Silas Stoneheart.
I stare.
He's stepping down from the helicopter stairs—slow, like the world can wait, like nothing has ever rushed him. Behind him, his secretary moves like a shadow stitched to his back.
Attached. Silent. Watching everything with eyes that don't blink enough.
My eyes widen.
I can't blink either.
Sunlight catches in his brown hair, turning it molten—like honey, like amber burning softly in the light.
He steps down. One stair. Then another. Slow. Steady. Each movement precise, like he's measuring the world before trusting it with his weight.
His skin so pale it catches light. Reflects it.
Glows.
He looks like a rare Omega.
The thought arrives unbidden, unwanted.
Not a Beta. Not... this.
He stops in front of me. One stair above.
Close enough to invade my space.
Our eyes lock.
I'm still staring. Can't stop. His eyes are brown too—but not ordinary brown. Deep. Warm. The kind of brown that holds light instead of swallowing it.
Catching the sun exactly the way light hits a jewel—cut clean, burning from inside.
Like there's something hidden there. Something waiting.
A soft smile spreads across his lips.
Not mocking. Not nervous. Not polite.
Just... there. Like he's been smiling at me his whole life and I'm only now noticing. Like I'm supposed to know what it means.
Then—
Ahm... ahmm...
A fake cough. Sharp. Deliberate. Slicing through the moment like glass.
I blink. Quick. Too quick. Turn.
Dad and Mom standing behind me. Dad's eyes fixed on mine.
Narrowed.
The look that's ended wars between us before they began.
"Son."
His voice smooth on the surface, sharp underneath. The voice that sounds like a suggestion but cuts like a command.
"Welcome your bride."
I stare at him.
I'm already standing here. In front of the helicopter. Like a servant greeting his master at the gate.
What more does you want from me?
Dad's soft smile—the one he wears for strangers, for business partners, for anyone who needs to see the mask—falters.
Curls at the edges into something forced. Something that costs him effort to maintain.
his mind screams
{Offer him a hand. Politely. Or you want me to disown you right here? In front of everyone?}
I roll my eyes. Let him see it.
This selfish man. This entire family.
I look back at Silas. A frustrated sigh slips from my lips—I don't try to hide it. Don't try to soften it. Let it hang in the air between us.
He probably hears.
Anyway.
Who cares.
I offer my hand.
He looks at it.
That soft smile still there—does he have any other expression?—and places his hand in mine.
Warm.
Steady.
His fingers close around my palm like he's done this before. Like he's not afraid of me.
Like my anger is just weather to him—something that passes, nothing that touches.
He steps down.
We start walking. Just a few steps. Together. His hand still in mine. The manicured lawn cushions our steps, petals catching against our ankles.
I inhale. Sharp. Surprised at myself.
Trying to catch something—scent, pheromones, anything that tells me what he is.
Nothing.
Blank.
Empty.
Like reaching into a room and finding no furniture. No walls. No floor.
He's really a Beta.
But his appearance—
I shake the thoughts away. Hard. Violent. Like shaking water from my ears after drowning.
No matter how beautiful he is.
He's just a Beta. And I hate Betas.
I drop his hand. Quick. Like it burned me. Like holding it any longer would cost something I can't afford.
Dad's smile fades. Just a flicker. His eyes sharpen to knives.
{What the hell are you doing?}
I cross my arms. Look away. Completely fed up. Let them deal with their perfect welcome. Let them clean up my mess.
Mom steps forward. Smile bright. Fake bright. The smile she wears at galas when she's dying inside.
"Welcome to Crystal Country, my dear..."
Silas looks at her.
And gives... a smile.
Just a smile.
I stare at him. Is that all he knows how to do?
Just... exist and smile?
Of course. He's mute. What else can he do?
His secretary steps forward. Bows lightly. Polished. Professional. The kind of bow that's been practiced in mirrors.
"Mr. Roselle. Mrs. Roselle." Voice smooth as oil on water.
"We thank you with our sincere heart for this warm welcome."
Dad's smile returns. Wide now. Easy. The mask back in place.
"Why wouldn't we welcome you warmly? You're family now."
Family. The word lands wrong in my chest. Foreign. Poisonous.
Mom moves closer. Reaches out like she might touch Silas's face—stops herself just in time. Restraint learned through years of pretending.
"Ahh, son." Her voice soft. Almost genuine. Almost.
"You're so beautiful. More than I thought."
That same quiet curve touches his lips again.
Just a smile.
Mom gestures gracefully toward the terrace.
"Let's sit."
They walk. Settle onto the couches arranged in the shade. Silk cushions in soft creams. Cold drinks sweating on crystal tables. Like this is a party.
Like this is joy. Like this isn't a transaction dressed in flowers.
I'm still standing where they left me. Frozen between the helicopter and the mansion. Alone in the space where no one's looking.
I have no attention left for this. This fake welcome. This fake happiness. This entire performance.
I turn. Start walking back inside.
Club. Whiskey. Darkness. Anything that makes my mind stop spinning.
Anything that drowns the image of brown eyes catching sunlight.
"Ellis."
Dad's voice. Sharp. Commanding. Slicing through my escape.
My steps stop.
I welcomed their precious bride. I held his hand. I played my part for the cameras, for the servants, for whatever eyes are watching. What more does he want from me?
I take a deep breath. Let it fill my lungs. Let it settle my pulse.
Turn.
Dad stares. Angry now. The mask slipping at the edges. His jaw tight, his eyes hard.
"Come and join us."
"I have something urgent to handle."
Dad's jaw tightens further. A muscle twitches near his temple.
{Ellis. Don't test my patience. Not today. Not here.}
I almost laugh.
Who cares?
Then—
My gaze shifts. Uncontrollable. Drawn like metal to magnet.
Silas is watching me.
His brown eyes—jewel-bright, burning soft—fixed on my face.
Reading something I can't hide. Seeing something I don't want seen.
I stare back. Let him see everything. Let my angry gaze speak the words my mouth can't form here.
I don't like you. I don't want you. I'm not ready for this marriage. If you don't want to regret this—leave.
Now. Go back to wherever you came from. Save yourself before I destroy you.
I turn.
Start walking.
My fists clench at my sides. Tight. Shaking. Nails biting into palms.
He has a beautiful face. Fine. I see it. Everyone sees it.
But that doesn't mean I'm ready to make him my life partner.
He's still a Beta.
And the worst part—
He can't even speak.
How ridiculous.