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?"

Briony and Ferdinand ended up on the same team, led by Driscoll.

Driscoll was in his forties, easygoing and approachable.

If not for Rosita joining their group, Briony and Ferdinand would have enjoyed the day.

But with Rosita's hand injured, she was automatically excused from learning an instrument.

Still, Briony had no intention of letting Rosita off the hook.

Her hand might be hurt, but her voice wasn't.

Their group's teacher was a well-known local folk singer, affectionately called "Grandma Hazel."

Grandma Hazel was teaching them one of the region's famous folk tunes, "Homecoming Birds."

Briony took up the guitar, Driscoll played the fiddle, Mr. Ellsworth handled the flute, and another guest strummed the banjo.

That left Rosita.

Briony turned to her. "Ms. Lockwood, since your hand's out of commission, how about singing?"

Rosita hesitated. "I…I'm not much of a singer…"

"Ms. Lockwood, don't sell yourself short," Briony pressed. "You speak the local dialect, don't you?"

"I do, but I'm not fluent…"

Ferdinand smiled. "Don't worry, Ms. Lockwood. Grandma Hazel's a fabulous teacher, and you've got more experience than the rest of us. You'll probably pick it up even quicker."

Driscoll chimed in, "That's right! We don't have much time—the producers said the two teams will go head-to-head tonight, with a special prize for the winners. Ms. Lockwood, no need to be modest—the singing part is yours!"

Rosita: …