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

In this version, he had recognized the danger, had grabbed her hand and pulled the blindfold from

gripping her fingers so tightly he feared he might hurt her, but unable to loosen his hold. “The whole place is going

navigated through the labyrinthine hallways. Each step felt like salvation–he was saving her this time. He wouldn’t fail her again.

visible through its glass panel, Ariana

he pulled, she remained rooted in place.

had already reached the gasoline containers, their

voice crack.

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

she said softly. “You’re the one who

between them, she turned and walked

inferno.

“ARIANA, NO!”

erasing her from existence in a violent flash of light

“ARIANA!”

despite the fever ravaging his system. The dream had

reach.

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

Dicmelle: The

All Alor

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

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

was something from a nightmare. Leila stood in the rain, mascara

his fever–induced weakness, Luigi approached her slowly. “Put it down, Leila,” he commanded, his voice deadly quiet.

to further unravel her fragile sanity.

First my championship, now my

with NOTHING!”

froze at her next

killed her years ago instead of just framing her for cheating! Would have

trouble!”

confession sliced through him–the original “crime” that had justified three years of

despite his illness. He lunged forward,

him–as his fingers nearly reached the urn, his legs buckled

him.

forward. Leila, startled by his sudden