Everyone in Westbridge knew that the heir to the Pierce family, Steven Pierce, kept a girl by his side. Quiet, gentle, and obedient—but tragically, she was mute. On New Year’s Eve, one of Steven’s friends teased him: “I heard your dad’s been pressuring you to settle down. You’re not seriously thinking of bringing her home, are you?” Steven leaned back lazily, a smug, careless smile on his face. “Are you kidding? Would you marry a mute?” Hearing this, the wall I had desperately built around my heart finally collapsed. The bitter chill of winter had blanketed the streets with snow. Carrying a large bag of groceries, I hurried home. The housekeeper had left early to spend New Year’s with her family, and Steven hated restaurant food. So, naturally, I was the one left to prepare dinner. As I stepped into the house, the sound of raucous laughter hit me like a wave. There were people drinking, smoking, playing cards, and chatting loudly in the living room. Steven was in the middle of it all, surrounded by his friends. Someone said something that made him laugh as he playfully kicked one of the guys. I glanced down at the bag of groceries by my feet, then scribbled a note on a piece of paper and handed it to Steven. “Are they staying for dinner too?” That was when the group finally noticed my presence, though none of them acknowledged me. I couldn’t blame them. Steven Pierce was the golden boy of Westbridge—wealthy, connected, and practically untouchable. His friends were all the same: trust-fund kids with billions to their name. And me? I was just a poor, mute girl who had no business being in that world. Steven unfolded the note and frowned. “You don’t want to cook?” I shook my head quickly, pressing my lips together. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to cook—I just hadn’t expected so many people. I wasn’t sure if there’d be enough food. Steven crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash, his expression cold. “Then why ask?” The room, once filled with noise, suddenly fell silent, as if everyone was waiting to see how the mute girl would react. I bit my lip, unwilling to let strangers watch me squirm, and turned to retreat into the kitchen. As I tied my apron, the laughter resumed in the living room. Someone’s voice rang out, loud and mocking: “Man, she really is as obedient as they say.” Another voice chimed in, laughing: “Haha, look at Steven’s setup. If he kept me around, I’d behave better than a dog!” I recognized the voice—it belonged to Andrew Yates, Steven’s closest friend and one of the most notorious troublemakers in Westbridge. “What good would keeping you do? You can’t cook or clean, and God knows what other weird habits you have.” “Well, I can talk.” The room erupted in laughter. The mocking grew louder, each comment sharper than the last. I gripped the knife in my hand, my knuckles turning white as a dull ache spread through my chest. Steven’s voice eventually cut through the noise. “Alright, cut it out,” he said, laughing lightly. “Don’t get carried away.” But he didn’t defend me. He didn’t explain our relationship. His silence was an unspoken agreement. And yet, he knew. He knew I wasn’t with him for his money.
Two years ago, on this very day, the smell of roasted sweet potatoes filled the streets. I had been arguing with an old vendor who had overcharged me ten dollars. The man couldn’t read or understand sign language, and I was growing increasingly flustered. I had only brought twenty dollars with me, and it was already gone. That was when Steven happened to walk by. Perhaps I looked too pitiful, because he casually pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the vendor. “I’ll pay for her. Keep the change.” I froze, turning to get a better look at the man beside me. He was tall, his features sharp and chiseled, with an air of quiet indifference. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his eyes, which were utterly devoid of emotion. Had he… forgotten me? As he turned to leave, I panicked and grabbed his wrist. When his watch slipped into view, my heart raced—I was certain it was him. Steven pulled his hand back with a look of annoyance, letting out a mocking laugh. “What? A hundred bucks isn’t enough?” I stood there, stunned, before finally managing to compose myself. I signed slowly: “No, it’s just… don’t you remember me? You saved me once.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant. After a pause, he said indifferently, “I’ve saved a lot of people. I don’t remember them all.” Relief washed over me. After five years, I had finally found him. To him, it might have been an insignificant moment, not even worth remembering. But to me, it had been a beacon of hope in the darkest time of my life. I still remembered the day he pulled me out of the river, the words he had said to me: “Sometimes, the most important things don’t come from your mouth, but from your eyes. Don’t lose hope. As long as you’re alive, things can change.” The sun had been shining so brightly that day, the water warm and gentle. It felt like the universe had aligned just for me. So when Steven asked me if I wanted to go with him, I didn’t hesitate. I said yes. Because I believed in him. I trusted him completely.
