The Womanizer's Mute Wife-Chapter 235: No More Beige

"I’m serious, I’m really fine," Rose said with an exasperated sigh as Jaden propped the pillow properly behind her. He leaned away and sat back down in the chair he’d dragged forward. She shook her head, watching him with a mix of amusement and fondness.

If someone had told her that on a peaceful afternoon, en route to the gym, a young, bloody man would leap into the backseat of her car, beg her to drive, and then she’d end up shot—she would’ve laughed until she cried. The absurdity of it still hit her like a punchline she hadn’t seen coming.

Jaden’s voice snapped her from the thought. "And I know you have every right to be angry at me, but I’m really, really sorry."

She let out a long sigh. It had been a week since she woke up, and every day he’d apologized like clockwork. At first the whole thing had been jarring—a far cry from her usual boring routine—but once the fear of dying faded, she didn’t mind it. Honestly, it was absurd. Her life had been so beige: open the bakery she owned at dawn, hand it off to her employees, brunch with friends who gushed about partners and kids, then home to Netflix and silence. The sameness had started to feel like slow suffocation—until this bleeding stranger crashed into her backseat and jolted everything awake.

"Jaden, I’m serious. It’s fine."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I know you keep saying it’s fine, but... I still feel like garbage every time I see that bandage on your shoulder. You could’ve died because of me. You didn’t sign up for any of this."

Rose tilted her head, studying him. Afternoon light slanted through the window, catching the faint, fading bruises around his eye and jaw—reminders of whatever hell he’d walked through before landing in her car. She sighed again, softer this time.

"Jaden. Listen to me." She reached out with her good hand and lightly tapped the back of his where it rested on the bedrail. "Yes, getting shot was terrifying. Yes, waking up in a private medical wing on some massive estate, with armed guards outside the door, was surreal. But I’m alive. I’m healing. And honestly?" A small, crooked smile tugged at her lips. "My life was boring. Every single day. Bakery at six, close at three, home by four, Netflix, repeat. I’d started dreading weekends because they were just longer stretches of nothing. Then you jumped into my backseat like a bloody action-movie extra, bleeding everywhere, begging me to drive. Yeah—I got shot. But I also got to feel something. Adrenaline. Fear. Purpose, even if it was just keeping you from bleeding out in my trunk. I haven’t felt that alive in years."

Jaden stared at her, mouth slightly open.

Rose laughed quietly. "Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind. I’m not saying I want to join your crime-family-adjacent lifestyle. I’m just saying... I don’t hate that our paths crossed. Even if it came with a bullet."

He exhaled, shoulders dropping as if a weight had finally eased. "You’re kind of insane, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one," she shot back, smirking.

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute. Rose glanced toward the window. The garden beyond the glass looked impossibly green and peaceful compared to the sterile room.

"This place is starting to feel like a cage," she muttered. "Help me outside? I need air. And maybe to pretend I’m not an invalid for ten minutes."

Jaden stood immediately. "Yeah, of course. You sure you’re okay to walk?"

"I’ve got one good arm and two working legs. I’ll manage. Just... don’t baby me."

He grinned—his first real one in days. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

He helped her slide out of bed, steadying her as she tested her balance. She leaned on him only a little as they shuffled down the hall and out the French doors. The late-afternoon sun was warm on her skin, the air thick with cut grass, blooming jasmine, and something faintly sweet from the flowerbeds. A wooden swing hung from an old oak near the lilies.

They hadn’t taken three steps onto the lawn before Genesis appeared from a side path, carrying a small watering can. She paused, expression softening.

"Rose," she said warmly, setting the can down. "You’re up and moving. That’s good."

Rose smiled—genuine, easy. "Barely. But fresh air helps. How are you holding up?"

Genesis’s eyes flickered with something raw, but she managed a small shrug. "One breath at a time. Kieran’s still fighting. Doctors say he’s improving, but... it’s hard not to worry."

Rose stepped forward slowly, carefully, and reached out with her good hand. Genesis took it without hesitation.

"I heard bits and pieces," Rose said quietly. "About your stepmother. The tapes. Everything you went through. I can’t imagine carrying that alone for so long. I’m really sorry."

Genesis’s throat worked. She squeezed Rose’s fingers. "Thank you. And... thank you for not running when Jaden dragged you into this mess. You saved him. That means something to me."

Rose gave a watery laugh. "I think we saved each other, honestly. Weirdest meet-cute in history."

