Tamed By Love: Mr. Ryan's Mute Bride

Emily stared at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight, and the food on the table had gone cold again.

She carried the dishes back into the kitchen and reheated them.

At 12:50 a.m., the door creaked open, and she turned to see Ryan walking in.

His jacket was draped over his arm, and there was a slight drunken haze in his handsome features as he walked toward her.

Emily stood up and poured him a bowl of soup to help sober him up, but just as she handed it to him, he knocked it over.

Then, without warning, he grabbed her chin and pressed his lips against hers.

The scent of alcohol mixed with another woman's perfume filled the air.

Emily tried to push him away, but he easily lifted her into his arms and carried her straight to the bedroom.

His dark eyes locked onto hers as he gently traced her face with his fingers.

"Why don't you ever speak?" he murmured.

Emily stared back at him. He knew she couldn't speak.

She was mute.

Yet he always asked the same question.

Emily couldn't tell if he was mocking her or simply wondering out loud.

She reached up and touched his hand on her face, nuzzling against it like a kitten seeking affection from its owner.

His eyes darkened, as if something was brewing beneath the surface. He tightened his grip on her hand and kissed her again.

...

When Emily woke up the next morning, the sunlight was already streaming in. The bed next to her was empty, but she could hear the water running in the bathroom.

She gathered her clothes from the floor, dressing slowly. Just as she was about to put on the last piece, Ryan's phone on the nightstand buzzed.

Emily glanced at the bathroom door, then at the screen.

Sophia: Did you go back to her again?

Sophia: You always do this-why do you have to go see that mute? She disgusts me.

Emily's lashes trembled.

The bathroom door swung open, and Ryan stepped out, a towel slung around his hips.

His hair was wet, beads of water dripping from the ends and sliding down his chest, tracing the defined lines of his muscles.

Emily quickly averted her eyes, focusing on buttoning up her shirt.

Ryan walked over, picked up his phone, and glanced at her.

"You saw that, didn't you?"

Emily forced a smile and shook her head.

On their wedding day, he had told her: Just be good. Don't fall in love with me. I'll take care of you like I always have, as a brother should.

He had told her not to love him.

So, what did it matter if she saw it?

Would he care? He never did.

He didn't care if she got jealous, if she was hurt, or if she cried.

Someone who isn't valued has no right to be angry.

If anything, her love and emotions were just a burden to him.

She was afraid-afraid that one day, he might trample her heart completely.

Emily feared the day he might... leave her for good.

She gestured with her hands: I'll go make breakfast.

Dragging her sore body out of bed, she headed to the kitchen.

Ryan watched her frail figure disappear, then glanced at his phone and deleted Sophia's messages.

Emily made breakfast and set the table, placing a bowl of porridge in front of Ryan's seat.

After a while, Ryan came down, fully dressed, and sat at the table.

The room was silent. Ryan used to say that being with her felt like talking to himself.

Over time, he stopped speaking to her altogether.

Now, the only sound in the room was the quiet clinking of spoons against bowls.

"We're going to the Ryan Family house later," Ryan suddenly said.

Emily froze, her spoon hovering over her bowl.

Emily: Okay.

Ryan glanced at her, noting the same expression she always wore: obedient, unchanging.

She never argued, never complained, always calm and collected. No matter how much she suffered, she faced it with a smile.

Ryan suddenly lost his appetite, pushing the bowl away.

The clink of the spoon hitting the porcelain was loud in the quiet room.

Emily flinched slightly, thinking he was upset. She quickly signed: Is the porridge not to your liking?

Ryan loosened his collar, irritation flickering in his eyes. "No, just eat your breakfast."

If he wasn't eating, neither would Emily. She quietly stood up and began clearing the dishes.

Ryan watched her with cold eyes but said nothing.

When she was finished, she went upstairs to change. By the time she came back down, Ryan was already waiting in the car.

As the car sped down the road, the scenery blurred past the windows. Emily turned her head, watching it all rush by.

Emily had come to live with the Ryan family when she was very young. Grandfather Ryan had taken her in and treated her like his own granddaughter.

Even on his deathbed, he had worried about her.

Three years ago, as he lay dying, he had made Ryan promise to marry her before he could rest in peace.

Grandfather Ryan said that with her condition, he wouldn't feel comfortable letting her marry anyone else. Only Ryan could give him peace of mind.

At that time, Ryan already had a girlfriend-Sophia.

Maybe it was because they had grown up together, or maybe it was out of loyalty to his grandfather, but Ryan agreed to the marriage.

He didn't treat her cruelly, nor did he go out of his way to make her life difficult.

But he didn't love her.

He never called her by her old nickname anymore.

They had become strangers living under the same roof.

Today, the Ryan family home was buzzing with activity. Ryan's sister had just had a baby, and the family was hosting a celebration.

Emily followed behind Ryan, weaving through the guests until they reached the main hall.

Inside, Mrs. Davis was holding her new grandson, smiling down at him. But when her gaze fell on Emily, her face immediately darkened.

Emily greeted her, but Mrs. Davis acted like she didn't see her, turning instead to chat with her daughter.

"They say nephews look like their uncles," Mrs. Davis said with a chuckle. "This little guy is a spitting image of Ryan when he was a baby."

Isabelle stroked the baby's cheek and smiled. "Everyone says he looks like my brother, but I don't see it."

Mrs. Davis wiggled the baby's little hand. "Of course you don't, Isabelle. You weren't even born when Ryan was this age."

