The Black Swan's Final Revenge Pirouette: The 99th Game Was Mine All Along by Kylie Homme

Chapter 14

At this announcement, the younger dancers erupted in excited squeals and whispers.

“Oh my God, Luigi Maggiore is coming here?”

“I heard he hasn't attended a social event in months!”

“Do you think he’s looking for new talent to sponsor?”

The company scattered to their dressing rooms, frantically touching up makeup and adjusting costumes, each

hoping to catch the eye of Boston’s most eligible widower.

Only Ariana remained frozen in place, her mind racing with alarm.

Why would Luigi cbackstage? Even during his most obsessive pursuit of her years ago, he had never once

visited her behind the scenes-his assistants had simply delivered roses or arranged town cars.

Her thoughts spiraled into darker territory. Was this somehow connected to the revenge plots he’d schemed with

his friends? Had he somehow recognized her despite the mask? Was he planning snew humiliation as

punishment for deceiving him with her false death?

Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms as fragmented memories of the ninety-eight “pranks” flashed

through her mind.

“Ariana,” Margaret's concerned voice cut through her panic. “You've gone completely white.”

“I just-" she managed, her usual composure crumbling.

“You don’t look well at all. Perhaps you should return to the hotel before he arrives. I'll make your excuses-some

diplomatic nonsense about vocal rest affecting your breathing. Don’t worry about Maggiore-we’ve got plenty of

donors without him.”

Ariana nodded gratefully, not trusting her voice. With a quick pivot, she headed for the stage door, not even

pausing to remove her performance mask or change from her costume.

avy velvet curtain,

Just as she reached the exit corridor, approaching footsteps echoed from beyond the heavy accompanied by the

theater director's sycophantic voice.

“Right this way, Mr. Maggiore. The company is absolutely thrilled you've joined us tonight. Your support of the

arts is legendary.”

As the curtain began to part, Ariana’s heart nearly stopped. She quickly ducked into a shadowed alcove used for

quick costchanges, pressing herself against the wall as Luigi entered the backstage area.

The Back Swan's Final Revenge Pirouette: The 99th

Langt stepped in the owned hacker, ly nadomeske arah tha the Hy wat Matra

Female dancers in various stages of cosy

flame, voices overlapping as they introduced the

“Mr. Maggiore, | danced the second variation

“-such an honor to meet you-

“-would love to show you around Boston sometimes

RMA MARA

Their competing fragrances created a suffocating cloud of flora and

fat made him physically recall. The artificial sweetness reminded him, by warkoor, offs sample sent over clean

soap and occasionally a hint of jasmine when shed splurge on key test

four

He endured their attention with practiced stoicism, his eyes methodically teasing the sear Something-someone-

had drawn him here, and it wasrt these eager young women with their cons

ambitions.

As he nodded mechanically at whatever the blonde in front of him war sefing, a barely perceptible sent cut

through the perffog the faintest trace of jasmine and something undgquely familiar. His body recognized it

before his mind could process why

Luigi's attention sharpened, his gaze sweeping the room with renewed focus until locking onto a shadowed

alcove where a figure in a pink coststood partially concealed.

“That would be your principal dancer, wouldn't it?” he asked abruptly, cutting off the blonde

mid-sentence.

With those words, he redirected every eye in the room toward the corner where Ariana had tried to hide.

Finding herself suddenly illuminated by attention, she felt her pulse stutter, then race wildly. The artistic director,

realizing Ariana hadn't managed to escape, shot her an apologetic glance before reluctantly motioning her

forward.

Ariana approached with the measured composure that years of performance had instilled in her, though her

heart hammered so violently she feared it might be visible through her costume.

Luigi made no attempt to disguise his scrutiny. His eyes tracked methodically from her temple to her toes,

lingering on specific details-the particular curve of her wrist, the precise length of her fingers, the slight

asymmetry in her shoulders that he had once memorized while watching her sleep.

He searched desperately for confirmation, frustrated by the mask that still concealed the features he once knew

better than his own. Each familiar element sent a jolt of recognition through him, yet without seeing her face,

certainty remained just beyond reach.

The silence between the stretched, eletric and weedore, end is finally benke i

“Why are you still wearing your musk offer besonders despite the chaos in his mind.

steady

From the moment she had first appeared onmage, something about her had reached directly into the mod

wounded part of him. While ery other dancer had worked desperately to gain his notice tonight this woman

adone seemed determined to avoid it.

She had been the first to vanish during curtain calls, nearly running from the stage as if prirmed by something

only the mould see

This evasiveness fascinated him since his public announcement as a grieving widower, Boston's socialites had

pursued him relentlessly despite his obedous disinterest.

Yet this dancer recolled from him as if he were radioactive.

More unsettling still was how her movement quality had triggered something visceral within him-for a brief,

irrational moment, he’d believed he was watching Ariana, impossible as that was

If he hadn't personally scattered what remained of her ashes after Leila’s desecration, he might have believed in

ghosts.

These questions had driven him backstage immediately after the performance, propelled by an irrational hope

he couldn’t even admit to himself that somehow, impossibly, this was Ariana. Ghost or miracle, hallucination or

elaborate deception-he didn’t care. He just needed to see her one more time, to say what he should have said

years ago, before it was too late.

To be forgiveness from the woman whose life he had destroyed for a revenge that was never justified to begin

with.

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