The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61, Th

e Quiet Between Us

Ryan’s POV

Ryan did not return to the room until much later that night. The house was silent, the kind of silence that echoed in your ears and made every small sound, every breath, every heartbeat,

feel too loud.

He pushed open the bedroom door quietly and found Eve fast asleep, her hand resting protectively over her belly. The sight made something inside him twist painfully. Her face was turned toward the window, bathed in the pale light spilling through the curtains. She looked fragile. Peaceful, but also… distant.

He stood there for a long moment, staring. How many nights had he come home to find her like this before she left? Silent. Guarded. Small beneath his shadow. And still, he’d done nothing then, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t touched her, hadn’t even asked if she was okay. He had turned away from her warmth and now he was paying the price for it.

He slipped into bed quietly, careful not to wake her. The mattress dipped under his weight, and for a second, her lashes fluttered. She murmured something in her sleep, soft and broken. He leaned in, straining to catch it.

Then he heard it.

One word.

“Oliver.”

The name hit him like a knife straight through his ribs.

He froze, his breath leaving him in a sharp, quiet exhale. His heart pounded against his chest, every beat echoing with that name. Oliver.

For a long time, he just stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the heat burning under his skin. It felt ridiculous, the jealousy, the ache, the fear, but it was there all the same.

He shut his eyes tightly. He had no one to blame but himself.

He had pushed her away.

He had starved her of affection until she sought it somewhere else.

He had built this wall between them, brick by cold brick, and now he was bleeding from the edges of it.

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Was he a monster for keeping her here? For not letting her go? For trying to pretend they could start over when everything between them was cracked and raw?

He turned his head, looking at her again. Even in her sleep, she looked like she was fighting something, her lips tight, her body drawn in like she was bracing for another storm.

Maybe he was the storm.

He’d told himself this time would be different. That he’d love her without holding back. But love had never come easily to him, it had always felt like a risk, a weakness, a door people used to hurt him. Now it was a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

He didn’t sleep that night. When sleep finally came, it wasn’t peaceful, it was a storm of restless images. His mother’s voice, his father’s disappointment, Eve’s tears, Oliver’s name like a whisper in his head that wouldn’t stop.

By morning, the other side of the bed was empty.

His heart seized in his chest.

Not again.

0

He shot up, searching the room, calling her name once before realizing the silence was absolute. The same silence from the day she had left. The same heavy emptiness.

He stumbled into the hall, every nerve alert, eyes darting from the stairs to the front door.

No note.

No bag.

No shoes missing.

But that didn’t calm the terror rising in his throat.

He ran down the stairs two at a time, barefoot, half dressed, until he reached the living room. And then,

He stopped.

The air smelled of butter and sugar and something smoky, something good. He frowned, sniffing again. Bacon. Pancakes. Sausage,

He followed the scent to the dry kitchen and froze at the doorway.

Eve stood at the counter, hair messy from sleep, sleeves rolled to her elbows, surrounded by plates. She was eating like she hadn’t seen food in days, pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs,

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sausage, toasted sandwiches, and something that looked suspiciously like smoked almonds mixed with honey.

It was chaos.

And she was glowing.

He didn’t move. He just watched.

The sight hit him harder than it should have. How many times had he seen her in this same kitchen before? Quiet, careful, walking on eggshells around him, every movement calculated to avoid his disapproval?

Now she looked… alive. Carefree. Her face soft with contentment, her eyes half closed as she chewed, her hand unconsciously rubbing her bump.

He realized, then, how little he’d truly seen her before. He’d been in the same house, breathing the same air, and yet he’d missed her completely.

When she picked up a glass of milk and gulped it down, the corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t even notice the sound that escaped him until it echoed off the kitchen tiles.

A low chuckle.

She startled, spinning around so fast she nearly dropped her fork. Her eyes went wide when

she saw him standing there.

“Good morning,” he said softly, walking in, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Woke up on the farm, did we?” he teased, taking a sip.

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly wiped at the crumbs near her lips. “Didn’t eat dinner,” she said quietly, defensive but not angry.

He nodded, guilt tugging at him. “Yeah. That’s on me.”

He poured another cup and sat down beside her, helping himself to a pancake. “So,” he asked between bites, “what do you want to do today?”

She blinked at him, confused, “What?”

He smiled faintly. “It’s a simple question, Eve. What do you want to do?”

She hesitated. She wasn’t used to him asking that. Not like this,

“I… don’t know,” she admitted softly.

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“Then I’ll decide,” he said, leaning back, pretending to think. “We’ll spread out on the couch in the viewing room, order junk from Fernando’s, and watch movies all day. You’ll tell me about your adventures in Westwood, and I’ll try not to judge your terrible taste in food.”

She stared at him, half suspicious, half amused.

“Movies and junk food?” she repeated slowly.

He shrugged. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“Ryan Ashbrook watching movies and eating junk food is about as likely as pigs flying,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Then consider today a miracle,” he replied, smirking.

Her smile lingered for a second before fading. “When will you go to the office?” she asked.

“I’m working from home today,” he said. “Perks of being the boss.”

He winked at her, and for the first time in years, she didn’t feel the sting of sarcasm behind

his tone.

She smiled faintly. “Okay.”

They freshened up and met in the viewing room a while later. It was warm and cozy, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. Ryan had arranged the couch cushions and a blanket, and when she sat, he gently lifted her feet onto his lap.

She tensed for a moment, unaccustomed to the intimacy, but his touch was gentle. He began to massage her feet in slow, careful circles.

“You don’t have to,” she started.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I want to.”

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