Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 367

"I understand," Rosita sighed, rubbing her temple. "Could you pick up some painkillers for me? My headache's really bad, and I'm not sure I'll be in great shape for the recording later. Maybe you could let the production team know?"

Bill grinned. "That's no problem. I'll send my assistant to get the medicine now, and I'll talk to the director later and ask them to keep an eye out for you."

—

It was ten o'clock at night. Crickets chirped and cicadas hummed under a bright full moon.

For the first night of filming, the production crew had set up a cozy campsite in the backyard, complete with local dishes and drinks for all the guests to enjoy under the moonlight.

Everyone was expected to attend; after the director's repeated invitations, Rosita felt she couldn't really refuse.

Out in the yard, soft orange spotlights illuminated the grass in gentle circles. The guests gathered around the camp tables and took their seats in a loose ring.

Briony found herself seated between Mary on her right and Ferdinand on her left.

Ferdinand had only arrived after dark.

Briony was surprised to see him, and when she asked, she learned that the production team had specially invited him.

Ferdinand's mentor, Father Calloway, had been a lover of folk music. While teaching Ferdinand medicine years ago, he'd often use folk songs to explain the intricacies of the pentatonic scale—drawing connections between music and the healing arts.

This shared background gave Briony and Ferdinand plenty to talk about. Sitting side by side, they lowered their voices and quickly became engrossed in conversation.

The other guests were chatting and laughing as well, the atmosphere easy and cheerful. Now and then, a burst of laughter would ripple through the group, usually thanks to one of Mary's endearing quips.

Mary was sweet-faced and lively, pale and slender, and only twenty-four. She was just an ordinary girl from a working-class neighborhood in Riverview, with a bright, outgoing personality. Her accent had a hint of the port city in it, but her voice was clear and strong, giving the impression of boundless energy.

Before Rosita had arrived, Mary had been the center of attention.

She was a natural talker, armed with a seemingly endless supply of jokes and stories that had everyone in stitches.

But the moment Rosita entered, the focus in the room shifted to her entirely.