Arranged to the Silent Billionaire

My mom couldn't survive three hundred phone calls a day, so she tricked me out of state, shoved a suitcase into my hands, and floored it. "Baby, you've technically got a husbandtobe.

Old family pact. Go bother him instead." I turned around. A face. Cold, and stupidly pretty. Something greedy went off behind my ribs, and after that I haunted him.

Every single day. "Check in. Check in with me right now!!!" (rage) "Who were you texting?

Why did it take you thirty minutes to answer me?" (interrogation) "Who was the woman kissing you in my dream last night?" (dark) "Explain yourself. Is one sentence really so hard?

Hm?" (suffocating) The butler looked at the boy, who had visibly lost the will to live, and murmured: "Miss... our young master hasn't said a word in thirteen years." A little over a month later, that boy would open his mouth and say his first word right in front of me.

Chapter 1 My dad ran enough tests on me to be sure I was all bark and no bite. That's the only reason I never ended up in a psychiatric facility. My dad is a yandere.

My mom is pure sunshine. They got together and produced me. A yandere motormouth. Everyone in my life has lived in my shadow since the day I learned to form sentences.

Summer after freshman year, my best friend said goodbye to me with actual tears in her eyes. Then she bolted. That left nobody. So I followed my mother from room to room.

My dad has a hearing impairment. He pops the hearing aid out and the rest of us stop existing. That night I had a bad dream.

I went and knocked on their bedroom door with murder on my face. They took forever to answer. No idea what they were doing in there. My dad didn't bother hiding how done he was.

His voice was hoarse. "Vivienne. What now." I pushed past him and fixed my mother with a wounded stare. "Mom. Why didn't you say goodnight to me?" "What were you two doing?

Why did it take you that long to open the door?" "Why is the door locked again? Aren't we the closest family in the world?

Explain." "Mom, I dreamed you had a baby brother and stopped wanting me. You wouldn't do that. Right? Hm?" "Why aren't you talking. Answer me." My mom closed her eyes.

I could hear her back teeth grinding. "You think I'd have another one just to torture myself? One of you is more than I can handle!" My whole face lit up.

I climbed into their bed and wrapped both arms around her. "Mom. Mom. I knew you loved me most.

Can you tell me again about the dream you had when you were pregnant with me?" My dad's expression went cold and he reached for my arm, but my mother stopped him.

The two of them traded a look. Then my dad let go, walked out, and shut the door behind him. He wasn't even angry. If anything he looked pleased.

I was too busy floating on the fact that my mother loved me best to think about that for one single second.

Which is why, when she suggested a road trip, I said yes without blinking. The next day I got in the car and went under immediately. Carsick, badly.

No talking for me the entire drive. The two of them, meanwhile, were glowing. My dad even gave me a pleasant look, which almost never happens. Sleep, wake, sleep, wake.

I lost track. Then someone hauled me out by the arm. "We're here." The car had stopped in front of a low stone house with a covered walkway running along the front of it. Old.

Quietly, obscenely expensive. My dad pressed the suitcase into my hands, got back in, and hit the locks in one smooth motion. I snapped awake. The engine was already turning over.

All that was left was my mother's voice, stretched thin by the wind. "Baby, you've technically got a husbandtobe. Old family pact.

Go bother him instead." "We'll come get you when the semester starts. Sixty days. You've got this!" My face went flat. They lied to me.

My own parents lied to me. "Miss Marsh." A middleaged man. Very polite. Calling me back. I ground my teeth. Whoever had just opened his mouth was about to get all of it.

Chapter 2 I turned, and everything black in my eyes turned into little hearts. I'd misjudged my mother. She's loyal after all. Because standing there was a boy.

Pale, redlipped, tall and narrow as a reed. He dropped his gaze. Not one flicker of curiosity about the fiancée in front of him. The butler next to him wore a sharply pressed suit.

He was the friendly one, and he stepped forward. "Miss Marsh, this is our young master, and you—" I was on him in two steps. "Oh my God. One look and I knew.

