As a powerful CEO, he had everything—money, influence, and a carefully crafted public image. That’s why no one could know about his wife.

His marriage to you wasn’t out of love but a business deal. And you weren’t just any woman—you were mute. Or at least, that’s what he had been told.

At first, you barely spoke. You lived in separate rooms, your interactions limited to polite nods. You worked as a sign language interpreter, spending most of your time away. He didn’t mind. Keeping his distance made things easier.

But over time, things changed.

One evening, as he passed the living room, he saw you struggling to open a jar. He sighed and stepped in.

“Give it to me.”

You looked up, surprised, but handed it over. With a quick twist, he opened it and placed it back in your hands.

“You could’ve asked for help.”

You smiled, then lifted your hands to sign. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t fluent, but he had been secretly learning. “No problem.”

That was the first real interaction between you two. Slowly, you started acknowledging each other more. Small gestures. Short conversations—him speaking, you signing. The walls between you began to crumble.

But then, everything shattered.

One night, as he walked past your study, he heard a voice—your voice.

“I know, Mom,” you sighed over the phone. “I have to keep pretending. He can’t know I can actually speak.”

His blood ran cold.

Stepping forward, he pushed the door open. You turned, eyes widening in horror as you saw him standing there.

“Pretending?” His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with something unreadable. “You can talk?”