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.