You're the husband I've never met!" "What's your name?" "Hm? Why aren't you talking. Are you shy?" "Fine. Then I'm calling you hubby." His stare had gone rigid.

I smacked my own forehead. "You're right. Too forward. We need the grownups to sign off first. Where are your parents? Take me to meet them." The butler's face changed.

The boy stopped looking at me. His mouth went flat, and he walked away. I got his name from the owner of the house, Grandpa Ashford. Desmond. His parents had died in an accident.

PTSD. Since the year he turned six, he had not said one word to another living person. "Your grandfather and I served together. We made the pact half as a joke.

Nobody's forcing anything on anyone. I only wanted the two of you to be friends." He watched the relief settle across my face. Then he sighed at the ceiling. "Des has had it hard.

Lost his mother and father when he was small." "Kids call him a mute right to his face." "And I'm an old man, I don't know how many years I've got left.

So if you'd rather not, Viv—" I waved him off. As far as I was concerned, Desmond had already been filed under mine. "Who said I'd rather not? Relax, Grandpa. Nobody outloyals me.

This hubby is decided." Thank God he can hear. If he were like my dad, how would I even survive. Grandpa Ashford could not stop grinning.

We talked for two hours and it only got better. Like I'd finally found someone who listens, and found him several decades too late.

The butler eventually had to tell us it was dark out. I dragged myself off to the room they'd made up for me. Right next to Desmond's. I knocked. He didn't open it. "Hubby. Open up.

Don't hide in there being quiet, I know you're awake." "Aren't you even curious what kind of person got pacted to you?" "You're really not curious whether I like my mom or my dad better?" "Not curious about my grades?" "Not curious whether anyone's ever written me a love letter?" "Not curious what anime I watch?" "Not curious whether I like sun or rain?" "Not curious what color my pajamas are, or my sheet set..." A full hour.

Not one sound out of him. But I'd talked myself into an excellent mood, so I went to bed satisfied. He was the first person who had ever let me talk that long without cutting in.

The next morning Desmond was eating breakfast.

I slid in beside him. "Oh, you like wontons." "What a coincidence, there's this old wonton place near my campus that's incredibly popular.

Packed from open to close." "When you come visit I'll take you. The line is brutal, though." "Oh, speaking of lines, there's a grocery store having a sale..." "Anyway.

What color boxers do you usually wear?" Behind me, the butler choked. He'd been standing there beaming at the two of us like a proud parent, and now he was coughing into his fist.

Chapter 3 Desmond finally set down his spoon. His brows drew together, and his whole body broadcast one sentence: get away from me.

I'd survived more than a decade of my father's cold shoulder. My skin is about a foot thick by now. I turned to the butler. He cleared his throat.

Quietly: "Black." Desmond shot to his feet. His eyes went disbelief first, then something hotter. "Young master, Mr.

Ashford's instructions were that anything Miss Marsh takes an interest in is to be disclosed in full." He turned around and walked off, stonefaced.

I followed him. "Give me your number, we can just text, it's easier." "Hey, don't you think the voice memo thing is a little bossy?" "Hold to record.

Hold." "Ha ha ha ha ha..." The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame.

I touched my nose, which had almost been part of it, then leaned over the railing and shouted down the stairs. "Hey, Butler! Speaking of boxers, don't those come in sizes?

I'm curious, how big is his—" The door opened again. He pushed his phone into my face, jaw set, the flush already climbing out of his collar. Oh. His contact QR code. I smiled.

Got him. After that, wherever he went, I trailed behind him talking, and nothing shook me loose. He went from ignoring me, to irritated, to used to it.

I also mapped out his daily route, which was boringly consistent. Finish breakfast. Back to his room. Finish lunch. Back to his room. Finish watering the plants. Back to his room.

Right now I was watching him water. He did it beautifully, like it had been choreographed. He glanced up, confused. Like he was asking why I'd gone quiet today. My eyes went hot.

The tears just showed up. There is no way life is the same with just anyone. Grandpa Ashford and the butler picked exactly that moment to appear.

