Too Late To Love Your Mute Wife

The screen of the phone glowed in the dark, casting a harsh blue light across Aubree Martinez's pale face. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan penthouse, staring down at the endless grid of city lights. Her fingers gripped the cold metal edges of the device so tightly her knuckles turned completely white.

The device vibrated again, sending a dull shock up her arm. It was another text message from Genevieve, her mother-in-law.

The family trust fund deadline is next month. If you cannot secure an heir for Godfrey by then, you know exactly what will happen to your father's company. Do your job.

Aubree swallowed hard. Her throat felt completely dry, like it was lined with sandpaper. A heavy block of ice settled at the bottom of her stomach, making it hard to draw a full breath. She pressed her thumb against her palm, digging her nail into the soft flesh until a sharp sting grounded her.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. The sound was heavy and deliberate, echoing ominously against the hardwood floor, vibrating through the soles of Aubree's feet like an approaching executioner.

The heavy oak door of the master bedroom was shoved open with enough force that it bounced off the wall stopper.

Godfrey walked into the room. A wave of freezing outside air and the sharp, burning scent of expensive whiskey rolled in with him. He did not look at her. He reached up, his large hands ripping the silk tie from his neck. He tossed it carelessly onto the velvet sofa near the door.

Aubree took a deep breath, forcing air into her tight lungs. She stepped away from the window and walked toward him.

She stopped a few feet away, keeping a safe distance. She raised her hands, her fingers trembling slightly before she forced them steady.

Using American Sign Language, she formed the words quickly. We need to talk.

Godfrey stopped unbuttoning his shirt. He let out a low, harsh laugh that sounded like gravel grinding together. He turned his back on her and walked straight to the wet bar in the corner of the room.

He grabbed a heavy crystal glass and a bottle of amber liquid. The ice cubes hit the bottom of the glass with a sharp, clear clink that made Aubree flinch.

She followed him, stopping just behind his shoulder. Her hands moved again, faster this time. About the baby. About the trust fund. Genevieve texted me.

Godfrey lifted the glass to his lips. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto her rapidly moving hands. His gaze was entirely empty, devoid of any warmth.

He slammed the glass down on the black marble counter. The liquid sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the polished stone.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. His massive frame backed her up until her shoulder blades hit the cold wall.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. The smell of alcohol mixed with his natural scent of cedar overwhelmed her senses.

"You want to talk?" he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "You are a mute, Aubree. You do not talk. You just wave your hands around like a desperate animal."

Aubree felt a hot burn behind her eyes. Her vision blurred, but she locked her jaw and refused to look away. She raised her hands to her chest, trapped between his body and the wall.

This was our agreement, she signed, her movements restricted by his proximity.

Godfrey raised his fist and smashed it into the wall right next to her ear. The impact shook the plaster and sent a violent tremor through Aubree's entire body.

"Our agreement?" he spat, the muscle in his jaw ticking wildly. "You mean the trap you set three years ago? The scandal you orchestrated at my engagement party?"

Aubree shook her head frantically. She tried to lift her hands to sign that it was an accident, that she was drunk, that she never meant for any of it to happen.

Godfrey grabbed her wrists. His large fingers wrapped around her delicate bones, squeezing hard enough to cut off her circulation. He forced her hands down to her sides.

"Your father needed a bailout," Godfrey said, his voice dripping with pure disgust. "And you used your body to get it. You drugged me, you climbed into my bed, and you forced this disgusting marriage on me."

He shoved her hands away as if touching her burned his skin. He turned around and walked toward the master bathroom.

Aubree felt her chest cave in. She needed to calm him down. She rushed to the small mini-fridge near the bar and pulled out a glass bottle. It was a detox smoothie she had prepared earlier, hoping to ease his usual hangovers.

She ran to the bathroom door, stepping in front of him just as he reached for the handle. She held the cold bottle out to him, her eyes pleading for a truce.

Godfrey looked down at the green liquid, then up at her face. His expression was pure ice. He snatched the bottle from her hands, unscrewed the cap, and drank the entire thing in three massive gulps.

He tossed the empty bottle onto the carpet.

He stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut in her face. The loud bang echoed in the silent bedroom, leaving Aubree standing alone, staring at the solid wood.

Godfrey stood under the showerhead, letting the freezing water hit his back. He braced his hands against the wet tile, his head hanging low.

A sudden, unnatural heat flared in the pit of his stomach. It was not the warmth of the alcohol. It was a sharp, burning sensation that quickly spread outward, rushing through his veins like liquid fire.

He reached out and twisted the faucet, shutting the water off completely. He stood in the dripping silence, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.

The heat intensified. His muscles tightened, and a heavy, thick fog began to cloud his brain. He recognized this feeling. It was a chemical reaction. The smoothie.

He grabbed a white towel off the rack and wrapped it tightly around his waist. He shoved the bathroom door open, the wood hitting the wall with a loud crack.

He marched into the bedroom. Aubree was standing by the bed, pulling the duvet up to smooth out the wrinkles.

Godfrey crossed the room in seconds. He reached out and grabbed the back of her neck. His fingers dug into her skin, his grip completely unforgiving.

Aubree let out a silent gasp. She twisted her body, her eyes wide with pure terror as she looked up at his bloodshot eyes.

He threw her forward. She landed hard on the center of the massive mattress, her body bouncing slightly against the expensive springs.

Godfrey turned to the nightstand. He yanked the top drawer open so hard it nearly fell off its tracks. He reached inside and pulled out a small, partially opened square box.

It was a box of condoms with a broken safety seal.

He held it up to the overhead light, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the shiny foil wrapper he pulled from inside. He turned it slowly.

There, near the top edge, was a tiny, almost invisible prick. A needle hole.

Godfrey felt a violent, uncontrollable energy explode inside his chest. The dark storm he kept hidden from the world surged forward, fueled by the strange chemical fire in his system and the physical evidence in his hand. The herbal detox blend she had made had never reacted like this before, but mixed with the sheer volume of aged whiskey he had consumed, it had created a volatile, blood-heating cocktail.

He threw the foil packet directly at Aubree's face. It hit her cheek and bounced onto the white sheets.

"Is this how desperate you are?" he roared, his voice shaking the windows. "You spike my drink and poke holes in the protection just to get your filthy hands on the trust fund?"

Aubree looked down at the small foil square. Her pupils dilated in absolute shock. She had never seen that box before. She remembered Genevieve's housekeeper lingering in their bedroom that morning, supposedly dusting the nightstands. The realization hit her like a freight train-Genevieve had planted the tampered box to force the issue of an heir, knowing Godfrey would instantly blame Aubree for the deceit. She had no idea what he was talking about.

She scrambled backward against the headboard. She raised both hands, shaking her head violently. I did not do this. I swear.

Godfrey did not care about her moving hands. The volatile mixture of alcohol and the unexpected chemical reaction from the herbs was completely taking over his nervous system, erasing whatever thin line of control he usually maintained.

He climbed onto the bed, his large knees sinking into the mattress. He grabbed both of her wrists in one hand and slammed them down into the pillows above her head.

His massive body covered hers, pinning her down completely. The weight of his chest crushed the air out of her lungs.

"You want a child so badly?" he hissed, his face buried in the crook of her neck. "Fine. I will give you exactly what you want."

Tears spilled out of Aubree's eyes, running down her temples and soaking into the pillowcases. She shook her head, her body thrashing weakly beneath him.

Godfrey reached down and grabbed the collar of her silk nightgown. He pulled his fist back, tearing the fabric straight down the middle.

The sound of the silk ripping was deafening in the quiet room. The cold air hit her bare skin, making her shiver violently.

He did not wait. He did not prepare her. He forced himself into her with a brutal, punishing thrust.

Aubree arched her back off the mattress. A blinding pain shot through her lower body, tearing her apart. Her mouth opened wide, but her damaged vocal cords refused to produce a single sound.

Godfrey moved with a wild, uncontrollable rhythm. The drug drove his actions, turning the act into pure physical violence.

The heavy wooden bedframe slammed against the wall with every thrust, creating a rhythmic, sickening thud that filled the room.

