Chapter 3The Mute and the Wild

Wyatt froze, his ears turning bright red, but before he could move, a cold, sharp voice echoed from the other side of his door.

"Wyatt? Who are you talking to in there?"

Without waiting for an answer, the door swung open. Wyatt scrambled to shove his phone into his pocket, but the call was still active. I kept the volume high, pressing my ear to the speaker.

"Where did you go today?" Weston’s voice was smooth, but it carried an icy, condescending edge.

There was a long silence. I assumed Wyatt was using sign language or simply keeping his head down.

"You shouldn't trust girls you meet on the internet," Weston continued, his tone dripping with a quiet, toxic pity. "Especially not with your... condition. Did she actually look at you without being disgusted? Wyatt, don't go wishing for things you don't deserve."

My smile completely vanished.

The screen stayed dark, but the raw arrogance in Weston's voice made my blood boil.

A moment later, the screen lit up again. Wyatt’s face appeared, pale and strained, though he tried to offer me a reassuring smile.

My eyes hardened. I tapped out of our FaceTime call and opened my chat with The Jerk.

Sure, I wrote back. Let’s meet tomorrow.

When I finally hung up with Wyatt, he looked exhausted. I didn't push him for another kiss; instead, I blew him a soft kiss through the camera.

"I really, really like you, Wyatt. You’re perfect just the way you are. Seriously."

"Can't wait to see you again."

I watched his eyes light up with a sudden, brilliant warmth before the screen went black.

The next day, I made Weston wait.

I arrived at our meeting spot—a completely unsheltered plaza under the blistering midday sun—exactly three hours late. Weston was standing by the concrete steps, looking slightly wilted from the heat.

The moment he saw me, his eyes flared with a desperate, almost manic intensity. He took two long strides toward me.

"Sunny..."

The name caught in his throat, and my brows furrowed.

Sunny. That was the nickname I had used back in middle school, before my parents divorced and I moved away, legally changing my name to Riley.

How did Weston Prescott know that?

I searched my memory, trying to find any trace of him from my childhood, but came up entirely empty.

Seeing my cold, questioning stare, his confident smile faltered. He realized he’d made a slip.

"I thought you couldn't talk yesterday?" I asked, my voice laced with deliberate contempt.

Weston swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a soft, pleading murmur. "It’s... a psychological issue. It comes and goes."

I stared at him, watching him spin his lie. Above his head, the floating comments were losing their minds.

“Wait, what is happening? Why does Wes look like a kicked puppy? He’s supposed to be ruining her life, not begging for her attention.”

“Is he seriously trying to steal his brother’s identity now? This is a trainwreck.”

“I’m so confused. Did he actually fall for her? This is supposed to be Penelope’s revenge plot!”

Even though Weston shared his brother’s exact face, he didn't look nearly as handsome to me. His eyes lacked that quiet, luminous clarity; his posture carried an arrogant edge that made my skin crawl.

And every time he spoke, I could only hear the cruel, mocking voice from Wyatt's bedroom last night: “With your condition... don't go wishing for things you don't deserve.”

"Do me a favor," I interrupted, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Can you stop talking? Your voice is incredibly grating. I liked you a lot better yesterday when you were quiet."

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. The color completely drained from Weston's face.

"...Okay," he whispered after a long pause, his throat bobbing as he swallowed his pride.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he began typing. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a shared document—a meticulously planned itinerary for a perfect day out.

The invisible text above him updated in real-time.