I’d been married to Gavin Prescott, third son of the Prescott railroad empire, for a whole damn year—and I was still a virgin.
Aside from sharing meals at the estate’s dining room table, we had zero interaction. Not a single word. Not a single touch. Nothing.
Until one day, I heard his voice.
“Bitter melon again? Does the cook not know how to read? How many damn times do I have to say no bitter melon!”
“Nora Sinclair wearing that sheer little slip again. She trying to seduce me?”
“Silas Sinclair’s an old snake, and his daughter’s gotta be a little viper too. No way I’m falling for that.”
“The second I don’t have to fake being mute, I’m annulling this marriage first thing.”
A cold shiver crawled down my spine.
I glanced sideways at him—at Gavin. His expression didn’t change. His face was stone still and disgustingly perfect, like it had been chiseled by some god with too much free time and no soul.
He noticed me staring.
His eyes darkened. Intense. Piercing.
His lips didn’t move an inch.
“Gavin?” I asked, trying not to tremble.
He didn’t answer. Just signed something with his hands like he always did—mute and impassive as ever.
That’s when it hit me.
I wasn’t hearing him speak.
I was hearing his thoughts.
I sucked in a breath, trying to keep my cool, and went back to pretending to eat. But then his voice echoed again, sharp and clear in my skull:
“Her chest just rose. Oh, real subtle. What a tease.”
I nearly choked on my damn soup. I slammed the spoon down and pulled my shawl tighter.
“Hah. Playing innocent now? Nice try. I’m not falling for it.”
I shot up from my seat so fast he flinched.
His eyes widened. Shocked. Like he couldn’t believe I could move that fast.
I dipped into a polite little curtsy. “Gavin, I’m finished. Please, enjoy your meal.”
And I bolted the hell out of there like my life depended on it.
Behind me, I could still hear his inner monologue.
“She’s baiting me. That old bastard Silas taught his daughter well—just like a damn fox kit.”
Back in my room, I locked the door and chugged down half a glass of cold tea, hands shaking.
I’d just uncovered the biggest damn secret in the whole Prescott estate.
Prince Gavin wasn’t mute.
He was faking it.
But why?
Before I could even start figuring it out, my maid slipped in with a note.
“Miss, the Chancellor says your mother’s fallen ill. He requests you visit the West Wing tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
I knew Grace wasn’t sick.
This was about orders. It always was.
I was born a bastard.
My father, Chancellor Silas Sinclair, got drunk one night and forced himself on a servant girl—Grace Doyle, my mother. Nine months later, I showed up, and we were both shoved into a rundown wing of the family estate like some shameful secret.
Even the maids could boss us around.
Grace bore it all just to keep me fed.
By the time I turned sixteen, she was already coughing up blood most mornings.
One day, she collapsed.
I ran to the front of the estate, dropped to my knees in the marble hall, and begged Silas to call a doctor. For once.
He looked me over like I was cattle at a county fair, then said, “Would you marry Gavin Prescott in place of your sister?”
The Prescotts were one of the wealthiest families on the East Coast. The old kingpin, Henry Prescott, had two sons. Gavin used to be the heir apparent—smart, ruthless, charming—but a sudden illness had left him voiceless and strange. Rumors swirled he’d gone mad.
Silas didn’t want to waste his “precious” daughter Natalie on a broken man.
So he offered me up instead.
And Natalie? She got to marry Prince Lucas, the younger, more ambitious son of the Prescott family.
Silas leaned in and said, “Marry Gavin, and I’ll make sure your mother lives like a queen. Private doctors, silk sheets, anything she wants. Do we have a deal?”
I didn’t have a choice.
He was the most powerful political fixer in the state. Crushing us would be easier than stepping on a spider.
Now, as I walked back through the grand halls of the estate, I wondered—should I tell Silas the truth?
Should I tell him Gavin’s been faking it this whole time?
I was so lost in thought, I didn’t realize I’d wandered back to Gavin’s side of the house until I saw him.
He was sipping tea. Calm. Watching me.
His gaze asked, Where are you going?
But his mind screamed something else entirely.
“Nora smells fucking amazing. That has to be intentional. And her lips… god, those lips. She’s dressed like a damn siren today. She knows what she’s doing.”
“And now she’s staring at me? I get it—I’m hot. But have some shame, lady.”
“Slut.”
My heart nearly dropped out of my chest.
“I need to return to the Sinclair estate for the afternoon,” I said calmly.
“She’s going out? With who? No, hell no. I’m going with her.”
He picked up a pen and scribbled fast on a sheet of vellum:
I’ll accompany you.
I froze.