Aubree squeezed her eyes shut. She bit down on her lower lip so hard that the skin broke. The metallic taste of hot blood filled her mouth, but she kept her teeth locked together, enduring the absolute destruction of her body.

Sweat dripped from Godfrey's forehead, landing on Aubree's pale collarbone. His skin was burning hot against hers.

His eyes were completely unfocused, glazed over by the chemical haze in his bloodstream. His breathing was ragged, sounding like a machine breaking down.

He suddenly dropped his weight forward, burying his face deep into the curve of her neck. His chest expanded rapidly against hers.

His Adam's apple bobbed against her skin. "Allyson," he groaned, his voice thick and hoarse.

Aubree's entire body went completely rigid. Her muscles locked into place as if rigor mortis had set in.

The tearing pain in her lower half vanished, completely overshadowed by the sensation of her heart being thrown into a meat grinder. The organ shattered inside her chest, the pieces cutting into her lungs.

Godfrey finished with a heavy shudder. He rolled off her immediately, his heavy body landing on the mattress beside her.

The only sound in the room was their harsh, uneven breathing.

Slowly, the drug began to lose its peak grip on Godfrey's brain. His eyes blinked rapidly as reality crashed back into him. He sat up abruptly.

He looked down at the ruined sheets, the torn silk, and then at Aubree's completely hollow eyes. She was staring at the ceiling, not blinking, not moving.

A flash of intense disgust crossed his face. He threw the covers off his legs and stood up.

He walked naked across the room toward the bathroom. He did not look back at her. He did not offer a towel.

The bathroom door clicked shut. Seconds later, the loud rush of the showerhead started, as if he needed to scrub a disease off his skin.

Godfrey stood under the showerhead, bracing his hands against the wet tile. The freezing water hit his back, the biting cold making the extensive, jagged network of old, hidden scars stretching across his shoulder blades tighten and ache. He welcomed the sharp sting, using the physical pain to ground his chaotic mind and wash away the lingering heat of the chemical haze.

Aubree forced her elbows to bend. She pushed her upper body off the mattress, her arms shaking violently. She reached out and pulled the torn edge of the blanket over her exposed stomach.

She slid off the edge of the bed. Her legs gave out the second her bare feet touched the carpet. She collapsed onto the floor, her knees hitting the ground hard.

She crawled over to the nightstand. She reached down to the very bottom drawer, the one with the hidden digital lock.

Her bloody fingers punched in a four-digit code. The drawer clicked open. She reached inside and pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal.

She opened the heavy cover. The pages were thick with newspaper clippings, magazine cutouts, and printed articles. Nine years of Godfrey Valentine's life, carefully documented and preserved.

A tear finally broke free, falling onto a faded photograph. It was a picture of a teenage boy playing basketball, taken secretly from the bleachers when she was fifteen years old.

The water in the bathroom suddenly stopped.

Aubree panicked. She shoved the journal back into the drawer, slammed it shut, and scrambled away from the nightstand.

Godfrey walked out of the bathroom, a towel secured around his waist. His hair was dripping wet.

He walked straight to his massive walk-in closet. He pulled out a crisp white dress shirt and a custom-tailored suit.

He began buttoning the shirt, his eyes finally dropping to look at her sitting on the floor. He looked at her as if she were a pile of garbage left on the street.

"Take a pill," he said, his voice completely flat. "Do not infect my bloodline with your trash."

Before Aubree could process the cruelty of his words, the cell phone on the nightstand began to vibrate.

Godfrey picked it up. He saw the caller ID, and his posture instantly straightened. The hostility in his face was replaced by strict obedience.

"Yes, Grandmother," he answered, his tone perfectly controlled.

It was Augusta, the matriarch of the Valentine family. Her voice was loud enough to bleed through the speaker. She demanded that Godfrey and his wife return to the Hamptons estate immediately for the weekend.

Godfrey's knuckles turned white around the phone. His jaw clenched tightly. "Understood. We will be there."

He ended the call and threw the phone onto the bed. He turned his head and glared at Aubree.

"You have ten minutes to make yourself look like a human being," he ordered.