The Womanizer's Mute Wife-Chapter 246: Change of Plan

Veronica’s words slurred over the rim of her glass as she slammed it down on the low table in the private booth of Opal Noire. The club’s bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, but inside the velvet-curtained space, the air was thick with liquor and resentment.

"His wife," Charlie muttered, smirking. "And you’re drunk,"

Veronica spat, voice wobbling between fury and tears. "His wife? Please. I was with him through childhood, through every summer his father dumped him in Japan to ’fend for himself.’ I was the one who kept him company when he was lonely. And then that mute, timid little freak shows up and suddenly I’m banished to England for two months like I’m some disobedient child."

Charlie leaned back in the booth, swirling his whiskey. "You chose England yourself and there’s nothing timid about Genesis anymore. She broke his head open with a fucking bat."

Rico lips still swollen from making out with the brunette now draped across his lap looked up sharply. "Wait, what? I thought you said she shot him."

Charlie took a slow sip. "Yeah. The shooting was recent. The bat thing happened a month ago."

Trey, arm slung around Lexi’s shoulders, snorted. "It’s always the sweet-looking ones."

Veronica nodded vigorously, mascara smudged under her eyes. "Exactly. I knew she had another side. Ungrateful bitch has no right to chase me out of my best friend’s house."

Lexi chuckled, twirling a strand of her hair. "It’s the same girl who made Kieran stop hanging out with us."

Vera leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Really? Spill."

Lexi glanced at Rico, then at Trey, quick, conspiratorial. "So this was right after they got married. Not many people knew yet. We invited him to Opal Noire—our usual spot. He felt trapped in that arranged marriage bullshit. Showed up, had a few drinks, loosened up... and then..."

Rico finished with a lazy grin. "Banged three chicks."

Charlie choked on his drink. "What the fuck?"

Veronica’s eyes went wide, delighted and vicious. "So Kieran cheated on his precious little wife?"

Trey shrugged. "Yeah. And since that night, he ghosted us. Stopped taking calls, stopped showing up. Like **we** were the problem. Did we put his dick in them?"

Lexi and Rico exchanged another quick look, barely a flicker but Charlie caught it. Something wasn’t right. He filed it away, but the truth they were hiding hung unspoken between them: they had slipped something into every one of Kieran’s drinks that night. He’d been too buzzed to notice. They’d dragged him back to his penthouse, invited the women who’d been all over him, and told them to "have fun with the famous Kieran Blackwood." Kieran had been partially blacked out, memory gaps, no clear recall of how he ended up in bed with three of them.

Charlie noticed the look again, sharper this time and felt a prickle of unease. But he ignored it and turned back to Veronica.

She was already standing, swaying slightly, eyes glassy but determined.

"Where are you going?" Charlie asked.

"I’m going to the Blackwood estate, obviously," she slurred. "I’m going to tell that bitch exactly..."

Charlie stood fast, blocking her path. "Hell no. You’re not going to cause more problems tonight."

Veronica tried to push past him. "Move, Charlie. She needs to hear..."

"She’s pregnant," he said sharply. "Her husband is in the hospital because of her. Donald just got shot in the leg by one of her stepbrothers. And tomorrow she has to testify in Monica’s hearing. That girl has been through hell and somehow she’s still standing. She doesn’t need you showing up drunk and screaming in her face."

Veronica froze. "Donald was... shot?"

"Yeah. Long story. But she’s dealing with enough. Let her breathe."

Veronica’s shoulders sagged. For a second she looked like she might cry.

Then she nodded, small, defeated.

Charlie softened. "Come on. You can’t drive. I’ll get you a cab."

He guided her out of the booth. Rico and Lexi laughed behind them, already back to their drinks and the brunette.

Outside, the night air was cool and sharp. Charlie flagged a yellow cab, gave the driver Veronica’s address on the Upper East Side, and helped her into the back seat.

She looked up at him, eyes glassy, mascara streaked.

"I just... I miss him," she whispered.

"I know," Charlie said quietly. "But not tonight."

He closed the door.

Waved once.

The cab pulled away.

Veronica watched the club lights shrink in the rear window.

Then she leaned forward.

"Change of plan," she told the driver, voice steadier now. "Take me to the Blackwood estate."

The driver glanced at her in the mirror.

"You sure, ma’am? It’s late."

"What the fuck kind of question is that." She snapped.

"Sorry ma’am,"

She sat back, fingers curling into fists on her lap.

Veronica stared out the cab window as the city lights blurred past, her fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

*He misses me. He has to. After everything we’ve been through—summers in Japan when he was sixteen and lonely, nights on the rooftop talking until dawn, the way he used to look at me like I was the only person who really saw him. Then she came. And suddenly I’m the enemy? Banished like trash?

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

She doesn’t deserve him. She never did. She shot him. She put him in that hospital bed. And now she’s playing queen of the castle while I’m out here like some pathetic ex. No. Tonight she hears it. Tonight she understands what she stole.

The cab slowed.

The Blackwood estate gates loomed ahead, tall, black iron, lit by soft uplights that made the stone walls glow like something out of a fairy tale. Christmas lights were already strung along the driveway and wrapped around the trees, white and gold, twinkling softly. Fifteen days until Christmas.

Fifteen days until the house she used to run in and out of without knocking would be celebrating Christmas while hating her.

She paid the driver with trembling fingers, stepped out onto the gravel.

The cold bit into her bare arms. She hadn’t even grabbed a coat.

She walked up to the intercom panel, pressed the button.

A pause.

Then Richard’s voice, calm, professional, the same butler who’d known her since she was a kid.

"Blackwood residence. Who’s calling?"

"It’s Veronica," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Another pause. Longer this time.

"I’m sorry, ma’am," Richard said finally. "I can’t let you in."

Veronica’s eyes stung.

She leaned closer to the speaker, voice cracking on cue.

"Richard... please. I’m freezing. I lost my keys. I just need to get inside for a minute. I won’t cause any trouble, I swear."

Silence.

She let a tear slide down her cheek, real this time.

"I just... I need to see him. Just for a second."

The gate buzzed.

Slowly, the iron panels swung open.

Veronica exhaled, wiped her face quickly, and stepped through.

The driveway was long, lined with lit trees. The house rose ahead, grand, warm, glowing from every window. Christmas wreaths on the doors. Garlands on the banisters visible through the glass. Soft jazz drifted from somewhere inside.

It looked like a home.

Her home, once.

She walked faster, heels clicking on the stone path.

The front doors were unlocked probably because of the security team inside.

She pushed them open.

Warmth hit her like a wave, cinnamon, pine, woodsmoke.

The grand foyer was decorated: massive tree in the corner, ornaments glinting, stockings hung over the fireplace with names embroidered in gold thread.

Daisy. Genesis. Kieran. Donald.

No Veronica.

She stood there, chest tight, staring at the stockings.

Then she heard footsteps.

Voices.

Laughter, soft, tired, real.

From the living room.

She took one step forward.

Then another.

And stepped inside.