A split second later, Isabella threw herself backward with a silent scream.
Her timing was flawless—collapsing right into Joshua's arms as he rushed over to investigate the commotion.
"Joshua! She hit me! She called me a homewrecker and said she wanted to ruin my face!"
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body trembled like a delicate flower in a storm.
A perfect performance.
Joshua cradled her against his chest, his face softening with concern. But when he looked up at me, his eyes were glacial.
"Faith, are you crazy?"
He lunged forward, shoving me hard.
My back slammed into the wall. The impact jarred my organs, knocked the breath from my lungs.
"I warned you not to touch Isabella." His face hovered inches from mine, murderous. "Do you think our history protects you? Do you think I won't hurt you?"
*History?*
Did he really believe any sentiment remained between us?
If he knew me at all, he would know that dignity was the only thing I had left. He would know I never raised a hand against anyone—unless I was pushed past the point of endurance.
I struggled to stand, using the wall for support.
No explanations.
No tears.
I simply smoothed my messy hair and pointed toward the bathroom. *I need to wash my face.*
My indifference infuriated him.
He let out a sharp, cold laugh.
"Fine. Good."
His sneer deepened. "Since you like being invisible, you can stay that way. You're not coming to the charity gala tonight."
His gaze raked over me with disdain. "I was going to take you out. Let you relax. But a crazy woman like you deserves to rot in this house."
He pivoted and marched away, Isabella tucked securely under his arm.
Over his shoulder, she shot me a triumphant smirk.
I watched them leave.
My heart lay flat and unmoving in my chest.
Not going was fine by me.
Those galas were torture chambers—hypocritical small talk, ear-splitting music. For a deaf person, it was nothing short of an execution ground.
I washed the sticky soup from my face and changed into plain, clean clothes.
I had an appointment.
The doctor had warned me my condition was deteriorating rapidly. Without intervention, I would lose even the faint perception of light I had left.
Yes.
In addition to the deafness, my vision was failing.
I slid on a pair of sunglasses and hailed a taxi to the hospital.
In the consultation room, the doctor reviewed my test results, his brow furrowed. He shook his head grimly and wrote on a notepad:
**[Ms. Delgado, immediate hospitalization is required.]**
I took the pen. **[How much?]**
He held up five fingers.
Five hundred thousand.
To the former heiress of the Delgado family, that sum used to be the price of a single haute couture gown.
To me now?
Astronomical.
After the Delgado bankruptcy, our assets were frozen. Joshua was my only lifeline.
And he had just cut the cord.
I looked at the doctor and shook my head.
**[Just prescribe painkillers.]**
He sighed, his eyes heavy with pity.
When I left the hospital, the sky was a bruised purple. Rain was coming.
I stood by the curb, scanning for a taxi, when a black Maybach screeched to a halt in front of me.
The window rolled down.
Joshua's stern profile.
"Get in."
I froze. Hadn't he banned me from the gala?
"Isabella said she didn't want you moping at home alone. She insisted I pick you up." His eyes narrowed. "Faith, behave yourself. Do not embarrass me tonight."
*Ah.*
So that's it.
Isabella wanted an audience. She wanted to watch me stumble and fail in high society. A deaf woman at a gala—nothing more than a freak show. An oddity to be mocked.
I pulled the door open and slid into the backseat.
The car was suffocating.
Isabella's perfume saturated every inch of air—sweet, cloying, utterly pungent.
