Obsessed with His Unwanted Mute Bride

Name: Obsessed with His Unwanted Mute Bride
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Ezeh Rejoice

Mafia | Ongoing

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Raised as a Foster child in the powerful Carter crime family, Beverly has harbored deep feelings for Diro Carter, the heir who once served as her childhood protector. Born mute, she struggles to communicate her emotions in a marriage forged from obligation Diro wed her only to fulfill his dying grandfather's final decree. Trapped in a loveless union, Beverly endures Diro's psychological torment and his mistress Faye's calculated efforts to destroy her. Through every betrayal, Beverly holds onto a fragile hope that Diro might remember the bond they shared as children. Silenced by her condition but not her spirit, Beverly faces an impossible choice: fight for a love that may no longer exist or escape before the toxic marriage destroys her completely.

Family Modern Gold digging Betrayal Attractive Romance Billionaires Mafia Hidden identities Arranged marriage

Chapter 10 The Debt

Yesterday 19:05

Chapter 1 Silent Suffering

"Stop."

Beverly's hands carved the word into the darkness, her fingers trembling as they formed shapes that screamed what her voice never could. But Diro couldn't see her desperate plea or maybe he could, and simply didn't care.

His weight crushed down on her, stealing her breath, stealing her dignity, stealing another piece of her soul. Three years. Three goddamn years of this, and still her heart hammered against her ribs like a caged bird every time he touched her with those cold, mechanical hands.

The silk sheets beneath her felt like sandpaper against her skin. Every fiber of the expensive fabric seemed to mock her here she was, living in luxury, married to one of the most powerful men in the city, and she was dying inside one touch at a time.

"If you don't want this, then talk." Diro's voice sliced through the air above her, dripping with venom. "Open your mouth and scream. Tell me you don't want it."

The cruelty hit her like a slap. Beverly's chest seized, her lungs forgetting how to work. He knew. The bastard knew exactly what he was asking. Knew she couldn't speak, couldn't scream, couldn't give him the refusal he was demanding. Her hands flew up again, signing frantically in the darkness.

*Please, Diro. Please stop.*

But he wasn't looking. He never looked.

*You're asking me this because you know I'm mute,* her mind screamed, the words ricocheting inside her skull like bullets. *You know I can't talk, so you just do whatever you want. When are you going to treat me like I'm your wife instead of some toy you can break whenever you feel like it?*

The memories slammed into her without warning Diro at fifteen, bloodied knuckles and fierce eyes as he stood over Tommy Richardson, who'd shoved Beverly into the mud and called her "the freak who can't talk." Diro had been magnificent that day, her protector, her hero.

"Nobody touches her," teenage Diro had snarled, his voice shaking with rage. "Nobody."

Where was that boy now? Where was the man who'd once looked at her like she hung the moon?

Dead. He was dead, killed on their wedding day three years ago when this stranger wearing Diro's face had spoken words that gutted her.

"Don't fall in love with me." His voice had been arctic, final. "I'm only marrying you because you're my grandfather's charity case. If not for that, I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. I don't have any business with you. You know I don't love you, so don't make the mistake of loving me back. I'm just doing this to honor a dead man's wish."

Too late, her heart had whispered then. Too late, it whispered now.

Beverly turned away from him, curling into herself like a wounded animal. Her body was her only rebellion, the only way she could say no in a world that had stolen her voice. She felt him pause, felt his frustration build like pressure in a cooker.

"Fine." His voice was disgusted, revolted. "Just lie there like a corpse then. Like a fucking dead body."

The words hit her harder than his fists ever could. Beverly's breath hitched, a sound so broken it barely qualified as human. Something inside her chest cracked not broke, because there wasn't enough left to break. Just cracked, like ice under too much weight.

He rolled off her with a violence that made the mattress bounce. Beverly heard him slam the bathroom door so hard the entire room shook. Only then did she let the tears fall, silent and scalding, soaking into the pillow that muffled her soundless sobs.

The shower turned on. Steam crept under the door. And Beverly lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how much more of herself she could lose before there was nothing left.

Morning came like a punishment.

Beverly dragged herself from the bed, her body aching in places that had nothing to do with physical pain. She moved like a ghost through their opulent bedroom, every step echoing in the silence. The morning light streaming through the windows felt obscene, too bright for the darkness living in her chest.

That's when she saw it.

Diro's phone, carelessly abandoned on his nightstand, lit up with a message that made her world tilt sideways.

*"Can't believe you went home to that mute skunk after our sweet date last night. When are you going to love me like you always say you do? When are you going to start showing it? - F"*

The phone slipped from Beverly's nerveless fingers. She caught it just before it hit the floor, but the damage was done. The words had burned themselves into her retinas, branded onto her brain.

*Mute skunk.*

That's what Faye called her. That's what the woman who was fucking her husband thought of her. And Diro God, Diro probably laughed when she said it.

Beverly's vision blurred. The room spun. Somewhere deep in her chest, the last piece of hope she'd been clutching finally crumbled to dust.

The bathroom door opened.

Beverly jerked upright, schooling her face into the blank mask she'd perfected over three years of survival. Diro emerged, steam rolling off his shoulders, a towel slung low around his hips. He was beautiful and had always been beautiful and that somehow made everything worse.

His dark eyes narrowed when he noticed her proximity to his phone.

"Did you see anything on my phone?"

The question hung in the air like a noose. Beverly shook her head, the lie sliding off her like water. She'd become an expert at deception, at hiding the bleeding wounds he inflicted daily.

"Good." But his tone suggested he didn't believe her. "Go make breakfast. Now."

Beverly nodded and fled, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence. Behind her, she heard him snatch up his phone, heard the soft beep as he deleted the evidence of his betrayal.

In the kitchen, Beverly's hands shook as she reached for the pan. The tears came without warning, hot and fast and unstoppable. Through the blur, she misjudged the distance to the stove.

White-hot agony exploded across her palm as flesh met burning metal. A sound tore from her throat raw, animalistic, barely human. The pan crashed to the floor, the noise echoing like gunshots.

Footsteps pounded toward the kitchen.

"What the hell" Diro appeared in the doorway, his face twisted with fury instead of concern. "Who told you to make food? Don't we have a cook in this house?"

Beverly stared at him through her tears, cradling her burned hand against her chest. Even her pain was wrong in his eyes. Even her suffering was somehow her fault.

He grabbed her wrist without gentleness, dragging her to the medical cabinet like she was a misbehaving child. His touch was clinical as he cleaned the burn, his movements efficient but devoid of any warmth. Beverly watched his face, searching desperately for any trace of the boy who'd once kissed her scraped knees better.

Nothing. There was nothing there but cold indifference.

"This better heal fast," he said, wrapping her hand with practiced efficiency. "Tomorrow is my mother's birthday, and I don't want you showing up looking like some wounded animal. Make sure you're presentable. When I get back tonight, we're going to the party."

He released her hand and walked away, leaving her standing in the kitchen with her fresh bandage and her freshly broken heart.

Beverly stared at the medical tape around her palm and wondered if this was what dying felt like not all at once, but slowly, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but an empty shell pretending to be alive.

Tomorrow's party loomed ahead of her like a death sentence. More humiliation. More pain. More reminders that in the Carter family, she was nothing but a beautiful ghost haunting the edges of their perfect lives.

The silence pressed in around her, and for the first time in three years, Beverly wondered if maybe just maybe it was time to stop hoping for a miracle that would never come.