Chapter 6
Ezra's penthouse was silent.
Cold marble. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything sharp, clean, devoid of warmth.
He disappeared into his office without a word, leaving me alone in the vast living room with nothing but my thoughts.
And those thoughts wouldn't shut up.
"Okay. Okay. Let's review. Husband: terrifying but apparently useful. Family: confirmed garbage. Voice treatment: still unfunded. Plan: unclear."
I paced the room, pulling at my sleeves.
"Why did he do that? What's his angle? Nobody defends the mute charity case unless they want something. Especially not a man like Ezra Wolfe—"
The office door swung open.
Ezra leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching me pace.
"You're going to wear a hole in my floor," he said.
I stopped. Stared.
Pointed at myself. Then at the floor. Shrugged elaborately. *So what?*
"You're overthinking," he said. "There's no angle."
I blinked.
My pacing hadn't been audible—just internal monologue and silent footsteps.
But I'd specifically thought: What's his angle?
Testing. I needed to test this.
Holding his gaze, I thought very clearly: "If you can hear this—touch your left ear."
Ezra didn't move.
Didn't touch his ear.
But his jaw tightened—almost imperceptibly—and he said, "Stop testing me, Iris."
Every hair on my body stood up.
I hadn't been testing anything out loud. I hadn't signed it. I hadn't typed it.
"Oh my God." My thoughts spiraled. "Oh my God oh my God oh my GOD. He can actually—this is real—he can HEAR me—"
Ezra exhaled sharply. "Yes. And the volume is... considerable."
I stood frozen in the middle of his living room—mind screaming, body mute—staring at the man who could apparently hear the chaos inside my skull.
"How long?" I thought.
He looked at me steadily. "Since the wedding."
"Everything?"
A beat. Then: "Everything."
My face flushed hot. Every petty insult. Every creative curse word. Every moment I'd mentally called him a cold-hearted robot with a God complex.
"You heard ALL of that?"
The ghost of something—not quite a smile—flickered across his face.
"The 'God complex' part was... particularly memorable."
---
Cold marble. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything sharp, clean, devoid of warmth.
He disappeared into his office without a word, leaving me alone in the vast living room with nothing but my thoughts.
And those thoughts wouldn't shut up.
"Okay. Okay. Let's review. Husband: terrifying but apparently useful. Family: confirmed garbage. Voice treatment: still unfunded. Plan: unclear."
I paced the room, pulling at my sleeves.
"Why did he do that? What's his angle? Nobody defends the mute charity case unless they want something. Especially not a man like Ezra Wolfe—"
The office door swung open.
Ezra leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching me pace.
"You're going to wear a hole in my floor," he said.
I stopped. Stared.
Pointed at myself. Then at the floor. Shrugged elaborately. *So what?*
"You're overthinking," he said. "There's no angle."
I blinked.
My pacing hadn't been audible—just internal monologue and silent footsteps.
But I'd specifically thought: What's his angle?
Testing. I needed to test this.
Holding his gaze, I thought very clearly: "If you can hear this—touch your left ear."
Ezra didn't move.
Didn't touch his ear.
But his jaw tightened—almost imperceptibly—and he said, "Stop testing me, Iris."
Every hair on my body stood up.
I hadn't been testing anything out loud. I hadn't signed it. I hadn't typed it.
"Oh my God." My thoughts spiraled. "Oh my God oh my God oh my GOD. He can actually—this is real—he can HEAR me—"
Ezra exhaled sharply. "Yes. And the volume is... considerable."
I stood frozen in the middle of his living room—mind screaming, body mute—staring at the man who could apparently hear the chaos inside my skull.
"How long?" I thought.
He looked at me steadily. "Since the wedding."
"Everything?"
A beat. Then: "Everything."
My face flushed hot. Every petty insult. Every creative curse word. Every moment I'd mentally called him a cold-hearted robot with a God complex.
"You heard ALL of that?"
The ghost of something—not quite a smile—flickered across his face.
"The 'God complex' part was... particularly memorable."
---