Three hours had passed before I realized it. I stretched my aching back and carried the prepared dishes to the dining table one by one. Steven Pierce glanced at me and said casually, “Annie, go buy a few cases of wine.” I looked out the window; it was already dark, and the snow was still falling heavily, blanketing the streets in thick, fluffy layers. Was he really asking me to go out in this weather to haul back several cases of wine by myself? I stood frozen in place, hesitant, while Steven sat down with his friends. He didn’t even bother saving me a seat. Noticing my hesitation, he shot me an impatient look. “What are you waiting for?” Around me, a few of the guys started laughing, their voices dripping with mockery. “She hasn’t said no, has she? Probably just trying to figure out how to sign it in that secret language of hers.” “Yeah, c’mon, Steven, translate for us. What’s she saying?” That familiar wave of humiliation began to creep up on me. I started signing, but before I could finish, Steven waved me off with a dismissive glance. “Annoying.” My hands froze mid-air. That word. That single word. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it to me. Steven Pierce. The man who had once pulled me out of the depths of despair when even I couldn’t stand myself. The same man who was now shoving me back down. I felt my eyes sting with tears, but I didn’t want to break down in front of his friends. Grabbing the keys, I turned and ran out the door. At the convenience store, I bought the last few cases of wine they had, hailed a cab, and rushed back. I carried the cases upstairs, one by one, terrified of doing anything to upset him. Inside, the party was still in full swing. No one noticed me as I lugged the last box into the hallway, gasping for air. Outside, fireworks exploded in the night sky, brilliant and dazzling. As the echoes faded, I overheard voices from upstairs. It was Steven and his closest friend, Andrew Yates. At first, I didn’t pay much attention and continued climbing the stairs. “Hey, I heard your dad’s been pushing you to settle down. You’re not actually thinking of bringing her home, are you?” Andrew didn’t name me, but I knew exactly who he was talking about. Everyone in Westbridge knew I was the mute girl Steven had been keeping around for two years. For some reason, on that last flight of stairs, I stopped. From the gap in the staircase, I could see Steven lean back, his expression calm and indifferent. “Are you kidding me?” he said, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Would you marry a mute?” “When I find someone better, I’ll send her packing. Back to wherever the hell she came from.” Andrew laughed. “Makes sense. She’s basically just a hundred-dollar maid you’re keeping around for fun, right?” At that moment, the last wall I’d built around my heart crumbled. The bitterness, sadness, confusion, and self-doubt all came crashing down at once. I tried to hold back the tears, but they burned hot behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. And in that moment of silence, the laughter from the room above seemed to mock me. Look at you. No matter how good you are to him, what does it matter? You’re nothing but a mute girl for others to ridicule.
I dropped the wine where I stood and walked straight past the crowd into the bedroom. It wasn’t long before the door opened behind me. “You’re not eating dinner?” Steven’s voice was sharp, almost mocking. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. By the time I’d carried in the third case of wine, most of the dishes on the table had already been picked clean. What was I supposed to eat? The plates? I didn’t bother signing or writing anything down for him this time. I just continued packing my things, ignoring him completely. That was when he noticed the duffel bag I’d left on the floor. He kicked it hard, his tone turning harsh. “Annie, are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?” A tantrum? Me? Maybe he’d gotten so used to me being quiet and obedient, always bending to his will, that even packing a bag felt like rebellion to him. I let out a bitter chuckle but didn’t respond. Let him think whatever he wanted. After all, what could a mute girl say to change his mind? When I didn’t answer, his expression darkened. He turned sharply and stormed back to the living room. I didn’t have much to pack. Most of the clothes and things in the apartment were things Steven had bought for me—expensive, designer items, many of them still with the tags on. If I was going to leave, I wanted to go back to being the person I was before I met him. I didn’t want to owe him anything. I shoved a few simple pieces of clothing and toiletries into a cheap woven bag and headed out. By the time I reached the living room, his friends had already left. Steven was sitting alone on the couch, leaning back lazily with a cigarette between his fingers. The sharp click of the lighter cut through the silence, and the smell of smoke mixed with the stale scent of beer. He exhaled a slow plume of smoke, his voice low. “Are you really leaving?” His words sent a sharp pang through my chest. He’d treated me like this—dismissed me, humiliated me—and yet he had the nerve to ask why I was leaving? My grip on the bag tightened as I mouthed the word silently, incapable of making a sound: “Yes.” “Is it because I asked you to cook and buy some wine?” How could he think that? I’d spent two years of my life caring for him, putting up with him. Did he really think this was about one bad night? I wanted so badly to ask him. What had happened to the Steven who had saved me? The one who had been kind and warm, like a ray of sunshine in my darkest moment? But people like him don’t change. They reveal who they really are when you let them. Steven waited for a moment, then gave a cold, careless laugh. “You know, Annie, once you walk out that door, I’m not coming after you.” Exactly. That’s why I had to leave. Because I knew he wouldn’t. If two hearts aren’t in the same place, dragging things out would only waste time—and make us a bigger joke in the end. I loosened my clenched fist and placed the keys gently on the entryway table. Then, I signed a single word: “Whatever.” As the clock neared midnight, I stepped outside, the icy wind cutting through the air like a blade. The streets were lined with red lanterns, glowing softly against the dark night. For a moment, I found myself lost in thought. I had spent the last few years imagining what it would be like to curl up on the couch with Steven Pierce, watching the New Year’s Eve special together. But fantasy has a way of being very different from reality. When I first moved in with Steven, he told me he liked his women quiet, obedient, and unassuming. So I tried my best to match his preferences, shaping my personality to fit his expectations. All I wanted was to stay by his side a little longer. That’s how I spent two years with him. Two years of being the perfect, compliant version of myself.
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