The VIP lounge at JFK Airport was deathly quiet.

Hillary Warner slammed a glossy fashion magazine down on the glass coffee table. The sound made the attendant in the corner jump.

"Why are we leaving?" Hillary demanded. Her red lips were pulled into a tight sneer. "Why haven't you thrown that parasite out on the street yet? Are you attached to her?"

Angel sat in the leather armchair opposite her. He rested his elbows on his knees and dug his fingers into his hair. He pulled hard, letting the physical pain distract him from the pounding in his skull.

"It's not that simple, Hillary," Angel said. His voice was exhausted.

"It is simple!" Hillary snapped. She leaned forward, her eyes flashing. "She's faking it, Angel. She's using that ear to manipulate you. She's playing the victim to keep your money."

Angel's head snapped up.

His eyes were lethal. The exhaustion vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying anger.

"Shut up," Angel snarled.

Hillary recoiled. She blinked, her mouth falling open in shock. "Excuse me?"

"I said shut up," Angel repeated, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You weren't in that car. You didn't see the glass. You don't get to talk about her ear."

Hillary's eyes filled with tears. Her perfectly powdered face crumpled. "You've changed," she choked out. She grabbed her designer handbag and her first-class ticket. She stood up, her heels clicking aggressively. "Call me when you remember who you are."

She turned and stormed out of the lounge, not looking back.

Angel didn't go after her.

He sat alone in the massive room. He stared at the empty chair across from him.

Flashes of Joy curled on the floor, clutching her head, burned behind his eyes. The guilt was a physical weight on his chest, crushing his lungs. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

He pulled his phone out and dialed a number.

"Calvin," Angel said the second the line connected. His voice was ice.

"Yes, Mr. Wilcox?"

"Find the best otolaryngologist in the world. I don't care where they are. Fly them to New York."

There was a pause on the line. "Is this for... Mrs. Wilcox, sir?"

Angel closed his eyes. "Yes. I want a private clinic. Top-tier equipment. Book it for tomorrow morning. Whatever it costs."

He hung up.

He stared out the window at the planes taking off. He wasn't doing this because he cared. He was doing this to sever the chain. If he fixed her ear, he fixed his guilt. And then he could finally throw her away.

Three hours later, Angel walked into the penthouse apartment.

He bypassed the living room and walked straight to the guest bedroom. He pushed the door open without knocking.

Joy was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a book. She jumped when the door hit the wall.

Angel walked over and tossed a thick, embossed business card onto her lap.

"Dr. Aris. From Zurich," Angel said. His tone was strictly business. "He's the best in the world. We have an appointment at ten tomorrow morning."

Joy stared at the card. The gold lettering seemed to mock her.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Zurich. The best in the world. Her palms instantly started to sweat.

She forced herself to look up at him. She kept her face blank.

"If he fixes it," Joy said, her voice tight, "does that mean I have to sign the papers?"

Angel leaned against the doorframe. A cruel smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"They are two separate issues," Angel said. "I just want to clear my ledger. I don't like owing debts."

Joy closed her book. She nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll go."

Angel pushed off the doorframe. He turned to leave. He stopped in the hallway and looked back over his shoulder.

"Don't let me find out you're playing games, Joy," Angel said softly.

He walked away.

Joy sat frozen on the bed. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. She picked up the business card. Her fingers were trembling so badly she almost dropped it.

A top-tier specialist with advanced equipment would see right through her. They would see the healed eardrum. They would know she was lying.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She opened a secure, encrypted messaging app. She stared at the single contact listed there.

The only person in the world who knew the truth about her ear.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. A drop of cold sweat rolled down her spine.

The private clinic on the Upper East Side didn't smell like a hospital. It smelled like expensive lavender and money.

Joy sat in the leather examination chair. Her fingers gripped the padded armrests so tightly her knuckles were stark white.

Dr. Aris, an older Swiss man with sharp eyes, adjusted the massive, high-tech scanner positioned over Joy's right ear. The machine hummed, projecting a highly detailed 3D rendering of her inner ear onto a large flat-screen monitor on the wall.

Angel stood in the corner of the room. His arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes were locked onto the screen like a predator watching its prey.

Joy's heart beat so fast she felt dizzy. The machine whirred. Every second felt like an hour. She waited for the doctor to turn around and call her a liar.

Ten agonizing minutes passed.

The machine beeped and powered down. Dr. Aris rolled his stool back and looked at the screen. He clicked his mouse, printing out a thick stack of glossy reports.

Angel immediately stepped forward. "Well?" His voice was tight. "Can you fix it?"

Dr. Aris pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked at the report, then at Angel.

"Mr. Wilcox," Dr. Aris said slowly. "The physical structures of the ear-the tympanic membrane, the ossicles-they are completely healed. There is no organic damage left."

Joy stopped breathing. The blood drained from her face. Her stomach plummeted into a bottomless pit.

Angel's posture changed instantly. His shoulders dropped. A look of profound relief washed over his face. He looked at Joy, his eyes hardening with vindication.

"But," Dr. Aris continued, raising a finger.

Angel froze. "But what?"

"From a physical standpoint, the structures are healed," Dr. Aris explained, tapping the side of his own head. "But the auditory nerve pathways can suffer micro-traumas. If the patient reports severe pain and hearing loss, it is possible she is suffering from chronic neuropathic pain. Although the scan cannot definitively prove it, we could attempt a nerve block to isolate the issue. It is a notoriously difficult trauma to cure."

