The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 35

35 The Ice Cream Afternoon

Eve’s POV

Eve sat at the small dining table in Kamila and Miter’s home, pushing scrambled eggs across her plate though her appetite had long fled. Morning light streamed through the curtains, golden and warm, but it couldn’t soften the weight she carried in her chest.

The events of the past days pressed on her like an invisible boulder. Her face, once hidden in anonymity, had flashed on the largest screen in Westwood with the word Wanted stamped across it. She still felt the sting of shame on her skin, the way her knees had buckled, the cold blackness of fainting in front of her adoptive family.

And then… Oliver.

Oliver Macintire, son of one of the wealthiest men in Westwood. Oliver, who had returned after the private booking, praising her food, refusing to believe anyone else in Rodrigo’s kitchen could match her skill. Oliver, who had looked at her in a way she wasn’t ready for, a

way she didn’t want but couldn’t entirely ignore.

She had refused him at first. But Oliver was persistent, in the way only powerful young men could afford to be.

Kamila placed her hand gently on Eve’s arm, jolting her back to the present. “You should go, hija,” she said softly, her voice calm but firm.

Eve blinked. “Go? Where?”

Kamila smiled knowingly. “Oliver asked you for a simple afternoon. Just ice cream, nothing more. You’ve been hiding too long in the kitchen. You need some air, something normal, something human. Say yes.”

Eve’s chest tightened, “Normal? Do you call going out with a billionaire’s son normal? Kamila, if people knew,”

“People will always know something,” Kamila interrupted gently. “They will always talk. But, my dear, you cannot let fear chain you forever. You’ve given us so much here. Let someone spoil you for once.”

Spoil her. The word felt foreign. For three years in the Ashbrook estate, she had been anything but spoiled. She had scrubbed, ironed, cooked, endured silence like punishment, endured Ryan’s cold touch and colder eyes. She had endured his indifference until indifference had nearly erased her.

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And now Oliver wanted to take her out for ice cream.

Something inside her longed for it, the simplest of things. The small joy of sitting across from someone who wanted to hear her voice, not silence it.

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But another part of her, the scarred part, whispered that this was dangerous. Too dangerous.

She looked at Kamila, whose eyes were kind and unwavering. And in that moment, Eve let herself nod.

Oliver was waiting outside Rodrigo’s later that afternoon, leaning casually against his sleek black car, his smile bright as the sun overhead. He looked every bit the heir he was, immaculately dressed in a crisp shirt, his dark hair styled just enough to look careless, his posture screaming confidence.

When he saw her approach, his smile widened. “So you came.”

Eve smoothed her simple dress, suddenly self-conscious. “Only because Kamila insisted.”

Oliver grinned. “Then I owe Señora Rodrigo a thank you.” He opened the door for her with a

flourish. “Shall we?”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before sliding into the leather seat.

The ice cream parlor Oliver took her to was tucked into a quiet corner of Westwood, not one of the flashy places plastered across magazines. It was quaint, lined with pastel walls and vintage stools, the kind of place children pressed their noses to the glass to see rows of rainbow-colored scoops.

Oliver ordered chocolate fudge with extra toppings. Eve chose vanilla, plain, simple, safe.

They sat by the window, the afternoon light spilling across their table. For the first time in months, Eve felt almost… normal.

Oliver leaned back, watching her with amusement. “You eat ice cream like you’re trying not to

be caught stealing it,”

Her spoon paused midair. “Old habits.”

He tilted his head. “Bad marriage?”

The words hit her like a slap. She stiffened, her eyes darting away. “You shouldn’t ask things like that.”

Oliver lifted his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. Then I’ll ask something safer. Do you ever laugh?”

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She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

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“You always look so serious in the kitchen,” he said. “Focused. Brilliant, yes. But serious. I’ve been wondering if you ever laugh. And if you do, what it sounds like.”

Something tugged at the corner of her lips, unwilling, uninvited. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah, there it is.” He pointed at her faint smile as though it were a treasure. “Proof that you’re

not a statue carved out of marble.”

Despite herself, Eve chuckled softly. It startled her, the sound of it. She hadn’t laughed in… she couldn’t remember how long.

Oliver’s eyes softened. “Beautiful.”

Her chest tightened again. She wasn’t ready for this, for someone’s admiration, someone’s gentleness. Not when her heart still bore Ryan’s scars. Not when her name was smeared

with lies.

Still, for one fleeting hour, she allowed herself to forget.

When Eve returned to Rodrigo’s that evening, the warmth of that fleeting normalcy evaporated

like steam off hot iron.

Matthew’s eyes burned with disdain the moment she stepped into the kitchen. He didn’t speak at first, just slammed pans harder than necessary, his lips curled with contempt.

Finally, he spat, “So, the princess graces us with her presence after an outing with her new

admirer.”

Eve froze. “Excuse me?”

Matthew sneered. “Don’t bother denying it. We all saw him waiting for you. Must be nice, one minute you’re nobody, the next you’re charming billionaires over dessert.”

Her hands clenched. “What I do outside this kitchen is none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is,” he shot back, his voice low, laced with venom. “Because while you’re out playing lady, the rest of us are holding down the line. Don’t think your pretty face will save you here forever.”

Before Eve could respond, Lesly sidled up, her smile dripping with mock sweetness.

“So, Evelyn,” she said, deliberately loud enough for the others to hear. “What’s your secret? Hmm? How do you get these rich men wrapped around your finger? Don’t tell me it’s just your cooking.”

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Eve stared at her, stunned.

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Lesly leaned closer, lowering her voice but not her malice. “Teach me. Or at least admit it. No woman lands a husband like Ryan Ashbrook and then ends up on ice cream dates with Oliver Macintire by accident. You’ve got tricks. Share them.”

Heat rushed to Eve’s cheeks, not from shame but from fury. She had no tricks. No schemes. She had been forced into Ryan’s world like a pawn on a chessboard, and Oliver… Oliver had happened without her asking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said tightly, turning back to her station.

But she could feel it, their eyes, their whispers, the hostility thickening the air around her.

Why? Why was she always trapped in someone else’s mess?

Her father’s blackmail. Ryan’s silence. Now Oliver’s attention. Always pulled into storms she never chose. Always the target of envy, disdain, cruelty.

Her chest constricted. She needed air.

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