I lowered the car window, inviting the biting wind inside. Beside me, Joshua Sawyer's brow furrowed, but he remained silent. The luxury sedan sped toward the resplendent, gilded banquet hall.
To anyone else, it was a party.
To me, it was an execution ground.
The hall was ablaze with light, yet stepping inside felt like wandering into a silent film. Mouths moved, expressions shifted—laughter, disdain, curiosity—but the world remained dead silent. Equal parts panic and absurdity clawed at my chest.
Joshua moved through the crowd with Isabella Pruitt on his arm. They looked like the perfect power couple, while I trailed behind like a servant, a shadow they couldn't quite shake.
Strange looks followed me. Some held mockery, others pity, but most were just hungry for a spectacle.
"Oh, isn't this Mrs. Sawyer? Why so quiet today?"
A woman in a crimson dress blocked my path. Isabella's best friend. She had never missed an opportunity to stick the knife in.
I watched her lips move, piecing together the insults. Ignoring her, I tried to sidestep, but she wouldn't let it go. Her hand shot out and shoved my shoulder.
"I'm talking to you! Why are you pretending to be deaf?"
I staggered, barely keeping my balance. The guests around us closed in, pointing and whispering.
Joshua noticed the commotion. He strode over, his expression dark. "What's going on?"
The woman in red struck first. "Young Master Sawyer, your wife is putting on quite the act. I greeted her politely, and she completely ignored me."
Joshua turned his cold gaze on me. "Faith Delgado. Apologize."
I stared at him.
*Apologize? For what?*
I hadn't done a thing. Why should I bow my head?
I stood my ground, motionless. Joshua's face darkened, his patience snapping.
"I said apologize! Are you deaf?" he roared.
I *was* deaf. But even without sound, his rage radiated off him like heat from a furnace.
Isabella chose that moment to intervene. She linked her arm through Joshua's, her face the picture of feigned concern. "Joshua, don't be angry. Faith might not be feeling well. How about letting her play a piece for everyone? It might lift the mood. She used to be a Level 10 pianist, remember?"
*Play the piano?*
My head snapped up. Isabella's eyes glittered with malice barely hidden beneath her smile. She knew I couldn't hear. Without hearing, I had no control over tempo or pitch. She wasn't asking for music.
She was setting the stage for my public humiliation.
Joshua seemed to think it was a brilliant solution. It would smooth over the awkwardness and project an image of "family harmony."
"Go. Play 'Wedding in a Dream.'" He pointed a commanding finger at the white grand piano on the stage.
*Wedding in a Dream.*
The piece I had played for him at our wedding. Back then, I was brimming with joy, foolish enough to believe I had married for love.
Now, the song was a death warrant.
I shook my head violently. My hands flew up, signing rapidly: *[I'm not feeling well. I don't want to play.]*
Joshua didn't understand sign language, but he understood defiance. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, and dragged me toward the stage.
"Faith, don't test me." His voice was low, dangerous. "There are important partners here tonight. If you dare embarrass me, I will cut off the payments for your mother's grave."
A chill ran down my spine.
*Mom.*
She was my last soft spot, my only tether to this world.
He shoved me onto the piano bench. The spotlight blinded me, searing my retinas. Below the stage, countless eyes bore into me, waiting like wolves for a lamb to stumble.
Trembling, I placed my hands on the keys. I couldn't hear a thing, but the geography of the instrument was etched into my muscle memory.
