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

Chapter 11

Leila had been pampered her entire life–people spoke to her in reverent tones, never raising their voices, let alone shouting at her.

Blind with rage, she lunged forward, perfectly manicured nails aimed at Luigi’s face like talons!

Luigi deflected her attack effortlessly, shoving her backward until she stumbled and collapsed to the floor in an undignified heap.

“Security,” he called, voice ice cold, “remove Miss Brown from the premises. Immediately.”

“YOU BASTARD!” Leila’s shrieks ricocheted off the marble floors.

The massive oak doors slammed shut, silencing her hysteria mid–scream.

The day of Ariana’s funeral arrived beneath a weeping sky–gentle rain that seemed to mourn alongside the gathered crowd.

Luigi carried her urn with trembling hands, his movements painfully deliberate as he placed it into the marble crypt. Every moment felt surreal, as if he were trapped in some horrific dream he couldn’t escape. This couldn’t be happening–he couldn’t be burying the woman he had only just realized he loved.

As the final stone was placed, the collective sobs behind him crescendoed.

Ariana had been genuinely beloved. Her radiance had touched countless lives.

Her parents, shattered by unimaginable grief, had retreated abroad, unable to face the ceremony that would make their daughter’s absence permanent.

But everyone else who had known Ariana–from childhood friends to professors, even the barista who had served her daily coffee–had come to pay their respects.

Their grief mingled with the rain, creating a symphony of sorrow that seemed to emanate from the earth

itself.

Luigi knelt before her tombstone, a broken man rendered statue–like in his grief. His fingers repeatedly traced the inscription he had insisted upon: “Ariana Collins Maggiore, Beloved Wife.”

Wife. The title she should have held in life, not just in death.

“Ariana…” Her name caught in his throat, tears falling before he could form another word. Every memory of her smile, her laugh, the way she’d dance around their kitchen on Sunday mornings–all of it crashed over him in waves of regret so powerful they physically hurt.

7.66

He remained kneeling long after everyone had gone, the rain soaking through his expensive suit, his body shivering violently though he felt nothing

That night, having refused to leave her graveside until physically carried away by his security team, Luigi collapsed with a dangerous fever.

delirium, Ariana cante to

with one crucial difference–this time, he hadn’t left her behind. In this version, he had recognized the danger, had grabbed her hand and pulled the blindfold from her

her, but unable

as they navigated through the labyrinthine hallways. Each

exit door appeared ahead, freedom visible through its glass panel, Ariana suddenly

matter how he pulled, she remained

already reached the gasoline containers, their metal sides

voice

looked at him with such profound sadness that his heart constricted. Slowly, deliberately, she peeled

said softly. “You’re

turned and walked deliberately back into the heart

inferno.

“ARIANA, NO!”

her, erasing her from existence in

“ARIANA!”

his system. The dream had felt

reach.

nightstand–a pathetic ritual he couldn’t break, checking for messages from a

Dicmelle: The

All Alor

unlock the screen, his bedroom door burst open, his butler’s face

psychological break–sneaking into the cemetery with bribed groundskeepers, disinterring Ariana’s urn,

stood in the

weakness, Luigi approached her slowly. “Put it down, Leila,” he

her fragile

First my championship, now my future husband! Even in death, she gets to be

with NOTHING!”

her next words.

framing her for cheating! Would

trouble!”

years of torment had been

his illness. He lunged forward, desperate to protect the only physical

nearly reached the urn, his

him.

as he collapsed forward. Leila, startled by his sudden movement, stumbled backward, losing her grip