We Don't Talk Anymore Lyrics

She married him to save her family. He married her to settle a score. Neither expected the silence between them to hurt this much. When Lucy Benjamin is forced to take her sister’s place in a high-stakes marriage to the cold, powerful billionaire Gabriel Fernandez, she believes she’s being handed to a monster. Gabriel, haunted by betrayal and bound by secrets, sees Lucy as part of the lie that ruined him. But as icy tension turns to burninig glances, and unspoken pain gives way to raw emotion, both must confront the truth behind the lies that tore them apart. In a world ruled by wealth, power, and manipulation, can love survive the silence or was it never meant to begin?

Everyone in the circle called me the chatty woman around Wilson Lewis, who had poor hearing and was notoriously aloof. I would stand up for him, take drinks on his behalf, and accompany him to the hospital. When he had to get his hearing aid adjusted, I would crouch beside the table to replace its batteries for him, yet he never so much as looked up at me. One time, I drank on his behalf until I was dead drunk at a wine party, but he only glanced down at me calmly. Another time, I spent the entire morning waiting with him on the day of his follow-up checkup, but he texted his unattainable love, Noelle Surrey, instead. Wilson: [Have you eaten lunch yet?] During our three years of marriage, I became a joke in the eyes of others. On the night of our wedding anniversary, he wanted to make things up for the birthday celebration he owed me. When I was being dragged away through the back alley of a convenience store, I saw him sitting in the Maybach parked at the alley entrance through the half-open car window, unboxing a cake. I screamed until my throat bled, my fingernails digging into the wall. He glanced up at the alleyway entrance, took off his hearing aid, and put it in his pocket. When I got home in the wee hours, he was still helping Noelle with her resume. Seeing my disheveled state, he just frowned and said, "Jaclyn Scott, can you please stop making such a scene every time?" Noelle chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Wilson, is she playing victim again?" I pushed the divorce papers and a USB drive in front of him. "Wilson, I'm done making a scene. This time, it's your turn to listen."

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.

Ayanna Cambor, the crush of my childhood friend, Dorian Harmon, makes fun of me for being a mute. She purposefully pours melted dark chocolate into my thermos. Then, she howls at the top of her lungs. "As a mute, you can't complain even when you swallow something bitter." Later on, Ayanna takes advantage of the situation by forcing me to stick my tongue out. She insists on making me show everyone whether or not a mute's tongue is different from a regular person's tongue. I look at Dorian instinctively. After all, he has promised me that as long as he's around, he won't let anyone bully me. But he merely shoots me a cold glance. "Just stick your tongue out and show it to Ayanna. It's not anything major to cry over." I can only hold my tears back as I quietly conceal the school transfer application that I've just received. It's true that transferring schools is no big deal. In that case, there's no need for Dorian to know about it.

Three years after our separation, my ex-wife walked into the store with a young boy to shop for clothes. She froze for a brief moment when she saw me. I greeted her as I always did with customers—polite, composed, with every boundary drawn exactly where it belonged. I didn't bring up the past, not even once. After a short silence, she reached out and gently held my deformed fingers. "Does it still hurt?" I calmly adjusted my sleeve to cover them and told her everything was fine, as if nothing between us had really changed—except that we were no longer in love. That was all.

My mother was dying. Her only wish before she passed was to see me married. For 27 days, I begged my girlfriend, Monica Teller, and she finally agreed to register for marriage with me on the 27th day. I waited at the courthouse until closing, but she never came. That same day, her childhood sweetheart, Gurney Barnes, posted their marriage certificate on social media. [Time sure flies. Three more days, and we'll have been married for a month.] It was then I finally realized that she had married her childhood sweetheart since the first day I started begging her. Not long after, an apology text from Monica buzzed on my phone. [I'm so sorry, Lincoln. Gurney's family was forcing him into marriage. I couldn't stand by and watch him get shackled to a stranger. Just give it three days. We'll file for divorce. Three days later, I'll marry you." Three days later, she showed up at the courthouse in a wedding gown, But the only thing waiting for her was my message. [Goodbye, Monica. May we never meet again.]