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.
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.