The day the diagnosis came down—permanent, irreversible deafness—was the day I finally stopped fighting.

I stopped blowing up Joshua's phone when he didn't come home. I stopped losing my composure in public whenever one of his young models tried to provoke me. I faded into the background, becoming the quietest, most invisible ghost in the Sawyer mansion.

It was all because of the doctor's cold ultimatum.

"Ms. Delgado, unless you have the full support of the Sawyer Foundation to cover your treatment, you won't survive the month."

So, I became obedient.

Even when Joshua brought a newly crowned Hong Kong beauty queen home for the night and ordered me to cook hangover soup for them, I didn't flinch. I brought the tray over with a practiced smile, checked the temperature against my wrist, and offered it to him.

After all, I couldn't hear anymore. Why should I care who his whispered sweet nothings were meant for?

But when I looked him in the eye and signed, *[Drink slowly,]* the bowl in Joshua Sawyer's hand shattered against the floor.

——

"Faith Delgado, don't play dead with me!"

I couldn't hear the words, but the way his lips curled back over his teeth told me he was roaring.

Hangover soup pooled across the marble, swirling around jagged porcelain shards that bit into my ankle. The old me would have screamed. Would have leaped up, tears streaming, begging him to look at my wound.

Now?

I simply crouched down.

Piece by piece, I collected the broken ceramics. Blood from my ankle ribboned through the brown broth, painting a gruesome abstract across the tiles.

"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?"

Joshua's leather sole crunched down on the back of my hand just as my fingers closed around a shard. He ground his heel, crushing bone against stone.

The pain should have been blinding.

I didn't even flinch.

The doctor had warned me—the damage to my auditory nerve would likely dull my pain receptors too. Heaven's parting gift. A way to endure this hell with a shred of dignity intact.

I looked up and offered him a perfect, hollow smile. With my free hand, I signed:

*[I'm sorry. I'll go cook another bowl.]*

Joshua froze.

The rage in his eyes stalled, curdling into something worse. Deep, visceral disgust.

"Faith, looking at you now... taking everything like a doormat..." His lip curled. "It makes me sick."

He kicked me aside and turned back to the sofa, wrapping his arm around the woman who'd been watching the show. Isabella Pruitt. Young. Stunning. Looking exactly like I did when I first married Joshua.

Isabella giggled, her body shaking with theatrical laughter. Her voice must have been sweet—I watched Joshua's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"Young Master Sawyer, is Big Sister blaming me? Maybe I should leave?"

She made a show of rising. Joshua pressed her back down with one hand, his gaze still fixed on me like a blade.

"Her? Without me, she's a walking corpse. Give her ten times the courage, and she still wouldn't dare blame you."

He jerked his chin toward the door. "Faith, get back to your room. You're an eyesore."

The command in his eyes was clear. *Get out.*

So I stood.

Blood still trickled from my ankle, warm and wet inside my shoe. I forced myself to walk steadily.

I returned to the master bedroom. Once, it had been filled with laughter.

Now, it was an ice cellar.

I closed the door. The world went completely silent.

Well. Not completely.

Inside my head, a high-pitched ringing persisted—like an electric current frying my nerves. A constant reminder.

*I don't have much time left.*

The doctor was right. Without the expensive imported medication provided by Joshua's "Charity Grace Foundation," my lupus would ravage my internal organs within weeks. Combined with the sudden deafness, I was a porcelain doll teetering on a ledge.

I pulled out my phone. A notification from the hospital flashed across the screen.

**[Ms. Delgado, the payment for your next course of treatment has failed. The Sawyer Foundation has suspended funding.]**

Suspended.

In his eyes, my life wasn't even worth the price of the designer handbags Isabella casually demanded.

I didn't reply to the message.

Instead, I walked to the vanity mirror and stared at the woman reflected there.

Pale skin. Hollow eyes. A spirit ground to dust.

*Faith Delgado, you really are pathetic.*

For a man who doesn't love you, you've turned yourself into a ghost.

The door burst open.

Joshua stormed in, the flush on his face betraying the scotch before I could catch a whiff of it. His expression was a volatile cocktail—probing suspicion laced with a flicker of panic he couldn't quite hide.

"Isabella wants bird's nest soup. Go make it."

He barked the order. I read his lips, nodded, and stepped past him without a word.

No complaints. No hesitation.

But his hand shot out, snatching my wrist in a bruising grip.

"Faith, what game is this?"

He yanked me closer. "Before, if I so much as glanced at another woman, you'd burn the house down. Today, Isabella is sitting in my lap, and you're *smiling*?"

His fingers dug into my chin, forcing my face up to meet his glare.

"Do you think playing the obedient wife will make me change my mind?"

I watched his lips shape the cruel words.

Inside, I felt nothing but dry amusement.

*Joshua, you're wrong.*

I'm not calm because I'm trying to win you back. I'm calm because I can no longer hear the venom you spit at me.

Since I can't hear it, why should I let it hurt me?

I gently pried his fingers from my wrist. Typed a quick line on my phone. Held the screen up to his face.

**[Mr. Sawyer, should I add sugar to the bird's nest?]**

Joshua stared at the screen. His face turned an ashen shade of gray.

His phone vibrated. A voice message from Isabella.

I couldn't hear the audio, but I watched his expression soften instantly. The ice melted, replaced by warmth.

Then he looked back at me.

The disgust returned, sharper than before.

"No sugar. Add arsenic. Poison yourself and be done with it."

He slammed the door on his way out.

I watched the wood vibrate in the frame.

A strange sense of relief washed over me.

*Arsenic?*

If it offered a release from this, it wouldn't be such a bad prescription.

The next morning, violent vibrations jolted me awake.

Someone was pounding on the door.

Isabella.

She stood in the doorway wearing my silk robe, holding the bowl of bird's nest soup I'd prepared the night before.

"Big Sister, this soup smells disgusting. Are you trying to murder your husband?"

Her lips moved in exaggerated motions, her face twisted in mock horror.

Before I could react, she splashed the bowl's contents directly into my face.

Sticky. Cold. The liquid dripped down my hair, pasting my eyelashes together.

I didn't flinch.

Didn't even wipe it off.

Just stared at her. Dead-eyed.

My silence enraged her.

"Why are you pretending to be so high and mighty? Do you think Joshua still loves you?" She stepped closer, her face contorting. "He held me all night. He called me 'baby.' He told me you're like a dead fish—just looking at you kills his appetite."

Every vicious insult she could conjure, thrown like knives aimed at my heart.

Unfortunately for her, I couldn't hear a single word.

To me, she looked like a mime in a silent film—baring her fangs, waving her claws, looking utterly ridiculous.

I stepped around her, heading for the bathroom.

Isabella lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back.

"I'm talking to you! You deaf bitch!"

*Deaf.*

Well. She got one thing right.

I spun around.

My gaze turned to ice.

I might be deaf, but I wasn't stupid. And I certainly wasn't a punching bag.

I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had left.

*Crack.*

I couldn't hear the sound, but my palm stung from the impact.

Isabella froze, clutching her cheek, staring at me in disbelief.

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.