They say money is everything. Maybe it is… maybe it isn't. Especially for those whose family is a storm rather than a shelter. No matter how much wealth you possess, trouble, grief, and stress always find a way in.
Money can't fix everything.
Nazaren Ashford knew that better than anyone. He had it all—limitless fortune, unmatched fame, a face carved to perfection, a body people would kill to possess, and talents that left everyone else in the dust. He was the embodiment of every dream, every aspiration…
Except for one thing everyone else took for granted: a voice.
Something so ordinary, so universal, yet he didn't have it. Despite owning everything, he could not own something so mere.
Nazaren had never seen his silence as a limitation—but to everyone around him, it was louder than any of his accomplishments.
And yet, here he was again, bending to his grandmother's relentless demands, seated in a lavish restaurant for the third "date" of the month. The gold chandelier above shimmered, scattering light across the marble floor, while soft piano notes floated through the air, blending with the quiet hum of luxury.
He had cut his meetings short just to be here. Clad in his tailored black suit, every line accentuated his sharp, commanding frame. His hair, perfectly styled, revealed his forehead, highlighting a chiseled jawline and soft, penetrating eyes that betrayed the slightest hint of weariness. His palms rested lightly on the pristine white tablecloth, poised but tense.
He didn't want to be here. Not really. He barely knew what he wanted anymore—only what his grandmother expected. His muteness, something so intrinsic to him, had always been a source of disappointment in her eyes. And so, he performed the role she demanded, sacrificing his own desires to keep her pleased.
He couldn't deny the woman across from him was beautiful. Her soft smile, paired with a pastel dress, gave her an almost angelic aura. Polite, elegant, poised—she was clearly trying her best to impress.
But Nazaren wasn't interested.
Not in her. Not in any of this.
The truth was simple: he had never been interested in women. But who cared? No one had ever asked. No one cared about his desires, his thoughts, or the faint stirrings of his own heart. And honestly… he barely cared himself anymore. His existence had become a constant performance, consumed by the obsessive need to please others—to earn even a fraction of acknowledgment: a nod, a smile, a shred of affection from his family. From his grandmother.
For that tiny, elusive approval, he would go through the motions. He would marry a stranger. Someone with no shared interests, no understanding of his soul, no inkling of the heart beating silently beneath his flawless exterior. All for the sake of keeping his grandmother satisfied.
She had arranged this date—just like the last two—insisting it was "time" for him to settle down, to start a family. Twenty-seven, wildly successful, untouchable in every way… yet, in her eyes, he was still somehow incomplete. A man who needed a wife to "fix" him. According to her, his muteness could only be justified, only considered normal, if a gentle woman stood by his side.
The girl across from him was named Rebecca. Stunning, with soft features, a delicate smile, and a charm that could light up any room. But to Nazaren, none of it sparked even the faintest flicker of interest. Still, he wore the practiced, flawless mask he had perfected over the years—a soft, polite smile, calm and unreadable, hiding the storm beneath.
The restaurant buzzed with quiet murmurs, the gentle clink of cutlery, and the occasional stolen glance toward their table. Of course they were staring—Nazaren Ashford wasn't someone you could ignore. The world-renowned businessman exuded presence simply by existing, though he had never sought attention. It came for him anyway, like a shadow he could not escape.
"You're even more good-looking in person," Rebecca said, her soft laugh accompanied by wide, admiring eyes as they traced his face.
Yeah, that's what they all say, Nazaren thought. The face. Always the face first.
"Honestly, I rarely read magazines or watch TV, but even I know how famous you are just by listening to people around me. It's… really impressive," she added, her tone lively, tinged with both excitement and shyness.
"I'm honestly so happy to have this chance, you know? To go on a date and actually get to know you. I bet so many girls would die for this moment. I mean, who wouldn't?" She leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief, a playful grin tugging at her lips. "…You're one of the men with the most incredible aura, and all, haha."
Her laughter was light, carefree… and utterly predictable. Compliments, flattery, admiration—they all came first. Always.
Nazaren offered a soft, polite smile in return, letting her words wash over him like water off stone.
