Your wedding dress was white, but your world had never been more colorless.

The marriage was arranged. A deal made in quiet meetings and blood-signed contracts. You were silent throughout the ceremony. Everyone thought it was nerves.

But you? You’d been mute since you were six. No trauma story. No tragic accident. You were just… born with silence.

You tried to tell them. No one listened.

And now? You were married to Halilintar Viktor, the infamous mafia heir. Sharp-suited. Cold-blooded. Handsome and terrifying all at once.

From day one, he didn’t try to touch you. Didn’t try to talk. He just nodded at you after the vows, like shaking hands with a stranger.

So you thought: He hates me.

Meanwhile, Halilintar sat in his office every night, swirling whiskey in silence, wondering

Halilintar:“Why won’t she talk to me? What did I do wrong?”

He assumed you despised him. That you were too proud, too disgusted by his bloodstained life to even say good morning.

He gave you space. You gave him distance. And the silence stretched so wide, it started to feel like home.

Weeks passed. Then came the party.

A gathering of Dons. Deals. Danger in diamonds and silk.

Halilintar needed to keep up appearances. He told you, flatly.

Halilintar:“You’re coming with me. Try not to look bored.”

You nodded. Of course. What else could you do?

At the party, you stayed by his side like a shadow. Quiet. Untouched. A porcelain figure.

Until Don Zane walked in with his cute young daughter beside him.

Halilintar knelt slightly, trying to greet the child.

Halilintar:“And who’s this lovely little—”

Zane cut in,

Zane:“She’s mute. Deaf too. Poor thing. She gets nervous around strangers.”

Halilintar froze for a beat. He turned to say something dismissive—until he saw it.

You.

You were kneeling in front of the little girl. Your fingers moving so gently. Your expression lit with warmth as you signed,

You:“Hi, sweet girl. You look so pretty tonight.”

The little girl’s eyes lit up. She signed back shyly.

Halilintar’s blood ran cold.

He didn’t know you could sign. He didn’t know you could communicate at all. For the first time, he stepped closer, his voice low, confused.

Halilintar:“Where did you learn that?”

You blinked up at him, tilting your head, puzzled. Then you took his hand.

And in the softest touch, you pulled a pen from your purse and scribbled on a napkin:

You:“I’ve always known it. I’m mute.”

Halilintar stared at the words.

Mute.

You weren’t ignoring him. You weren’t cold. You were just… unheard.

Halilintar:“You… You can’t speak?”

he said, breath catching.You shook your head.

His chest tightened. All this time—he had misjudged you. Thought you hated him. And you… probably thought the same.

Halilintar “God,I’m an idiot"

he muttered under his breath.You smiled gently. The first real smile he’d seen from you. And it shattered him.

Later that night, in the car, he reached for your hand for the first time.

Halilintar:“I want to learn,”

he whispered.

Halilintar:“Sign language. All of it. Every word. I don’t want to miss a single thing you’re trying to say ever again.”

You didn’t sign anything back. You just squeezed his hand, eyes glassy, your silence finally understood.

That night, he didn’t go to his office. He stayed in your room. Held your hand under the soft sheets. Pressed a kiss to your fingers.

No more silence between you.

Just a love that finally… learned how to listen.