The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 147

Chapter 147 Whispers Catch Fire

The risotto round ended the way Eve had hoped it would, cleanly, decisively, without drama on the surface.

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The stage lights were still blazing as contestants filed off, faces tight with adrenaline. Some clutched their aprons like shields. Some forced smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Others walked too fast, as if the next corridor might swallow them before the cameras could capture the tremor in their hands.

Eve stayed composed until the moment the studio doors swung shut behind the last contestant and the sound of the audience became a muffled roar.

Only then did she breathe properly.

Not relief. Not peace.

Just a measured breath, the kind she took when she knew the next part would be harder, even if the world thought the danger ended when the judges put down their forks.

Backstage was a different world.

The bright, controlled sheen of television dissolved into hurried footsteps, clipped voices, headset chatter, and a restless, predatory energy that didn’t need cameras to feel real.

Contestants hovered in tight circles, replaying comments like prayers. Crew members moved through them with equipment, eyes forward, expressions carefully blank, pretending not to hear the gossip already

forming in corners.

Eve had lived this before.

Not in a studio.

But in the days her face had been plastered on screens. In the days the world stopped seeing her as a

woman and started seeing her as a story. A villain. A headline.

She moved with Ryan beside her, Camila and Mitre a few steps behind. Eve’s shoulders stayed relaxed, her

smile polite when someone greeted her, her posture deliberate.

But her awareness was sharp.

Because she felt it, the shift.

Not loud.

Not immediate.

But present.

The air was different.

Eyes lingered a second too long. Voices lowered when she passed. A laugh died abruptly, as if someone

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Chapter 147 Whispers Catch Fire

remembered she could hear.

Eve kept her face calm and turned slightly toward Camila.

“Stay close,” she murmured.

Camila’s expression was already tight. “I am close.”

Mitre said nothing, but his attention moved like a guard dog’s, quiet, watchful, ready.

Eve’s gaze slid ahead.

Mathew stood near the corridor that led to the contestants’ waiting area. He wasn’t surrounded by

cameras now. He wasn’t on stage with the judges’ critiques ringing in his ears. He was in his element: the space between official and unofficial, where words could be dropped like seeds and left to grow wild.

He didn’t look angry.

That was what made Eve’s stomach tighten.

Mathew wasn’t the type to explode when he lost.

He was the type to calculate.

He wore calm like armour, his mouth set in a neutral line, his body language controlled. If anyone glanced

at him, they might assume he was taking the round with dignity.

But Eve knew better.

She had worked under him. She knew how he punished without raising his voice. How he destroyed

someone’s confidence with a sentence spoken softly.

He didn’t need to shout.

He just needed to whisper to the right people.

Eve slowed her steps slightly, not stopping, just easing so she could watch.

Mathew leaned toward a small group of contestants, his voice low enough that it forced them to lean in

too. There were no dramatic gestures. No theatrics. Just quiet conversation.

One contestant gave a small laugh, uneasy, uncertain.

Mathew’s mouth curved into something faintly sympathetic.

He was building rapport.

Ryan noticed Eve’s attention and followed her gaze. His face tightened.

“What is he doing?” Ryan asked quietly.

Eve didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t want to speak until she was sure.

Then she saw it, the way Mathew turned his head slightly, making sure no crew member looked too

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closely. The way he paused between sentences as if choosing words that would stick.

Eve’s lips pressed together.

“He’s working,” she said.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Working what?”

“A narrative,” Eve replied.

Mathew’s voice carried just enough now that Eve caught fragments.

“…not saying it’s obvious,” Mathew was murmuring, “but you know how these things go.”

A contestant frowned. “What things?”

Mathew let out a small, tired sigh, the sound of someone burdened by truth.

Cham

“Competitions,” he said. “Sometimes they’re… influenced. It happens. Sponsors. Connections. Favouritism.

Another contestant’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you saying it’s rigged?”

Mathew didn’t say yes.

He didn’t need to.

He simply tilted his head and gave a look that suggested he was too wise to be shocked.

“I’m saying,” Mathew replied carefully, “you should keep your eyes open.”

The first contestant scoffed, but it wasn’t confident. “Why would it be rigged?”

Mathew’s gaze flicked briefly, briefly, toward Eve.

He looked away quickly, as if he didn’t want to be caught staring.

Then he leaned in again.

“Because,” he said softly, “some people come here with personal grudges and power.”

A third contestant’s mouth tightened. “Who?”

Mathew hesitated. Just enough to make them hungry for the answer.

“I shouldn’t,” he said, voice gentle. “I don’t want to cause trouble. I’ve been trying to stay professional.”

That line landed exactly the way he wanted.

Because now they believed he was restrained.

Now they believed he was reasonable.

Now they wanted to protect him.

A contestant muttered, “If you’re talking about Mrs Ashbrook…”

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Mathew didn’t confirm it.

He let the silence do it.

Then he sighed again and said, “I had a history with her. Before this show. I won’t pretend I didn’t. She didn’t like me, and that’s fine. People don’t always like their former bosses.”

The contestants exchanged looks.

One said, “Wait, you were her boss?”

“I was,” Mathew replied. “And I’ll be honest, she didn’t leave on good terms.”

Eve felt heat rise behind her eyes.

Not because she wanted to cry.

Because she wanted to step forward and cut him down where he stood.

But she didn’t move.

She didn’t react.

Mathew continued, calm as poison.

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“I’m not saying she’s doing anything,” he added quickly, like a man desperate to be fair. “I’m just saying… the way they spoke to me out there. The way they framed it. It felt personal.”

A contestant’s face hardened. “That’s unfair.”

Mathew’s lips pressed together with quiet pain. “It’s fine. I’m used to people assuming the worst about me.

Eve’s fingers curled at her side.

He’s doing it.

He was painting himself as the victim.

And victims were contagious. They drew loyalty. They drew outrage. They gave people a villain to hate.

Eve’s gaze shifted away from Mathew and landed on Ashley.

Ashley stood near the water station, still glowing from the round, trying to keep it in her face, trying to hold

onto the pride of a job well done. Mateo stood beside her, shoulders squared, eyes alert. They weren’t

behaving like people who expected shortcuts. They looked like people who had come to work, to prove

themselves, to honour the restaurant that raised them.

Eve’s chest tightened with protectiveness.

Then she saw it.

A contestant brushed past Ashley and didn’t smile back.

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Another contestant glanced at Ashley’s apron and smirked.

Glaum

Someone muttered something under their breath, not loud enough to be clear, but loud enough to be felt.

Ashley’s smile faltered.

She looked around, confused, searching for something she couldn’t name.

Mateo leaned toward her. “Ignore them,” he murmured.

Ashley’s eyes darted. “What’s happening?”

Mateo’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know. But it’s… weird.”

A woman from another team, someone Ashley had spoken to earlier, walked up with an overly bright

smile.

“Congrats,” she said, but her tone didn’t match the word. “First place, right?”