Rebecca leaned in a little closer, resting her chin on her hand. "So… tell me about yourself," she said, her curiosity genuine, yet tinged with a naïve awkwardness. "I mean, I've never really read much about you in magazines or anything, so I don't know much at all. Maybe you could tell me yourself? That way we'd… I dunno, see if we're compatible or something?"
Nazaren's calm mask faltered ever so slightly. His brows drew together as he processed her words. What the hell was she asking?
He stared at her, utterly perplexed, while she blinked back, confusion and anticipation warring in her eyes. After a long, tense moment, Nazaren let out a silent sigh and reached into the pocket of his tailored suit.
From within, he retrieved a small, palm-sized notepad—the one he always carried. With practiced precision, he flipped it open and drew out his pen, the faintest crease of tension marking his perfect composure.
Rebecca watched, her confusion deepening, as Nazaren began to write. His movements were precise, deliberate—every stroke controlled, yet effortless, as if he had done this a thousand times. Long, slender fingers held the pen with grace, guiding the ink across the page like a silent conductor orchestrating a symphony of words.
Her eyes flickered between the notepad and his face, unsure how to process what was happening.
When he finished, Nazaren slid the notepad across the table with quiet authority. His handwriting, elegant and immaculate, spelled out a single sentence:
"Didn't you know I can't speak?"
Rebecca's eyes widened, her hands trembling slightly as she read the words.
"What? You're… mute?" she finally asked, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the restaurant, sharp enough to pierce Nazaren's calm exterior—though, for him, it was nothing new.
For a moment, she froze, completely taken aback. "Oh…" Her voice faltered, almost whispering. "Oh my god… I… I didn't know…"
Nazaren tilted his head slightly, a single eyebrow rising. So… she really didn't know? A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Perhaps Rebecca truly was genuine, speaking honestly when she claimed she hadn't read magazines or watched TV—hadn't known about his muteness. That was fine. She had every right to be unaware.
But how could his grandmother? How could she set this up without warning her? Without giving her even the barest clue about the man she was meeting? That was unfair to Rebecca. Whether good or bad, she deserved to know something so fundamental about the person she was having a blind date with.
Rebecca, now visibly flustered, stammered quickly, trying to recover. "I—uh—I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to offend you, I just—" She paused, cheeks flushed, words tumbling over themselves. "I wasn't told… oh, this is so awkward!"
Nazaren shook his head slightly, his smile soft but distant. It wasn't her fault. She wasn't the first to be caught off guard by his muteness, and she wouldn't be the last. No, the blame rested squarely elsewhere. Another careless move from his grandmother, as always.
What else could he expect?
Nazaren noticed the shift instantly. The revelation had left its mark, subtle but undeniable—the flicker of doubt and disappointment in Rebecca's eyes, quickly masked by a forced smile. It was fleeting, yet unmistakable. He had seen that look too many times before, worn by people who thought they could handle him… and failed.
"Oh, I—I really had no idea… I mean, I wasn't told… so, uhm, I don't know what to say or do…" Rebecca stammered, her voice apologetic, laced with discomfort. Her once-bright enthusiasm now wavered, as if she were quietly reevaluating everything about this encounter.
Nazaren leaned back in his chair, sharp eyes fixed on her every movement. There was no anger, no irritation—just the quiet, resigned acceptance of someone who had seen this scene play out countless times before.
Rebecca's fingers tapped nervously against the edge of the table. "I mean… it's not a big deal, of course," she added hurriedly, forcing a brightness into her tone that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm just… surprised, that's all! You're still… uh… amazing, obviously. I mean, you're the great Nazaren Ashford."
Nazaren's lips curved into a polite smile—the same practiced expression he had worn countless times, flawless yet hollow, never reaching his eyes. He wasn't surprised by her reaction. Most people, when faced with his muteness, either pitied him, judged him, or masked their discomfort with empty reassurances.
Rebecca glanced at the notepad again, hesitation flickering across her features. "I guess… it must be hard sometimes, right? Not being able to, you know… communicate easily?"
Nazaren's jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his calm remained intact. He picked up his pen and wrote a measured response:
"Not as hard as people thinking it's a flaw."
