Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 372

Rosita deliberately played the damsel in distress, hoping to trigger Bill's protective instincts.

This trick had always worked for her in the past.

But today, with Bill, she hit a wall.

Bill, a seasoned agent, lived by his own set of rules. Rosita's behavior had crossed a line for him.

He snapped, "Something this big, why didn't you talk to me first?"

Rosita froze, stunned that her vulnerability had absolutely no effect on him.

Unconvinced, she furrowed her brow and let her voice tremble. "Bill…"

"Save it!" Bill put one hand on his hip and jabbed a finger at her. "You could call me 'Daddy' and it still wouldn't work! Listen up—this kind of thing is strictly off-limits with me!"

Rosita hadn't expected this at all.

But Bill was unfazed and immovable, and she realized that her usual ploys weren't going to work with him.

Her expression darkened, her voice turning cold. "Well, I didn't expect you to sign me up for this show, either. Did you discuss it with me before making the decision?"

"I'm your agent," Bill retorted. "Every decision I make is for your own good. Besides, the big boss pulled strings to get you this spot—there are people fighting tooth and nail for this, and you still think you get to choose?"

Rosita was growing impatient. "Even if it's a rare opportunity, it's over now. I have to drop out!"

"Drop out? Absolutely not." Bill's tone was firm. "Mary's already thrown herself into the competition, and you want to quit?"

Mary...

Rosita remembered Mary's blatant provocations the night before, and bitterness flared in her chest.

She raised a hand to her temple. "So what do you want me to do?"

Bill stroked his chin. "You've already fainted once—why not take it further?"

Rosita frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If your hand were injured, they'd have no choice but to take you out of the performance."

"You're suggesting I fake an injury?"

"No, it has to be real enough that the crew's medic gets called in. Otherwise, people will get suspicious."

Rosita shot to her feet. "You want me to hurt myself?"

"Unless you have a better idea?"

Rosita pressed her lips together.

Bill could tell she was reluctant. He sighed. "Rosita, the big boss may be backing you now, but you're not that young anymore. Actresses have a short shelf life—you're thirty-one, and after thirty-five, the roles dry up. Think it over."

Rosita clenched her jaw, but finally nodded. "I understand."

—

The next morning, filming resumed.

All the guests gathered downstairs on time—except for Rosita, who was late.

The director asked Don to check on her.

Just as Don reached the door, Rosita emerged.

Her right hand was wrapped thickly in bandages.

Everyone stared, stunned.

"Ms. Lockwood, what happened?"

"My God, Ms. Lockwood—your hand—what on earth happened overnight?" Mary gasped, hand to mouth. "Your whole right hand is bandaged! Is it serious? How did it happen?"