His Mute Bride

CHAPTER 3

The next two weeks passed in a blur of stressful preparations. Fred Smith sent high-end designers and tailors straight to the house to fit Daphne for a wedding dress.

Instead of shouting or threatening her like usual, Evelyn shifted tactics. She became terrifyingly sweet. Whenever the tailors were adjusting the fabric, Evelyn would hover nearby, smiling warmly while smoothing down Daphne's hair.

"You look so beautiful, darling," Evelyn murmured, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "After everything our family has been through since your father passed, it warms my heart to see you stepping up to take care of us. I know you won't forget about your sister’s tuition or the bills here once you're settled in that mansion. You've always been such a dutiful girl."

The gentle, manipulative pressure made Daphne’s stomach turn far more than a scream ever could. Meanwhile, Delilah just sat in the corner, tearing tape off shipping boxes with aggressive snaps, unable to even look at her. Daphne kept her mouth shut, focusing entirely on packing her things. She refused to let them see how much the guilt trips weighed on her.

Conrad never called. He never visited. The only communication Daphne received came from Fred Smith’s personal assistant, who emailed over rigid schedules and legal documents.

The day before the wedding, a massive delivery arrived at the house a beautiful bouquet of pristine white roses. Delilah rushed to intercept the card, hoping it was a mistake.

"Who sent them?" Evelyn asked, leaning over the couch.

Delilah scoffed loudly and threw the card onto the carpet. "It's for the mute. And it's not even from the groom. It's from his brother, Julian."

Daphne walked over and picked the card up from the floor. It read:

Wishing you peace before the big day. Don't worry about tomorrow. I'll make sure Conrad behaves himself.

— Julian

Daphne held the card against her chest. Julian’s quiet kindness felt like a shield against the suffocating atmosphere of her house. But as she looked at the roses, a tiny thought crossed her mind why is the cousin being so attentive when the groom hasn't sent a single word? She shook the thought away, needing to focus on surviving the next twenty-four hours.

The morning of the wedding was a chaotic mess of tulle and hairspray. Evelyn and Delilah spent hours fussing over their own outfits, completely ignoring Daphne until the private town car arrived.

When Daphne finally stepped out of her bedroom wearing the white silk gown, the house went completely quiet. The dress was elegant and simple, trailing slightly behind her.

Evelyn walked up to her, adjusting the veil with gentle fingers that felt like ice. "Perfect," Evelyn whispered, patting her cheek. "Go secure our future, Daphne."

Daphne didn't look back as she walked out the door.

When she arrived at the massive, private church, the sheer scale of the day finally hit her. Fred Smith had hired a full security team to block the media at the gates. She was led into a small, quiet waiting room to wait for the ceremony to begin.

Left alone, Daphne walked over to the full-length mirror. A bride stared back at her. White silk, flawless makeup, a perfect veil. Yet she felt nothing like a bride. She felt like someone standing at the very edge of a cliff, about to step off into the fog. Her lungs felt tight. Her hands shook so violently she had to press them against the cold glass of the vanity table to make them stop. I am about to marry a stranger, she realized, the gravity of it crashing down on her. A man who wants nothing to do with me.

The door clicked open, breaking her panic. Julian walked in, looking incredibly sharp in a black tuxedo. He smiled warmly, but when he saw her pale face, his expression softened with sympathy.

"Wow, Daphne," Julian said softly. "You look absolutely stunning. Truly."

Daphne managed a small nod, raising her hands to sign: Thank you, Julian. Is Conrad here?

"Yes, he's out by the altar with his father," Julian said, taking a step closer. He lowered his voice, his eyes scanning her face. "Look, Daphne, I’m not going to lie to you. Conrad is being incredibly difficult right now. He thinks this entire wedding is a trap to ruin his corporate image. Just keep your head held high. I’m standing right behind him as his best man, and I promise you, I’ve got your back. You don't have to face him alone."

There was something intense in Julian's eyes a level of devotion that felt a little heavy for a brother-in-law. Before Daphne could process it, Julian gave her a reassuring nod and slipped back out of the room.

A moment later, the door clicked open again, and Conrad walked in.

He looked undeniably handsome in his tailored tuxedo, but his jaw was locked in a harsh, tense line. He didn't look at her with disgust this time; he looked like a man carrying the weight of a collapsing building on his shoulders. He closed the door firmly, walked over to the table where Daphne’s notepad and pen were sitting, and loosened his collar slightly, exhaling a long, stressed breath.

"We need to talk before we go out there," Conrad said, his voice flat and direct. "Let’s not pretend this is a fairytale. I am only standing here today because my father threatened to strip me of my position as CEO and everything I’ve built if I didn't honor his old debt to your dad."

Daphne’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sudden understanding. He wasn't just a spoiled jerk; he was trapped under his father's thumb, just like she was under Evelyn's.

She marched over to the table, grabbed her pen, and furiously wrote on the paper: I am not happy about this either. My stepmother manipulated me into this.I am trapped too.

Conrad read the note. He blinked, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his features as he looked up at her. The rigid, arrogant posture he usually held softened just a fraction. He realized, for the first time, that she wasn't a greedy gold-digger out to ruin his life she was a casualty of the exact same storm.

"Good," Conrad said, his voice dropping its icy edge, sounding weary instead. "Then we are on the same page. Since neither of us wants this, let's make it a business arrangement. I had my lawyers draw up a private agreement."

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket and slid it across the table.

"Three years," Conrad said, holding up three fingers. "We stay married for exactly three years. We play the happy couple for the media and my father to keep everyone off our backs. After that, I will file for a quiet, uncontested divorce, and you will walk away with a massive financial settlement. You’ll be free, and you’ll never have to depend on your stepmother again. Do we have a deal?"

Daphne looked at the paper, then up into his tired blue eyes. Three years. It was a sentence in a golden cage, but it had a clear expiration date. And for the first time, Conrad was treating her like an equal partner in a deal, rather than a broken burden.

She picked up the pen, flipped the page, and wrote in firm, clear letters: Three years. Then a divorce. Keep your distance from me, and I will play my part.

Conrad read her reply. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of his lips not of mockery, but of respect for her backbone. "Deal." He took the paper back, tucked it into his jacket, and turned toward the door. "Don't be late to the altar," he said over his shoulder, his tone calmer than before.

The door shut, leaving Daphne alone in the quiet room.

She took a deep, steadying breath. Her hands were no longer shaking. She reached into the hidden pocket of her wedding gown and pulled out a small piece of paper that a church usher had smuggled to her right before she arrived. Written in Mateo’s familiar, messy handwriting were the words:

You are the strongest person I know. Walk in there like you own the place. I’m waiting for your text.

Daphne pressed the note against her heart. She had a contract, a timeline, and a lifeline waiting for her on the outside. She smoothed down the silk of her dress, lifted her chin, and stepped out of the room to face the altar.