Couldn’t think of a single good excuse. “Fine.”
When Silas saw us arrive together, he flinched. Just for a second. Then he gave us that snake smile of his.
“Your mother’s been waiting. You should go see her.”
Grace’s rooms in the West Wing had improved since I married into the Prescott family. She even had fresh flowers and clean linens now.
The second she saw me, her eyes welled up.
“Are you okay, sweetheart? Has Gavin hurt you?”
“No. I’m fine. What about you?”
“I’m alright,” she said gently, eyes full of worry.
Our moment was shattered by a forced cough from the hallway.
One of the house matrons.
Grace leaned in and whispered, “Your father wants you to get pregnant. Soon. The chairman’s been bedridden for a week, hasn’t even attended board meetings. The successor’s still undecided. Whether it’s you or Natalie who lands the title of Mrs. Prescott, it will secure the Sinclair foothold either way.”
I caught sight of the matron peeking around the doorframe, clearly trying to gauge my reaction.
I smiled wide, stepped back, and raised my voice.
“Tell Father not to worry. I’ll get it done.”
The carriage rattled down the cobblestone road back to the Prescott estate, and I sat in stiff silence, turning over every word Grace had whispered and every stray thought I’d heard from Gavin’s head.
He was faking his muteness. That much was clear. And if he ever went through with his little daydream about annulling our marriage, then Grace and I? We’d be tossed out like rotting leftovers.
Worse—we knew too many of Silas Sinclair’s dirty secrets. That kind of knowledge didn’t just make you expendable. It made you dangerous.
But if I had a child… maybe Gavin would think twice.
The carriage hit a deep rut, jerking me forward.
I landed square in Gavin’s lap.
My lips brushed his throat, and for a split second, his chest rose like he’d been punched. His mind screamed: “Why the hell is she so soft? Her chest is—”
Jesus Christ.
I froze.
We were pressed together, every inch.
His breath tickled my neck. Warm. Quick. Dangerous.
I tried to pull away, planting a hand on his chest to push myself up. But I moved too fast, and my mouth grazed along his jawline.
He didn’t move. Just looked down at me, half-lidded, unreadable.
His mind purred: “Damn, the old fox trained her well. She’s ten times sharper than any debutante I’ve dealt with.”
I snapped upright, cleared my throat, and whispered, “Are you alright, Gavin?”
He blinked, lips tight, but his thoughts were anything but calm: “Why the hell is my heart racing? Focus. Don’t get distracted by her little tricks.”
I widened my eyes, innocent and sweet as honey. “Gavin?”
He jolted like I’d slapped him, shoved me aside, ran a hand through his hair, straightened his vest, and said nothing.
Typical.
Back at the estate, Gavin vanished.
He started avoiding me like I had the plague, but now I knew the truth. He wasn’t cold. He was scared.
I slipped into a lemon-yellow silk dress with a matching sheer shawl and checked my reflection. The girl staring back had sharp eyes and a plan.
I was going to become the real Mrs. Gavin Prescott. In name. In fact. In power.
That night, I brought his favorite—honey blossom shortcake—into his study.
He was asleep at the desk, candlelight casting shadows across that perfectly cut face. A sketch lay beneath his cheek, half-covered by his hand.
I leaned in. The drawing looked like… a woman.
I reached out to shift the paper.
His eyes snapped open.
“You have no manners, Nora Sinclair,” he said, voice smooth but razor-sharp.
I flinched and turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. I stumbled, landing in his lap.
That goddamn cologne of his wrapped around me like a noose.
He looked into my eyes and murmured, “Can’t blame me this time. You ran straight into my dreams.”
Before I could blink, his mouth crashed onto mine.
His kiss was scorching.
My lungs screamed for air. My knees buckled.
He kissed like he wanted to brand me.
Eyes still closed, lashes brushing my skin, Gavin groaned deep in his throat. My heart detonated in my chest.
I clung to his vest, trembling, every nerve alight. My moan slipped out before I could stop it.
His eyes opened.
And then he shoved me off.
Hard.
I hit the edge of the desk, pain blooming across my hip.
He looked stunned, guilty, furious—all at once.
Then, silence.
He snatched up a pen and scrawled furiously:
What are you doing here? Who let you in?
But his thoughts betrayed him: “That wasn’t a dream. Shit. Did she hear me? Did she hear everything? Should I kill her?”
“No. That kiss… God, she’s poison. But if she’s scheming… I’ll crush her.”
My hands shook as I opened the pastry box.
“I noticed you skipped dinner,” I said, voice trembling. “I thought you might want something sweet.”
The smell of honey and osmanthus filled the room.