Genesis smiled, it was small, but real. "Maybe. I’m glad you’re here, Rose. Both of you."

She gave Jaden a quick, grateful nod, then excused herself quietly, heading toward the lily patch.

Jaden helped Rose settle onto the swing. The chains creaked softly as she sat, toes brushing the grass.

"You good?" he asked.

"Perfect," she said. "Go. I know you’ve got things to do. I just want to sit here and pretend the world isn’t on fire for five minutes."

He hesitated, then nodded. "I’ll be close. Yell if you need me."

He walked off toward the side gate, phone already to his ear.

Rose closed her eyes, letting the breeze rock the swing in a slow, gentle arc. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

A deep voice came from behind her, calm and a little amused.

"You look like you’re plotting world domination from a porch swing."

She startled, turning carefully. Marcus stood there—tall, broad-shouldered, one of the ever-present security men who moved like they were born in tactical vests. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing fresh scratches crisscrossing his forearms—courtesy of Furball, her very angry cat, when he’d helped smuggle the little demon to her best friend Jessie’s apartment three days ago.

Heat crawled up Rose’s neck. "Marcus. Hi."

He gave a half-smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Furball says hello. Or rather, she says ’never come near me again or I’ll take your other eye.’"

Rose laughed despite herself. "I’m so sorry. She’s... territorial."

"She’s a terrorist with fur," he deadpanned, but warmth laced the words. He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "You need anything? Water? A new cat that doesn’t hate humanity?"

"I’m good," she said, still smiling. "But thank you. For the cat delivery. And for not bleeding out on my behalf."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Small price. You kept Jaden alive long enough for us to get him. That earns you points."

She tilted her head. "Do I get a prize?"

His gaze held hers a beat longer than necessary. "Maybe. Depends how good you are at keeping secrets."

Rose arched a brow. "I own a bakery. I know how to keep my mouth shut about who’s cheating on their diet."

He chuckled. "Noted."

A comfortable beat passed.

Then he glanced toward the house. "You planning to stay long? After you heal?"

She looked out at the garden, then back at him. "I don’t know. Everything feels... different now. I’m not sure I can go back to beige."

Marcus nodded slowly, like he understood more than he let on.

"Well," he said after a moment, "if you decide to stick around... there’s always room for one more person who can keep a secret. And maybe bake decent croissants."

Rose’s cheeks warmed again. "I make excellent croissants."

"Good to know." He gave her a small, crooked smile—the kind that promised more conversations. "I’ll let you get back to plotting. But if you need anything—anything at all—just say the word."

He turned to leave, but paused.

"And Rose?"

She looked up.

"Jaden’s not the only one who’s glad you’re here."

He walked away before she could respond, leaving her blushing on the swing, heart doing a ridiculous little flip she hadn’t felt in years.

Maybe beige wasn’t her color anymore.

Maybe it never had been.

****

"Pick up, baby, please pick up," Mark muttered, redialing the number Zarina had given him over and over. It went straight to voicemail again.

"Hey baby, it’s me, Mark. I know by now you would’ve heard everything that happened. Please call me. I’m freaking out." He ended the message and slammed the phone down on the chipped motel nightstand. The cheap plastic cracked under the force.

The room reeked of stale cigarettes, mildew, and desperation—thin curtains letting in slanted afternoon light that did nothing to warm the place.

Jimmy paced like a caged animal, running both hands through his greasy hair. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Mom just got arrested on national television, we’re hiding in this shithole with maybe two days before the feds kick in the door, and all you can think about is that stupid slut Zarina? She doesn’t care about you."

Mark shot up from the bed, face flushed. "Shut up, Jimmy. You don’t know anything about her"

"And you do?" Jimmy laughed. "Did she ever tell you where she’s from, her background? No she didn’t, she was just leeching off you."

Mark opened his mouth to argue, but his phone on the table buzzed, sharp, insistent.

Both brothers froze.

Jimmy snatched it up first, glancing at the screen. Unknown number. He hit accept and put it on speaker, eyes narrowing.

A woman’s voice came through, cool, calm, edged with venom.

"Jimmy. Mark. Hope the accommodations are to your liking."

Jimmy’s lip curled. "Amaya. About damn time. Where the hell have you been?"

Mark’s eyes widened. He leaned closer, hope flickering despite everything.

Amaya’s laugh was low, humorless. "Busy. Cleaning up messes you two keep making. But I figured it was time to stop playing pretend."

