My Latin Dancer Wife - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

My eyes were locked on the dressing room curtain like a hawk, waiting for that backstabbing couple to show their faces.
But before I got my chance, Drake Langley pulled me aside—the troupe director had arrived to give the performers their pre-show pep talk.
Soon enough, Bianca Valentine and Kyle Roscente emerged with the other Latin dancers.
Without catching them red-handed in the dressing room, I couldn't prove Bianca had been there. But Kyle? No question about him.
Bianca's cheeks burned crimson. The way they stood whispering, practically breathing each other's air—it made my blood pressure spike.
If Drake hadn't been holding me back, I would've charged at them like a bull seeing red.
When Bianca's performance started, my view was limited to the side stage.
She moved like liquid silk in that white flowing dress, every spin dripping with sensual energy.
Kyle clung to her like a second skin—one hand possessive on her waist, the other gripping hers too tight.
Their bodies molded together like they'd been welded at the hips.
The way she gazed up at him through her lashes would've made a nun blush, while his eyes did a slow crawl down her body like he was memorizing every curve.
I lasted about three minutes before storming off to wait in the backstage corridor, my hands shaking with rage.
The moment the performance ended, there they were—Bianca glowing with sweat, giggling at something Kyle said as they emerged.
"How about we hit up that riverside barbecue spot?" Kyle flashed that slimy grin of his.
Bianca opened her mouth to answer when she noticed me. "Kevin? What are you—"
"We're leaving. Now." My voice could've frozen hell over as I grabbed her wrist.
She wrenched free. "Are you insane? The gala's not even—"
"Relax, Kev," Kyle drawled, swaggering over. "Awards ceremony's coming up. Didn't you think we killed it out there?"
I saw red. "Get the fuck away from me."
Instead of backing off, that bastard leaned in close, his whiskey breath hot on my ear: "Your wife gives killer head. Made my whole damn week. Hah!"
The sound of his laughter hit me like a cattle prod.
"You fucking—!"
My fist connected with his jaw before I even realized I'd swung.
"Jesus Christ!" Kyle collapsed like a sack of potatoes, clutching his face like I'd shot him.
I was winding up for another shot when Bianca grabbed my arm.
"Have you completely lost it? You can't just assault people!"
"You hear what this piece of shit just said to me? And while we're at it—what exactly were you two doing in that dressing room?"
She actually stepped between us, shielding him. "What dressing room? You're delusional! Security!"
She called security.
On me.
While protecting him.
The ice spreading through my chest had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
Looking at Bianca right then, I barely recognized her.
Everything spiraled fast—security had me in a hold, the troupe director came barreling through.
"Who let this lunatic back here? Call the police—I want assault charges!"
Of course the director—Kyle's damn brother-in-law—went nuclear. Some suit higher up eventually calmed things down before they threw me out on my ass.
Standing on the sidewalk outside, I'd never felt like more of a fool in my entire life.