MUTE

For nine years, I lived as a ghost, tethered to Ethan Blackwood.

The art world knew me as "A.N.", the mute artist madly in love with the city's most renowned and arrogant art critic, a story they all enjoyed.

They didn't know the truth: nine years ago, my younger sister Lily was dying, and desperation led me to the mysterious Muse System.

The price for her life? My voice and identity, transforming me into Ethan' s dedicated muse, his silent shadow.

I endured his daily humiliation, his condescending words, and his blatant preference for Vivienne, his "white moonlight," while I mimicked her style, sinking into debt.

Tonight was our seventh anniversary, also my 28th birthday, but he never came home, the special meal growing cold as the clock ticked past midnight.

He finally stumbled in at 2 AM, reeking of alcohol, saw my absence, and woke me with a snarled command: "Draw my bath."

My bare feet slipped on a stray drop of water, sending a searing pain through my leg as I fell hard on the marble floor, but he just watched with pure indifference.

Then his phone chimed, his voice instantly softening, humming a happy tune as he spoke to Vivienne, admiring a sculpture he' d bought her-a fortune spent while I bled myself dry for his approval.

That night, my own sister, Lily, called, shrill with accusation: "Vivienne is so upset! Ethan belongs with her! You need to divorce him and disappear!"