Chapter 2

It was close to midnight when I returned to the mansion.

The cavernous house was as silent as a tomb, turning me, its sole living occupant, into a ghost haunting its halls.

I didn't turn on the lights. Guided by habit, I retrieved the first-aid kit from the foyer closet and sank onto the cold living room rug.

Cold moonlight fell across the ruined flesh of my hand.

I dipped a cotton swab in antiseptic and began to clean the wound, inch by agonizing inch.

The sting of the antiseptic biting into raw flesh was the first clarifying sensation all night, a sharp, bitter affirmation that I was still alive.

But what antiseptic could reach, let alone heal, the wound within?

I once believed I had lost only my voice.

Tonight, I understood the deeper truth: in Edward's eyes, I had long ago forfeited any right to dignity.

Passing the living room corner, I saw Lucky, the Samoyed, asleep in his plush bed, surrounded by toys Edward had given him earlier.

A pang of envy struck me.

At least when Edward was in a good mood, he would call Lucky's name softly and stroke his head affectionately.

I, on the other hand, was only fetched from the shadows when he required the ornament of "Mrs. Grant" for public display.

After tending to my wound, I collapsed onto the sofa, my thoughts a tangled knot.

My phone screen lit up with a news alert.

The headline read: [Business Titan Edward Grant and Wife Radiate Couple Goals at Charity Gala.]

The photo showed him, tall and commanding, beside me in the white gown he had chosen, a placid smile on my lips.

But more had happened that evening. His new executive assistant had thrown an entire glass of red wine onto the front of my dress in front of everyone.

I had stood frozen and helpless as the young, beautiful woman offered a flustered apology, her hand reaching out as if to help.

Instinctively, I stepped back. To the onlookers, my recoil read as cold, ungracious spite.

And my husband? He had merely watched, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Only when the murmurs grew too loud did he finally saunter over. He drew me behind him and offered the crowd a soft smile.

"You'll have to forgive her," he said, his tone light. "My wife is... particular. She can't speak. But honestly, it makes my life easier."

That single word, "particular," crushed what remained of my dignity. He had effectively framed my muteness as a virtue, transforming me into a docile exhibit for their admiration.

The crowd chuckled and murmured approval, calling him a good sport.

No one saw my hands clenched behind my back, nails digging crescents into my own palms.

That night, for the first time, I didn't stay up waiting for him.

Deep in the night, I was roused by the familiar weight of him settling over me.

Edward, reeking of whiskey, pulled me against him from behind.

His mouth found the back of my neck. The kiss was cold, devoid of desire, an act of pure venting and punishment.

I lay rigid and utterly still.

He felt my stiffness. "What's this?" his voice slurred near my ear. "Still sulking over the gala?"

He continued, "Anna, remember your place. A mute in Mrs. Grant's seat. You should be grateful for the honor."

That night, I felt as if my soul had floated to the ceiling, looking down with cold detachment as he took my body.

In the dark, silent tears seeped into the pillowcase.

Just when I was convinced I would slowly rot within this suffocating marriage, an unexpected turn arrived.

I pulled the pregnancy test I had bought the previous week from the bathroom drawer.

Seeing the two stark red lines, my heart seemed to stop for a full beat before hammering against my ribs.

I was pregnant.

Edward and I had a child on the way.

In that instant, a sliver of light pierced the dead stillness of my world.

This child became the sole lifeline I could grasp in my endless purgatory.

He might never love me, but he would love his own child, wouldn't he?

For the sake of our child, might he look at me anew?

Even if only for a moment.

Clutching that fragile, dust-like hope to my heart, I gripped the slim plastic stick as if it were my last tether to life.

I began to imagine how I would tell Edward.

I kept the secret to myself, hoping to surprise him on our wedding anniversary.