Joy's lungs expanded. She sucked in a quiet breath. As she shifted her weight, a sudden, deep cramp twisted in her lower abdomen. A wave of unnatural heat washed over her skin, followed instantly by a freezing chill. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to ignore the gnawing ache.

She immediately turned her head, presenting her right ear to the doctor. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a small, pained hiss.

"It feels like... like a hot needle," Joy whispered, her voice trembling perfectly. "It constantly rings. I can't hear anything over the ringing."

Dr. Aris looked at her with deep sympathy. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Wilcox. This type of trauma is notoriously difficult to cure. We can only manage it with pain medication."

Angel's hands slowly curled into fists at his sides.

The relief was gone. The guilt was back, heavier and darker than before. But this time, it was mixed with something else. Suspicion.

Ten minutes later, they walked out of the clinic.

The hallway was empty. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of their footsteps.

Angel stopped walking.

Joy took two more steps before she realized he wasn't beside her. She turned around.

Angel was staring at her. His eyes were black. The muscles in his jaw were jumping. He looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat.

"Your acting has gotten much better," Angel said. The words dripped with venom.

Joy's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"

Angel closed the distance between them in two strides. He backed her up against the wall. He didn't touch her, but his physical presence was suffocating.

"You're good," Angel hissed, leaning down so his mouth was inches from her ear. "You play the victim just like those high-end call girls play innocent. You know exactly how to twist the knife to get what you want."

Joy felt like she had been punched in the stomach. The air rushed out of her lungs.

She stared at the man she had secretly loved for three years. The man she had bled for.

"Take the million dollars and walk away, Joy," Angel said cruelly. "Stop pretending you belong in my world. You're just a leech."

Tears burned the back of Joy's eyes. Her throat constricted. But she refused to let them fall.

She lifted her chin. She looked straight into his hateful eyes.

"My ear is broken, Angel," Joy said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and absolute defiance. "And it's your fault. I am your wife. And I am never leaving."

Angel let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

"Don't get too comfortable," he warned.

He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, leaving her pressed against the wall, trembling and alone.

Joy pushed the front door of the penthouse open. She was exhausted. Her encounter with Angel at the clinic had drained every ounce of energy from her body. Her head was pounding, and a dull, throbbing heat radiated from her lower stomach, but she forced herself to push the pain aside.

She just wanted to take a hot shower and wash the smell of the clinic off her skin.

She walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom to grab her clothes.

She stopped in the doorway.

Hillary was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed.

She was wearing a silk robe. Not her own robe. It was Joy's. The pale pink silk robe Joy had bought for her honeymoon-a honeymoon that never happened.

Angel was leaning against the headboard, holding a tablet. He looked up when Joy walked in. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look guilty.

Hillary smiled. It was a vicious, triumphant smile. She shifted her weight, deliberately letting the robe slip off one shoulder.

"Knock next time," Hillary said smoothly. "This is my room now."

A hot, blinding rage ignited in Joy's chest. It burned away the exhaustion. It burned away the fear.

This wasn't just an insult. It was a violation.

Joy didn't yell. She didn't cry. Her face went completely blank.

She walked into the room. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor. She ignored Hillary entirely and walked straight to her vanity table in the corner.

"You should be careful wearing other people's clothes," Joy said casually, opening a drawer. "You never know what kind of diseases you might catch."

Hillary's face flushed red. She jumped up from the bed. "Excuse me? You little-"

"Enough," Angel snapped. He set his tablet down. He looked at Joy with cold disdain. "Get your things and go to the guest room, Joy. Stop causing a scene."

Joy found what she was looking for.

She pulled a small, square box out of the drawer.

She turned around and leaned against the vanity. She held the box up, making sure the label caught the light.

It was a box of Plan B. Morning-after pills.

Hillary's eyes locked onto the box. The color drained from her face.

Joy looked at Angel. She smiled. It was a cold, empty smile.

"I haven't taken these yet," Joy said loudly. She tapped the box against her fingernail. "I was just about to take care of the... aftermath from the other night. well. It would be a shame if I ended up carrying the Wilcox heir, wouldn't it?"

The room went dead silent.

Hillary stopped breathing. She stared at the box, then slowly turned her head to look at Angel. Her eyes were wide with horror.

"Angel?" Hillary's voice cracked. "What is she talking about? You said you never touched her."

Angel's face turned the color of ash. The veins in his neck bulged. He glared at Joy with a hatred so pure it made the air in the room crackle.

"It was an accident," Angel said through gritted teeth, looking at Hillary. "I was drugged."

"An accident?!" Hillary shrieked.

She lost her mind. She grabbed the heavy crystal lamp off the nightstand and hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, raining glass down onto the carpet.

"You slept with her!" Hillary screamed, her face contorted in rage. "You swore to me she meant nothing!"

Angel scrambled off the bed, reaching for her. "Hillary, listen to me-"

"Don't touch me!" Hillary slapped his hand away. She ripped Joy's silk robe off and threw it on the floor. She grabbed her own clothes and started dressing frantically. "You disgust me! Both of you disgust me!"

She grabbed her purse and stormed out of the bedroom. The front door of the penthouse slammed shut a few seconds later. The sound shook the walls.

Joy stood by the vanity, still holding the box of pills.

Angel slowly turned his head to look at her.

His eyes were completely black. His chest heaved. He looked like a man who was about to commit murder.