Gavin swallowed. His ears flushed.
He waved me out.
I turned, heart pounding, and as the door clicked shut behind me, I heard one last thought:
“Why does she make my whole body burn? Did she drug me? Is this some goddamn love spell? I’m throwing every damn pastry out.”
After that night, I planned to seduce him. Seal the deal. Secure my place.
But he barricaded himself in. Guards at the bedroom. Me, locked out.
Until the day the old king—Henry Prescott—miraculously recovered and announced a family hunting retreat in the Adirondacks. Attendance required. Spouses included.
So I found myself riding behind Gavin on a borrowed mare, pretending not to be terrified.
Spring had kissed the woods into bloom. Sunlight danced through the trees.
For once, I let myself breathe.
Until a shrill voice cut through the air behind me:
“Well, well. Look who they dragged out of the back parlor.”
I turned—and there she was.
Natalie Sinclair.
The pristine daughter of the Sinclair name. My half-sister. My father’s jewel. And judging by that smirk on her carefully powdered face, still every bit the venom-dipped viper I remembered.
“You? On horseback?” Her voice dripped fake sugar. “Go home before you embarrass us all.”
She pulled up beside me, her purebred mare practically gliding.
I smiled politely. “The chairman’s request was very clear. Spouses are required to attend. As Gavin’s wife, I’m right where I belong. Just like you.”
She laughed. Cold. Condescending. Cruel. “Wife? To the mute Prescott? Don’t flatter yourself. He’s barely a real man. But I guess that’s what low-born girls like you are good for—cleaning up someone else’s leftovers. Just like your mother. A glorified laundress playing at being a lady.”
My grip tightened on the reins, but my voice stayed calm. “Mock me all you want. But Gavin was once your fiancé, wasn’t he? And let’s not forget—he’s the legitimate heir. Son of the late Mrs. Prescott. Unlike your new husband.”
Her smile cracked.
“You little bitch,” she hissed. “Who do you think you are, talking back to me? One word to my mother and your whore of a mother won’t get another drop of medicine.”
My heart dropped.
She called me “Annie”—the name they used before I was given a proper one. Before I was allowed dignity. Grace couldn’t read, so she never named me. The maids did, yelling Annie this, Annie that, like I was a stray dog.
It wasn’t until I was married off that I became Nora Sinclair.
Natalie knew what she was doing. And she was aiming right for the softest part of me.
Her eyes gleamed, dark and sharp under perfect brows. She yanked the decorative pin from her hat and jabbed it into my horse’s flank.
“Let’s see if your silent prince can save you now.”
My horse shrieked and bolted.
The wind howled past me as the horse went wild, tearing through the trees.
I pulled hard on the reins, screaming, praying—but it wouldn’t stop. I could see the edge. The cliff.
I braced to jump.
Then—thunder of hooves beside me. Gavin.
He surged up alongside, grabbed my reins with one hand, reached out with the other. “Nora, give me your hand! Now!”
He spoke.
He fucking spoke.
No time to react. I grabbed him. He yanked. I flew.
Onto his horse, into his arms.
Then the sky split. Lightning cracked. Thunder crashed.
His horse reared, panicked. And we fell.
We tumbled down a muddy slope, rain pounding us like bullets. Soaked. Bruised. Alive.
We found a cave.
I gathered kindling and dried leaves. Pulled out a matchbook from my cloak’s secret pocket. Lit a fire.
Gavin raised a brow. “You carry that with you?”
I smirked. “You’re not pretending to be mute anymore?”
He looked away. “You knew?”
I nodded.
He hesitated. “Did the Chancellor know too?”
“No. I never told him.”
His shoulders loosened. For once, he looked… unsure.
“Silas married you off to me to spy, didn’t he? And your mother—he’s got her under his thumb. Why didn’t you say anything?”
I looked straight at him. “You know about Grace?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared into the fire.
“I heard you and Natalie. She called you Annie. That’s not nothing.”
I sighed. “That was my name. Before the marriage. My father didn’t name me. The maids did. And when Grace got sick, he forced me to take Natalie’s place and marry you. Because whether it’s you or Lucas who ends up running this empire—he wanted both cards in his hand.”
Gavin’s jaw tensed. “You’re telling me this… aren’t you afraid I’ll use it? That I’ll crush your father—and take you both down with him?”
I shook my head. “You saved me today. You dropped the act. If I keep lying now, I’d be the snake, not him. Annie couldn’t live with that.”
His eyes softened. Barely a breath. “Annie… so that’s who you really are.”
He said it like a secret. Like a name he wasn’t ready to give up.
Like it meant something to him now.
You must be logged in to post a comment.