Obsessed with His Unwanted Mute Bride

to

as they formed shapes that screamed what her voice never could. But Diro

piece of her soul. Three years. Three goddamn years of this, and still her heart hammered ag

e expensive fabric seemed to mock her here she was, living in luxury, married to on

ced through the air above her, dripping with venom. "

. The bastard knew exactly what he was asking. Knew she couldn't speak, couldn't scream, couldn't

Diro. Ple

looking. He

e her skull like bullets. *You know I can't talk, so you just do whatever you want. When are you

ce eyes as he stood over Tommy Richardson, who'd shoved Beverly into the mud and called h

e Diro had snarled, his voic

was the man who'd once looked

y three years ago when this stranger wearing

'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

d whispered then. Too

was her only rebellion, the only way she could say no in a world that had stolen

volted. "Just lie there like a corp

so broken it barely qualified as human. Something inside her chest cracked not broke,

lam the bathroom door so hard the entire room shook. Only then did she let the tears

ly lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how much mo

me like a

ain. She moved like a ghost through their opulent bedroom, every step echoing in the silence. The morn

when sh

n his nightstand, lit up with a mess

eet date last night. When are you going to love me like you a

t just before it hit the floor, but the damage was done. The wor

e sk

n who was fucking her husband thought of her. And

here deep in her chest, the last piece of hope

room doo

ars of survival. Diro emerged, steam rolling off his shoulders, a towel slung low around his

when he noticed her p

e anything

ad, the lie sliding off her like water. She'd become an expert

sted he didn't believe her

ht of his presence. Behind her, she heard him snatch up his phone

an. The tears came without warning, hot and fast and unstoppab

tal. A sound tore from her throat raw, animalistic, barely human

unded toward

ce twisted with fury instead of concern. "Who told y

burned hand against her chest. Even her pain was wrong

d. His touch was clinical as he cleaned the burn, his movements efficient but devoid of any warmth. Beverly

nothing there but

w is my mother's birthday, and I don't want you showing up looking like some wounded an

ing her standing in the kitchen with her f

was what dying felt like not all at once, but slowly, piece by piece,

iation. More pain. More reminders that in the Carter family, she was n

in three years, Beverly wondered if maybe just maybe it wa