The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 113

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113 Fire Beneath the Silk

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The music still hummed faintly through the ballroom when the organisers finally drew Ryan away.

It happened gently at first, one man in a tailored suit stepping close, murmuring something into Ryan’s ear with the polite urgency reserved for men of power. Ryan’s hand was still warm around Eve’s as the man spoke, his thumb unconsciously tracing one last, slow stroke against her skin as if reluctant to let go.

He glanced back at Eve immediately, as if even the suggestion of distance required her approval.

“I won’t be long,” he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Eve smiled, the small, private one she reserved only for him. “Take your time.”

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on her face, on the soft flush on her cheeks, the slight shine in her eyes,

the way her hand still rested protectively against the gentle swell of her stomach. For a second, it looked

like he might refuse to go at all. Then he exhaled, nodded once, and allowed himself to be steered away into a knot of dignitaries and organisers.

They swallowed him almost instantly.

Men and women in immaculate suits and glittering gowns converged around him, their hands extended,

their voices full of practiced warmth. They spoke of donations and projections, of research and strategy,

of long-term pledges and board seats. Ryan’s shoulders straightened, his expression shifting into that

cool, collected calm he wore in business settings, controlled, alert, never fully unguarded.

He still glanced back at her.

Once.

Twice.

As if checking that she had not simply evaporated the moment his hand left hers.

For the first time that evening, Eve was alone.

Not truly alone, she was standing in the centre of one of the grandest rooms in the city, surrounded by

hundreds of guests, but without Ryan’s solid presence beside her, the spotlight felt different.

Exposed.

Bright.

Searching.

She became aware of the way conversations dipped when she moved. The way eyes followed her, not with the open hostility she had grown used to months ago, but with sharpened curiosity. Her emerald dress caught the light with every breath she took, the silk gliding over the curve of her bump in a way that made it impossible to pretend nothing had changed.

She took a slow breath and lifted her glass of sparkling water to her lips.

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You’re fine, she told herself. You belong here. You’re not the scandal anymore.

The thought felt fragile, like glass held in bare hands.

It didn’t take long.

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They appeared in her periphery first, three women, all mid-thirties to early forties, all in gowns that whispered quiet luxury more than loud wealth. One wore midnight blue with tiny beads that shimmered like stars when she moved. Another had on a sleek black dress that hugged her body with unapologetic confidence. The third was draped in soft rose gold, her jewellery understated but expensive.

They moved with the ease of women who had attended countless galas and knew the choreography of polite society by heart. But their expressions, as they approached Eve, were open. Curious. Not sharpened

into blades.

“My goodness, Mrs Ashbrook,” the woman in midnight blue breathed as she reached her, taking Eve’s free hand as though they were already acquaintances. “You look absolutely radiant tonight.”

The word radiant made Eve’s heart stutter.

Another woman nodded eagerly. “We just had to come and introduce ourselves,” she said. “Your husband

is completely in love with you. The way he looks at you, my word, it’s unmistakable.”

The third laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been coming to this gala for years,”

she said, “and I have never once seen Ryan Ashbrook look at anyone the way he looks at you. Not once.”

Heat crept up Eve’s neck, quiet and unfamiliar. Compliments still felt like clothes she hadn’t quite grown into yet, beautiful, but ill-fitting, clearly borrowed from another woman’s life.

“You’re very kind,” she managed, her voice soft.

“It’s not kindness,” Midnight Blue insisted with a warm smile. “It’s observation.”

They fell into conversation with an ease that surprised her.

They spoke about the charity first, about children, about mobility, about hope. Black Dress shared that her

niece had been born with clubfoot and was now walking confidently because of early intervention. Rose Gold admitted she donated every year but had never truly understood where the funds went until tonight.

“It makes such a difference hearing someone actually explain it properly,” she said, nodding in the direction Ryan had been standing. “And you could tell he wasn’t just saying what donors wanted to hear.”

“He meant it,” Midnight Blue agreed. “I think you’re the reason for that.”

Eve blinked. “Me?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Black Dress replied lightly. “Men like your husband don’t just wake up one morning with compassion. Something, or someone, makes them soften.”

The words struck a place inside Eve she hadn’t realised was still bruised.

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Someone else.

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Once upon a time, she had believed she did not matter. That her presence was an inconvenience wedged

into a life already curated without her. Now these women were telling her she was the reason a man like Ryan had chosen to stand in a room full of power and speak about vulnerability.

It felt… unreal.

Rose Gold leaned in slightly. “I have to say,” she murmured, “watching him honour you like that, by naming

the wing after you? It was… moving. We’re not used to seeing men in his position publicly cherish their

wives. Not like that.”

Another woman at a neighbouring table turned slightly, drawn into the conversation. “I thought the same,”

she said. “For a moment I forgot where I was. It felt less like a corporate event and more like watching a

love story unfold in real time.”

Black Dress smiled wistfully. “My husband is lovely, but if he so much as breathed the word ‘love’ into a microphone, he’d combust.”

They laughed.

The sound surprised Eve.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed in a room full of strangers and not wondered who would twist it into something else later. For a brief, gentle moment, she felt… accepted. Not tolerated. Not

analysed. Simply accepted.

Another woman, stepped closer. “I don’t mean to overshare,” she said softly, “but seeing the two of you

tonight… it made me rethink a few things.”

Eve frowned slightly. “What things?”

“My own marriage,” the woman admitted. “I’ve spent years convincing myself that coldness was just… normal. That affection fades. That we grow out of being cherished. Watching your husband tonight made

me remember I used to want more.”

Her words settled over Eve like a fragile blessing.

Warmth curled in her chest, wrapping around the places that still remembered being unwanted, unseen,

discarded as expendable. Tonight, she wasn’t a warning.

She was… inspiration.

She barely knew what to do with that.

They continued to talk, about the venue, the décor, the menu. Someone complimented her dress. Someone else asked which designer it was. Eve smiled and admitted, slightly shy, that she had simply

chosen something that made her feel less like she was hiding.

“You shouldn’t hide,” Midnight Blue said. “You’re glowing.”

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Eve’s hand drifted down to her bump again, almost unconsciously. “We weren’t sure if it was too early to show,” she confessed quietly. “But… Ryan wanted me to feel comfortable. So we decided not to pretend.”

“It doesn’t look too early,” Rose Gold said gently. “It looks… right.”

Eve’s throat tightened unexpectedly.

For a moment, standing there, nestled in a small cluster of women who weren’t whispering behind her back or measuring their words like poison, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

She felt like she might actually belong.

Then the air shifted.

It wasn’t anything as dramatic as the music stopping or someone shouting. It was subtler, a slight tightening, the way laughter thinned, the way conversations around them seemed suddenly aware.

Eve didn’t hear Luan arrive at first.

She felt her.

A change in temperature.

A subtle prickle along the back of her neck.

The faintest scent of perfume she recognised from a long-ago, miserable dinner.

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