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

Chapter 4

Within seconds, the messages disappeared from the chat, as if they’d been nothing but a hallucination.

Ariana stared at her phone, her hand trembling so violently she nearly dropped it. The realization hit her like a physical blow, driving the air from her lungs. The cold truth spread through her veins like poison.

Everything–her “accident” at the pool, her fever, the “medicine“-had all been meticulously orchestrated as part of their sick game. The pills Luigi had so tenderly given her, pretending to care, were specifically designed to intensify her suffering.

She’d known they were using her, had heard it with her own ears at the hospital, but experiencing it firsthand made the betrayal infinitely more devastating. The calculated cruelty of it all made her physically ill.

Her phone lit up with Luigi’s name.

“Where the fuck are you?” His voice was sharp with urgency, almost angry. “Why aren’t you at the apartment?”

Ariana took a deep, steadying breath, forcing herself to sound detached: “My fever got worse. I had to go

to the ER.”

The line went dead silent before Luigi responded, his tone suddenly softer: “I’m coming over. Which hospital?”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, her voice eerily calm. “They’re just giving me fluids and keeping me overnight. You seem busy with your… other priorities. Don’t let me interrupt.

Her controlled tone seemed to quiet something in him too. After several seconds of silence, he asked carefully: “Did you check your phone at all?”

So that

1. it. He wasn’t worried about her health–he was terrified she’d seen those messages, that their

game was exposed.

“No,” she lied, “The doctor said my temperature was dangerously high. I’ve been a little preoccupied with not dying to scroll through social media.”

Another weighted silence before Luigi spoke, his voice carrying an emotion she couldn’t quite identify. “As long as I’m around, nothing bad will happen to you. I promise.”

her want to scream. A bitter

of pain she’d experienced over the

Copier

to him. He wasn’t her protector–he was her tormentor.

Ariana was

to call an Uber, a van screeched to a halt beside her. Before she could. process what was happening,

a desperate prayer: Please let this just be random,

regained consciousness, Ariana found herself in a seedy motel room, wrists and ankles bound with zip

a finger down her cheek. “Luigi’s

you want?”

her mind, “Who are

hotter when she’s scared,” another one laughed, reaching for the buttons on her blouse. “That rich boy’s been hogging you all

some pictures for your boyfriend,” a third one said, pulling out his phone.

state, she was no match for them. They laughed at her

they tore at her clothes, tears streamed down her face. Despite everything, in that moment of pure terror, she still found herself desperately hoping Luigi would somehow find her–that he would

summoned by her thoughts, the door exploded inward, wood splintering

unrecognizable–a primal roar of pure rage that made even Ariana freeze in shock.

in their haste to escape the murderous. fury radiating from

bed, violent tremors wracking her body. When she looked up at Luigi, what she saw stopped her heart–genuine fear in his eyes, raw panic, and something

brief moment, it was like seeing an entirely different person.

hands visibly shaking as

trauma was too fresh. She flinched away instinctively, a broken seb escaping her lips as she

face seemed genuine, but before she could process it, the room began to spin, black spots dancing atross her vision. The combination of medication, trauma and

later. Ariana drifted back to awareness in what she recognized as a hospital room.

her eyes, the heard voices just outside her door–Luigi and

heated

rage. “Which one of you geniuses thought hiring men to sexually assault her was part of the plan?”

you wanted to speed things up. Ninety–seven down. just two more to go, then you’re

making the others fall silent.