He jabbed his cane against the stone and glared at Desmond. "Have you been bullying our Viv again?" Desmond: ... His mouth went flat. He didn't get one word out in his own defense.

I stepped in front of him. "It's not his fault. Maybe I'm just too sexy.

My own parents can't stand me." "He's the only one who listens, and he never cuts in." "Getting a hubby like this is the luckiest thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm going to be so good to him." Grandpa Ashford's cane stopped halfway to the ground.

Behind me, the butler had both hands over his mouth. I wiped my eyes. The concept of a dead room does not exist for me.

I changed the subject without a seam. "Oh, Grandpa, where have you been the last few days? Busy? Why haven't you answered my messages?" "Are you free tonight to talk?

I heard you like fishing. I'll come with you." "Speaking of fish, I know this place..." Grandpa Ashford and the butler traded a look.

He laughed, answered his own alarm like it was an urgent call, and left looking extremely busy. Well. People who actually listen are hard to find. Lucky me. I'd already found mine.

I turned to Desmond, who had stayed quiet through all of it. His back was to me. Very focused on the watering.

Except his spine was locked, his ears were scarlet, and the water had been running onto his own shoe for a while.

That night I sent Desmond my one thousand and seventh message, and got sleepy. I was about to go under when Zadie Okonkwo videocalled. My best friend.

The only person who has managed to tolerate me for years, and barely. "Something's off, Viv. You used to send me five hundred messages a day, minimum.

Why has it gone so quiet?" She watched my face get progressively more guilty. Then her eyes narrowed. "So that's it.

You've got someone behind my back?" Chapter 4 "What does he have that I don't? Can he take ten straight years of you harassing him?!" "He'd better hope I never find him.

I will turn him into ground meat." It escalated fast. I explained the situation. We talked until it was very late, and she arrived, sourly, at a conclusion.

Desmond was only humoring me. The misery was real. He just couldn't get a single word of it out. Ridiculous. He's the only one who listens to me. That's the whole thing.

That night I had a nightmare. In it, Desmond was tangled up with some other woman. I stepped in to stop it, and he gave me one cold word. Get out.

I woke up with that greedy thing going off behind my ribs again. I went downstairs without slippers, face set, and hauled Desmond up out of his breakfast by the front of his shirt.

He stared. I let him have it. "Check in. Check in with me right now!!!" (rage) "Who were you texting?

Why did it take you thirty minutes to answer me?" (interrogation) "Who was the woman kissing you in my dream last night?" (dark) "Explain yourself. Is one sentence really so hard?

Hm?" (suffocating) The butler looked at the boy, who had lost the will to live and possibly the ability to blink, and murmured next to my ear: "Miss... our young master hasn't said a word in thirteen years." I let go of his collar and smoothed it back down for him. "Oh, don't be scared, baby.

I was possessed for a second there. I wasn't interrogating you. I just like you so much.

You understand, right?" (pitiful) He brushed my hand away, cool about it, and looked down at his phone. Mine lit up.

Des: [I'm not obligated to report to you.] My nails went into my palm. I looked up. "Good. I hope you don't regret that." Desmond picked up his phone again.

He'd lost count of how many times. Normally, by this hour, there'd be three hundred and something unread sitting on that screen. Today, morning to night: nothing.

This was how it should be, he told himself. Something kept climbing in his chest anyway, and it wouldn't settle. Footsteps in the hall. He grabbed a book, fast.

The mirror caught his forehead smoothing out. He probably never noticed the relief himself. But what came through the door wasn't the familiar violent knocking.

It was the butler, talking to one of the staff. "Miss Marsh hasn't left her room all day?" "No, sir. And she looked bad going in. I think she had a paring knife in her hand.

I'm a little worried—" Her sentence came back to him. I hope you don't regret that. His heart stopped midbeat. He was on his feet.

He pulled his door open and walked past every startled face in the hallway, straight to Vivienne's room. He knocked. Nothing. He pulled in a breath. Then he kicked the door in.

The smell of hot pot hit him in the face