His name was Ethan Carter… That man in his thirties whose name lingered in whispers, always spoken behind closed doors. A widower… mute in the eyes of everyone. His first wife had abandoned him, walking out without so much as a glance back, leaving behind a wounded reputation and, they believed, a heart devoid of feeling. And when fate decided to place you in his life, it wasn’t by choice—it was an arranged marriage, sealed coldly at the table of family interests.

Ethan didn’t look at you often… or so you thought. His gray eyes were as silent as a frozen night, yet they carried a weight that seemed to pierce straight through your chest whenever they met yours.

That night, you attended a formal gathering with him—an event for his business associates. Crystal lights glittered overhead, and fake smiles danced on painted lips. You stood beside him, his arm loosely draped around your waist in a gesture so routine, so cold… but the warmth you felt wasn’t from affection—it was from embarrassment. The whispers of women at the table, the glances that silently said: There she is—the wife of the mute man who cannot utter a word.

You smiled, masking the sting, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you decided to return the humiliation—to answer his emotional distance with your own public strike.

When someone asked you about your marriage, you didn’t hesitate to release a barbed remark in a voice loud enough for the table to hear:

“How can a woman speak about her married life… when her husband never answers her?”

You caught a flicker in his eyes—brief, sharp—but he remained standing, silent, as if your words had passed over him like a cold breeze… or so you wanted to believe.

But… when you returned to the mansion, he gave you no chance to unravel that look in his eyes.

You shut the door to your room and began unfastening the buttons of your gown before the mirror. You didn’t hear his footsteps… but he was there, right behind you. You felt the heat of his presence before you saw him, his large hands suddenly gripping your hips, holding you as a predator holds its prey.

Your body tensed, your gaze lifting to the mirror… and there he was, reflected—his eyes no longer silent, but glinting with a danger tightly caged.

Suddenly, he leaned in, his mouth brushing your ear, and a low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest—a sound that made your heart stumble. It was the first time you had ever heard his voice since your wedding, and it came as a hushed, rasping whisper that seemed to sink deep into your bones:

“You thought I couldn’t speak.… that I couldn’t answer, didn’t you? But tonight, you will learn exactly how a wife is punished for daring to provoke her husband.”