Page 2 of His Infatuated Wife

I know he knows.

I am his, and he is mine.

Jacques

She's doing it again, damn her.

A pale, dark-haired girl whose nondescript features transform into something vibrantly and inexplicably stunningthe moment she starts to sing.

And the way her doe-like eyes stay on me the whole time she sings---

Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.

She always sings like I'm only her audience.

Even when I'm not.

Her mentor, Professor Charleston, is seated on my left, and Dean Garrison is on my right.

There's also the director and all the other professionals that make up the backbone of the university's most ambitious project to date.

I am not the only one she should be staring at.

I am not the only one she should be singing to.

So why hasn't any of the others called her out for it?

I've been waiting for months for someone to reprimand her.

But no one has, and it's making me think I'm surrounded by a bunch of idiots.

How the hell do they not see what she's doing?

How do they not know she's been doing this from the very start?

Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.

She's still looking at me as she sings, and it's driving me crazy.

What the hell does this girl want?

I still remember the first time we've been introduced, and I remember it with the kind of vivid clarity that privately pisses me off.

Why can't she just leave me in peace?

It was the first day of auditions, and I had made time to join the others as a show of support.

It was one thing for them to know they had my financial backing.

It was another thing entirely when they saw me attending their auditions.

It made all the difference in the world, and it was why some people only worked to get paid while others worked with all their heart and soul.

That was the reason why I had come the first time.

But all the other times after that?

Damn her.

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