Emily wasn't bothered by being ignored; she simply stood quietly to the side.

"Mom," Ryan called out.

Mrs. Davis finally turned around, responding flatly, "Oh, you're here? Why are you just standing? Sit down."

Isabelle glanced at Emily, and as soon as Ryan sat, she said, "So, when are you two going to have a baby? You should really hurry up."

Before Ryan could respond, Mrs. Davis snorted. "Don't you go encouraging him! One mute in the family is enough of a disgrace. If they have another mute, how are we supposed to face anyone as the Ryan family?"

Hearing this, Ryan shot a glance at Emily. Her head was bowed, making it impossible to read her expression.

Isabelle wasn't mentioning kids out of concern. Everyone knew that Emily had been pregnant the year before, but Mrs. Davis had forced her to terminate the pregnancy, terrified that Emily might give birth to another mute child.

Ryan had known about it but hadn't said anything. As a result, Emily, who already barely had a presence in the family, found herself even more sidelined.

If that child had been born, it would have been almost six months old by now.

Other than Grandfather Ryan, no one in the family liked Emily.

Isabelle hated her, even more than Mrs. Davis did, and had since they were children.

Emily had come to live with the Ryan family when she was just five years old. Isabelle would bully her, locking her in closets or burning her hair with a lighter. One time, she pushed her down the stairs-Ryan had caught her in the act.

Ryan had scolded Isabelle, and she, already resentful of their grandfather's favoritism toward Emily, had grown even more furious. Even her beloved older brother had reprimanded her over this mute girl. Of course, she hated her.

At the time, Emily didn't know how to sign or write and had no way of telling anyone what Isabelle was doing to her. Emboldened by this, Isabelle's bullying only grew worse, taking out her frustrations on Emily whenever something didn't go her way.

Now that they were grown, Isabelle didn't resort to such childish tactics anymore. She had learned to be more subtle, using words as weapons to wound.

"Muteness is recessive," Isabelle said with a smirk. "As long as she gets regular checkups, the chances of passing it on are pretty slim."

Mrs. Davis massaged her temples, sighing. "Enough, Isabelle. I'm only thinking of Emily's best interests. If the child has problems, she's the one who'll suffer, right? Ryan, tell me I'm wrong."

Ryan stood abruptly. "Isabelle, we're leaving. We'll talk later."

Isabelle stood up, alarmed. "Why are you in such a hurry, big brother? Not everyone's even arrived yet. At least stay for lunch!"

"No, I've got work to do," Ryan said, taking Emily's hand and leaving the Ryan family home without a backward glance.

Isabelle fumed as she watched them leave. She couldn't understand Ryan. In the past, it had made sense when he defended Emily.

But even after being forced to marry this mute girl, he hadn't treated her harshly. He even moved out to live with her.

You'd think he liked Emily, but when she lost their baby, he hadn't said a word. Meanwhile, he was still entangled with another woman.

But if he didn't like Emily, why was he always protecting her? Why hadn't he divorced her yet?

Back in the car, Ryan lit a cigarette, clearly agitated.

Emily sat quietly in her seat, waiting for him to finish smoking.

When he finally turned to look at her, she was still wearing that same soft smile-calm and obedient, like a servant waiting for their master's command.

It only made Ryan feel more frustrated.

He didn't know why. She hadn't changed. She was still the same as always.

"What do you think about what Isabelle said earlier?" he asked, his voice low.

Emily blinked. What?

Ryan tightened his grip on the steering wheel, staring at her. "About having a child."

He could see the smile on Emily's lips falter, her expression stiffening for a moment before she forced it back.

She signed, Mother's right. We shouldn't have one.

Emily had learned early in life that everything she hoped for would eventually shatter into pieces.

The more beautiful the dream, the more painful it was when it crumbled.

Like when she was a child, wishing for a birthday cake. Her grandfather bought her one, and she was so excited to make a wish, but Isabelle had shoved her face into it.

When she lifted her head, her face was smeared with cake, and the room was filled with laughter.

They thought it was funny.

All Emily could do was sneak a taste from the corner of her mouth. It didn't taste as good as she had imagined.

To them, the cake wasn't something to be enjoyed, just like Ryan didn't really want to have a child with her.

"Last night... did we use protection?" Ryan asked, breaking the silence.

Emily signed, I took a pill.

Ryan watched her hands as she signed. Her fingers, so slender and elegant, moved with a certain grace, almost like a dance.

He stared for a moment longer before looking away and starting the car. "Good."

Emily lowered her head. He was testing her again.

Just like his mother, he was afraid of having a child who couldn't speak.

She was grateful she had held back that moment of weakness, choosing not to reveal her love for him.

He had told her not to love him. What he didn't know was that every time he reached out to help her, he planted a seed of love in her heart.

Sometimes Emily wished he treated her like everyone else, that he hurt her like they did. At least then, it would be just her body that suffered, not her heart.

Ryan pulled up to the café where Emily worked. As soon as the car stopped, they spotted Sophia standing by the entrance.

Sophia always seemed to know how to find him.

Tall and beautiful, with long curls cascading down her back, Sophia was the kind of woman who drew attention no matter where she went.

Her eyes blazed with anger as she watched Ryan and Emily get out of the car.

To anyone watching, it would seem like she was the wife, not Emily.

"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked, his tone neutral. There was no surprise, no guilt.

Clearly, this wasn't the first time they'd been caught in a situation like this.