He slid the notepad across the table. Rebecca's face fell as her eyes scanned the words.
"Oh… I didn't mean it like that!" she exclaimed, voice rising with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. "I just… I don't know how to phrase it—"
Nazaren lifted a hand, a silent gesture halting her mid-sentence. His gaze softened imperceptibly, but the unspoken message in his eyes was crystal clear: "You don't need to explain anything."
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Rebecca's earlier excitement had evaporated, replaced by a tension she couldn't hide—awkward, hesitant, and tinged with pity. Nazaren knew exactly how the rest of the evening would unfold: a strained conversation, her words carefully measured, unknowingly laced with the discomfort she felt around him.
He hated it.
Yet, he smiled. Always, he smiled. Even knowing exactly how this date would end. Rebecca wasn't to blame. It was moments like these that reminded him how rarely anyone saw the man behind the silence, the person beneath the perfection.
And still… he'd endure it. Keep playing the role, performing the act his family demanded.
Because what choice did he truly have?
Rebecca remained silent, awkward, unsure how to start a conversation. How could she, really? How do you talk to someone who couldn't speak back? She probably questioned if this date was even worth continuing.
Nazaren sighed softly, his shoulders slumping just slightly. He reached for his notepad again, pen moving in fluid, deliberate strokes. When he finished, he gently tore out the page and slid it across the table toward her.
"It's okay if you don't like me. You have the choice to decide that. I won't put you in an awkward situation. I'll end this date myself if needed. You're a good girl, and I don't want you to end up with someone like me."
Rebecca's lips parted in surprise as she read the note, relief flickering briefly in her eyes. She masked it quickly with a soft laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I… well, thank you, Nazaren. You're really sweet."
Nazaren's smile was gentle, almost fragile—heartbreaking in its quiet restraint. But his eyes… his eyes betrayed a storm of emotions he had carried for far too long. Hurt, resignation, a quiet yearning. A depth she didn't notice, wouldn't notice, because she didn't look long enough to see.
Instead, she exhaled a quiet breath of relief. Inwardly, her thoughts slipped past the polite mask she wore. He's insanely hot… but mute?
A small frown tugged at her brows, though she kept her expression perfectly neutral. A man like him should have a deep, rich voice to match his looks… but this? How could someone so perfect be so flawed?
The thought clung to her, unsettling and uncomfortable. She had built an entire fantasy around Nazaren Ashford. Tall, elegant, successful, impossibly handsome. She imagined a voice to go with it, something smooth, commanding, magnetic.
But now that fantasy lay in pieces at her feet.
Only then did she realize the truth behind the vague rumors she'd once heard. Whispers of a mute billionaire. She had brushed them off at the time, thinking people exaggerated or twisted stories for fun. Maybe he was just one of those drama CEO-types who hated talking. Something dramatic and mysterious, like in the shows she used to watch.
But sitting here, staring at him, the weight of reality settled heavily on her chest.
No matter how rich, powerful, or stunning he was… that one flaw drained every bit of interest she had imagined she would feel.
And yet, guilt pricked at her immediately.
She felt shallow. Cruel, even.
Because he hadn't done anything wrong.
He had simply existed, quietly—too quietly for the image she had dreamed up.
Rebecca forced another smile and cleared her throat. "Well, um… I appreciate your understanding. And honestly, I hope you find someone who… who truly deserves you." Her voice wavered slightly, betraying the uncertainty she tried so hard to hide.
Nazaren nodded, his polite smile unwavering, but the ache in his chest deepened. He didn't blame her—he never blamed anyone. He had grown accustomed to being "not enough" for people. But that didn't make it hurt any less.
He stood, slipping the notepad back into his pocket, and gestured for the waiter to bring the bill. Rebecca protested, but he waved her off, insisting silently on covering the meal.
As he waited, his mind wandered. He had come to this date knowing how it would end—just like the others before it. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a tiny, foolish part of him had hoped this time might be different.
It never was.
And as he walked out of the restaurant, leaving Rebecca and her carefully constructed expectations behind, he reminded himself once again:
"People only see what they want to see. To them, I will always be… the mute billionaire."