry, just an uneasy feeling crawling up my spine.

I dropped my keys on the table and headed upstairs. The air in the hallway felt heavy, still. Even the servants’ whispers had stopped.

I stopped at her door. Knocked once. “It’s Kier. Open up.”

Silence.

I knocked harder. “If you’re going to hide, at least eat properly. You’re not a ghost yet.”

Still nothing.

My irritation flared. I grabbed the knob and twisted. The door swung open without resistance.

That’s when I smelled it, faint at first, then thick and sour, like something rotting beneath perfume.

My stomach clenched.

“What the hell…” I muttered, flicking on the light.

And then I froze.