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The Mute Bride Is The Secret Mastermind
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The Mute Bride Is The Secret Mastermind Novel Cover

The Mute Bride Is The Secret Mastermind

I was the titan of Wall Street until an indictment and an ankle monitor turned my penthouse into a gilded cage. To save face, I was forced into a marriage with Elza, a "mute" girl from the Schmidt family whom I treated as nothing more than a silent piece of furniture while my empire crumbled. The night I was poisoned at a high-society gala, a mysterious server in an oversized uniform saved my life with terrifying, clinical precision. They disappeared into the night, leaving me with a silver cufflink and a burning obsession to find the shadow who held my life in their hands. Back home, I took my frustration out on Elza, telling her she was "exhausting to look at" and "smelled like sickness" after her charity visits. Her own family treated her like a stray dog, trying to humiliate her at the next gala by dressing her in what they claimed was a cheap knockoff while whispering to the press that she was nothing but a high-end escort. "Stay out of my way," I would growl at her, never noticing the steel in her eyes. I sat at my table, watching my rivals' stocks plummet and wondering who "The Zero"-the legendary financial ghost-really was. I never suspected that the woman I ignored was the same one solving the equations that were currently burning Manhattan to the ground. The injustice peaked when Elza stood before the city's elite, not as a victim, but as a queen. She dropped over a hundred million dollars to buy back her family's legacy, revealing a secret fortune that made my own empire look like pocket change. As I grabbed her wrist and saw the small red mole hidden beneath her watch, the truth hit me like a physical blow. The silent wife I had despised was the savior I had been hunting, and she was finally done playing the victim. "We have a lot to talk about, wife," I whispered, realizing I had been sleeping next to the most dangerous woman in the world.
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Chapter 7

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

Bianca looked down at her glittering dress as if it were made of radioactive waste. "But... Clotilde said..."

Clotilde stepped back, holding up her hands. "I... I was told it was a custom piece! I had no idea!"

Preston Hayes released Clotilde's arm. He took a step away from her. Association with a counterfeit scandal was bad for business.

Richard Schmidt cleared his throat, trying to pivot. He walked toward Elza, a strained smile on his face. "Well, clearly my daughter has inherited the family eye for quality. Elza, darling—"

Barron stepped in. He wrapped his arm around Elza's waist. His hand was warm against the velvet. He pulled her flush against him.

"Back off, Richard," Barron said, his voice low and dangerous. "Five minutes ago you were apologizing for her. Don't pretend you know her now."

Richard stopped, his face darkening.

Elza looked up at Barron. His jaw was set, his eyes hard. He was defending her. It was possessive, yes. It was about his own ego, yes. But it was a shield.

Bianca burst into tears and ran from the room, her crystals jingling ridiculously.

Clotilde was cornered. She needed to regain control. She caught Victoria's eye.

Victoria nodded. She raised her voice, pitching it to carry. "It is amazing, truly. But one does wonder... how does a girl with no access to her trust fund afford a priceless prototype? I've heard rumors... about certain private clubs she visits."

The implication hung in the air. Escort.

The crowd gasped. The sympathy shifted back. Of course. She sold her body for the dress.

Barron went rigid. His grip on Elza's waist tightened to the point of pain. "What did you say?"

He was going to kill Victoria. He was going to tear this whole gala down.

Elza placed her hand over his on her waist. Stop.

She stepped out of his embrace. She walked over to the table where Victoria had set her drink.

Elza picked up a full glass of champagne.

She turned to Victoria. She didn't throw it. That would be trashy.

She simply turned her wrist and poured the champagne onto the floor, directly onto Victoria's satin shoes.

It was a libation. A drink for the dead.

She looked at Victoria with eyes that said: You are dead to me.

Then, she turned her back. She walked toward the stage where the auctioneer was setting up.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the auctioneer announced, trying to break the tension. "We are moving to the main event. The North Lot of the Schmidt Estate."

Elza stood at the front. She reached out and took a paddle. Number 707.

She raised it.

Continue to next part

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