Jimmy snorted. "Pretend? You’re the one who’s been feeding us intel on Genesis and that psycho husband of hers for months. Don’t act like you’re above this now. We need you to swing by the house, get the golf bags we left in the basement safe. The ones with the cash, gold and the passports. We had to bolt too fast and we forgot."

There was a long pause on the line.

Then Amaya spoke again.

"I’m not your errand girl anymore, Jimmy."

Jimmy’s face twisted. "What’d you say, bitch?"

Mark winced at the word, but didn’t interrupt.

Amaya’s voice turned ice-cold. "I said I’m done. And I’ve been done for a long time. You really thought I was working for you? That I hated Genesis and kieran enough to sell her out to you two clowns?"

"What the fuck are you saying?."

"I wanted justice," Amaya corrected. "And I got it. Every word you ever said to me, every plan you whispered in the dark, every time you hit me because I ’talked back’ I recorded it. All of it. Sent straight to Knight. He’s been listening to you idiots for months."

Mark’s face drained of color. He staggered back a step, hitting the edge of the dresser.

Jimmy’s grin faltered. "You’re lying."

"Am I?" Amaya’s tone was almost pitying. "Think about it. Every time you thought you had the drop on them, every ambush that failed, every leak that got plugged, it was because I told Knight exactly where you’d be. Every move. Every plan. The golf bags? Already gone. Knight’s men cleaned them out hours ago. Passports burned. Cash redistributed to people who actually deserve it."

Jimmy’s breathing turned ragged. "You fucking traitor..."

"Traitor?" Amaya cut in. "I was never yours to betray. I was Knight’s from the beginning. And Genesis? She’s not just some spoiled heiress. She’s his wife. His queen. The woman you beat, humiliated, and tried to break for years. And now she’s coming for you. Both of you."

Mark made a small, broken sound like something inside him had finally snapped.

Amaya’s voice softened—just a fraction. "Mark... I actually liked you. Once. Before I realized you’d let your mother and brother turn you into a monster who’d stand by while they destroyed a child. You could’ve walked away. You didn’t. That’s on you."

Mark’s breathing hitched audibly over the line, raw, wounded. Jimmy rolled his eyes, but even he went quiet, sensing the shift.

Amaya wasn’t finished.

"And since you’re so obsessed with Zarina..." She let the name hang, deliberate, cruel. "You should know the truth about her too. She never loved you, Mark. Not even close. She was working for Knight the whole time. Every sweet word, every late-night call, every time she let you think she was on your side, she was feeding him everything. Your plans, your locations, your weak spots. She played you like a cheap fiddle, and you fell for it because you wanted to believe someone could actually want you."

Mark made a choked sound, something between a gasp and a sob.

Amaya’s tone turned almost gentle, which made it worse. "She used you, Mark. Just like your mother used you. Just like Jimmy uses you. And now you’re sitting in a roach motel with nothing left but the echo of how stupid you were."

The line crackled with silence.

Then Amaya’s voice hardened one final time.

"Your lives are over. The feds have everything, recordings, witness statements. They’re already moving. Enjoy the last few hours of freedom you have left."

Click.

The call ended.

Jimmy stared at the silent phone like it had grown teeth.

Mark didn’t move at first. Then his whole body folded in on itself. He slid down the wall until he hit the filthy carpet, knees drawn to his chest, face buried in shaking hands. A low, broken noise escaped him—half sob, half animal whine.

Jimmy exploded.

"That lying bitch!" He snatched the phone off the floor and hurled it at the opposite wall. It shattered, pieces skittering across the stained carpet. "All of them! Zarina, Amaya, Genesis, every fucking woman in our lives was a plant!"

He spun toward Mark, voice cracking with fury. "Get up! We’re not done! We can still..."

A low crunch of gravel outside cut him off.

Jimmy froze mid-sentence.

Mark lifted his head just enough to see terror in his brother’s eyes.

Footsteps, two sets, heavy boots, approaching the door without hurry.

Jimmy’s bravado evaporated. His voice came out small, cracked.

"Fuck."

The motel door rattled once, testing the knob.

Then the lock clicked.

The door began to creak open, inch by slow inch.

Mark whispered, barely audible, voice trembling.

"They’re here."

The door swung wider.

A tall silhouette filled the frame, backlit, face in shadow.

Jimmy took one stumbling step backward.

Mark didn’t move.

He just stared, tears streaking through the grime on his face, waiting for the end he finally believed he deserved.

The figure stepped inside.

And the door closed behind him with a soft, final click.