23 Missed Calls: How I Buried My Husband and His Mistress

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Chapter 3

The day after the recording, I received an invitation to the Majestic Theater dinner party. Ironically, I was invited as an "industry professional" to celebrate my husband's success with his mistress.

'Industry professional.' I stared at the gold-embossed invitation, almost laughing. Five years of secret marriage, and I'd gone from wife to "industry professional."

The painkillers were still working, temporarily dulling the ache in my throat, but I knew it was only temporary. I slipped into a simple black evening dress—understated but undeniably elegant.

At seven PM, the Majestic Theater's private dining room flickered with candlelight as Broadway's elite mingled with champagne glasses, whispering among themselves. The moment I walked in, I could feel the atmosphere—this was a winner's celebration, and I clearly wasn't on the winners' list.

Vivienne wore an expensive white off-shoulder gown, gliding between tables like the hostess, accepting compliments and congratulations. Her smile was magazine-perfect, every gesture radiating triumphant elegance.

I found a corner seat and settled in, quietly observing this farce. Producers clustered around Maximilian discussing next projects, investors gushed over Vivienne, and I sat there like a ghost, perfectly ignored.

"Miss Ashwood!" A sharp female voice cut through my observations.

I looked up to see Rachel—Vivienne's agent, a woman in her early forties wearing an expensive navy suit, her face wearing that professional arrogant smile.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice still hoarse.

"Vivienne is very particular about her food. Could you go to the kitchen and prepare an organic vegetable salad?" Rachel spoke as if giving orders to a subordinate. "Make sure there are no animal products. She's maintaining her figure for her next role."

I stared at her for a second, then slowly smiled. "I'm an actress, not a waitress. If she wants something, she can order takeout."

Rachel's eyes instantly sharpened. "Do you know what Vivienne's status is? Once she marries Maximilian, the entire Broadway will be kissing her ass."

'Marries Maximilian?' My heart lurched, but I kept my expression calm. 'She'll have to wait for him to get divorced first.'

"Serenity, sweetheart!" Vivienne happened to pass by, catching our conversation. She put on a surprised expression. "Rachel, don't say that... Serenity, honey, if it's inconvenient, just forget it."

Her voice was sickeningly sweet, that fake concern making me nauseous. People at nearby tables began noticing our exchange, and I felt their eyes focusing on us.

"It is inconvenient." I met Vivienne's gaze directly. "I'm here to celebrate artistic achievement, not to be a babysitter."

Rachel's face darkened, her voice rising several notches. "Cooking for Vivienne would be an honor! Who do you think you are? A washed-up Tony nominee?"

In that instant, I felt blood rushing to my head. 'Washed-up?' Five years of endurance, five years of grievances, five years of self-suppression—it all exploded in that moment.

I slowly stood up, feeling everyone's eyes on me. "Say that again."

"I said you're just a—"

I didn't let her finish. I grabbed the wine glass from the table and threw it directly at Rachel. The deep red liquid instantly stained her navy suit, droplets splashing on her face.

The entire room went silent.

"That's your education, free of charge," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet dining room.

"Oh my God!" "Is she insane?" "Who dares cause trouble on Max's turf?" Whispers erupted from all directions.

Vivienne screamed, "Serenity, honey, how could you do this!" Her acting skills were on full display—tears instantly welled up, making her look both shocked and wronged.

Rachel wiped wine from her face, trembling with rage. "You... you're absolutely insane!"

"What's going on?" Maximilian's voice cut through the crowd as he strode over. Seeing Rachel drenched in wine and Vivienne with tears in her eyes, he frowned deeply.

"Max!" Vivienne immediately threw herself at him. "I just wanted a salad, and Serenity just..." She choked up, not finishing the sentence, but her wounded expression let everyone fill in the blanks.

Maximilian glared at me with a look I'd never seen before—cold, angry, disappointed. "Apologize to Vivienne and her agent immediately!"

"Me apologize?" I felt an unprecedented rage building. "They treated me like a servant, and I should apologize?"

"Regardless, you can't throw wine!" Maximilian's voice was stern, like scolding a disobedient child. "Vivienne is my—"

"Your what?" I cut him off. "Your what?"

SLAP!

My palm connected solidly with Maximilian's face.

If the wine incident had shocked people, this slap was earth-shattering. The entire dining room fell dead silent, everyone holding their breath.

Maximilian covered his face, his eyes full of disbelief. In Broadway, nobody dared treat Maximilian Cross this way. Nobody.

My hand was trembling—not from fear, but from the rage that had finally found its outlet. I pulled out my painkillers from my purse and dry-swallowed two pills in front of everyone.

"What medication are you taking?" Maximilian's anger instantly turned to concern. "Where does it hurt?"

I looked at the fleeting concern in his eyes and suddenly found it ridiculous. "None of your business!" I laughed coldly. "You and your 'muse' can fuck off!"

I turned to leave, hearing various whispers behind me:

"In five years, I've never seen anyone dare treat Max like that..."

"What pills was she taking? She looks so weak..."

"Anyone who can slap Max on his own turf must have serious connections..."

I reached the dining room entrance and turned back for one last look. Maximilian still stood there, a clear handprint red on his face, Vivienne clinging to his arm with shock and fear. Broadway's elite were all whispering, their eyes full of curiosity and speculation.

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