My Actress Girlfriend - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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I clenched my jaw, forcing down the anger simmering inside me as I stepped out of the private room to take the call.
Sophia's voice exploded through the phone before I could even say hello. "Ethan Anderson, are you at the club with Vincent Roscente? How dare you! Surrounded by pretty little things, living it up, huh?"
"How did you find out?" I asked, though what I really wanted to ask was whether she was pissed because she thought I was fooling around—or because she was terrified I'd uncover her dirty little secret. After all, I'd just been sitting across from her sugar daddy, sharing drinks like old pals.
"Get your ass home now!" she shrieked before slamming the call shut.
Fuming, I crouched in the dim hallway, lighting one cigarette after another, the smoke curling around me like my own personal storm cloud.
By the time I made it back to the private room, it was empty except for the staff clearing away the wreckage of our night. Vincent and Richard had vanished—along with every last woman in the place. No prizes for guessing where those old dogs had scurried off to with their "entertainment."
Some men never know when to quit.
The apartment was dark when I got back, the silence thick and suffocating. While Sophia was out playing hostess to some wealthy patron, she had the nerve to forbid me from even having a damn drink at the club.
Then—thud.
The sound came from the wardrobe.
My mind instantly flashed to every trashy soap opera cliché—the cheating wife, the half-dressed lover hiding in the closet, the oblivious husband stumbling in at the wrong moment. And now, here I was, living out that pathetic trope.
I moved silently, then yanked the doors open.
Nothing.
But a small jewelry box tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents. Beneath Sophia's forgotten baubles lay a stack of photos and a black flash drive.
The first photo hit me like a punch to the gut—a couple tangled in a heated embrace.
The woman's face was turned away, but I knew that dress. She'd worn it last night. And the man? Even half-hidden, there was no mistaking Vincent's smug grin. The backdrop? A love hotel with a reputation so sleazy even the neon sign outside looked ashamed.
Hands shaking, I plugged in the flash drive. Grainy surveillance footage played out—Vincent leading Sophia into one hotel after another. Some clips showed him pawing at her in broad daylight, not even bothering to wait until they were behind closed doors.
A bitter laugh escaped me. No wonder she'd been exhausted this morning. Keeping up with two men would wear anyone out.
The evidence was undeniable: Sophia was cheating.
But something didn't add up. These looked like surveillance shots—taken from a distance, like someone had been watching them. Why would Sophia have these? Either someone was blackmailing her… or—
I grasped at the thinnest thread of hope. Maybe she wasn't in this willingly. Maybe Vincent had forced her into this arrangement, using threats to keep her compliant. Maybe these photos were proof of his coercion.
I carefully tucked everything back, then collapsed onto the bed, my mind racing. Sleep came in jagged fragments, my dreams twisting into a grotesque burlesque show—Vincent and Richard laughing beside me as a dancer twirled on stage. Then she turned, and her face melted into Sophia's.
Sophia's voice exploded through the phone before I could even say hello. "Ethan Anderson, are you at the club with Vincent Roscente? How dare you! Surrounded by pretty little things, living it up, huh?"
"How did you find out?" I asked, though what I really wanted to ask was whether she was pissed because she thought I was fooling around—or because she was terrified I'd uncover her dirty little secret. After all, I'd just been sitting across from her sugar daddy, sharing drinks like old pals.
"Get your ass home now!" she shrieked before slamming the call shut.
Fuming, I crouched in the dim hallway, lighting one cigarette after another, the smoke curling around me like my own personal storm cloud.
By the time I made it back to the private room, it was empty except for the staff clearing away the wreckage of our night. Vincent and Richard had vanished—along with every last woman in the place. No prizes for guessing where those old dogs had scurried off to with their "entertainment."
Some men never know when to quit.
The apartment was dark when I got back, the silence thick and suffocating. While Sophia was out playing hostess to some wealthy patron, she had the nerve to forbid me from even having a damn drink at the club.
Then—thud.
The sound came from the wardrobe.
My mind instantly flashed to every trashy soap opera cliché—the cheating wife, the half-dressed lover hiding in the closet, the oblivious husband stumbling in at the wrong moment. And now, here I was, living out that pathetic trope.
I moved silently, then yanked the doors open.
Nothing.
But a small jewelry box tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents. Beneath Sophia's forgotten baubles lay a stack of photos and a black flash drive.
The first photo hit me like a punch to the gut—a couple tangled in a heated embrace.
The woman's face was turned away, but I knew that dress. She'd worn it last night. And the man? Even half-hidden, there was no mistaking Vincent's smug grin. The backdrop? A love hotel with a reputation so sleazy even the neon sign outside looked ashamed.
Hands shaking, I plugged in the flash drive. Grainy surveillance footage played out—Vincent leading Sophia into one hotel after another. Some clips showed him pawing at her in broad daylight, not even bothering to wait until they were behind closed doors.
A bitter laugh escaped me. No wonder she'd been exhausted this morning. Keeping up with two men would wear anyone out.
The evidence was undeniable: Sophia was cheating.
But something didn't add up. These looked like surveillance shots—taken from a distance, like someone had been watching them. Why would Sophia have these? Either someone was blackmailing her… or—
I grasped at the thinnest thread of hope. Maybe she wasn't in this willingly. Maybe Vincent had forced her into this arrangement, using threats to keep her compliant. Maybe these photos were proof of his coercion.
I carefully tucked everything back, then collapsed onto the bed, my mind racing. Sleep came in jagged fragments, my dreams twisting into a grotesque burlesque show—Vincent and Richard laughing beside me as a dancer twirled on stage. Then she turned, and her face melted into Sophia's.
End of My Actress Girlfriend Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to My Actress Girlfriend book page.