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

Chapter 17

Just as Ariana turned to leave, a loud thud stopped her mid step.

Turning back, she found Michael Luigi’s executive assistant–staring at her with shock etched across his face, his dropped briefcase scattered across the hospital floor.

“Mrs… Maggiore?” he stammered, face draining of color. “Is that really you?”

Escape, it seemed, wouldn’t be so simple. Michael recovered quickly, positioning himself between Ariana and the exit with newfound determination.

“Please,” he implored, lowering his voice. “You can’t just disappear again. You have no idea what he’s been through since the fire. The man hasn’t slept through a single night in a year. Even if you want nothing to do with him now, at least stay until he’s out of surgery. He literally just took a car impact for

you.”

Ariana regarded him coolly, her expression betraying nothing of the calculations happening behind it.

“First,” she stated with clinical precision, “I am not Mrs. Maggiore. That person died in a fire last year–a fact your boss publicly confirmed.”

“Second, I’ll stay until he’s stable, but I’m leaving immediately after. My company has a performance

tomorrow.”

“Third, I have zero interest in rekindling any connection with Luigi Maggiore. Our relationship ended the moment he orchestrated my death.”

With each statement, Michael’s professional facade cracked further, revealing genuine distress, but he eventually nodded in reluctant agreement to her terms.

They settled into the antiseptic waiting room chairs, silence stretching between them as surgery continued behind closed doors.

time–nearly three hours had elapsed–the operating room doors finally swung

His unfocused gaze swept the waiting area until it found her, his eyes immediately sharpening

The word escaped like a prayer.

Luigi reached for her

17:23

Final Revenge Pirouette: The 99th

12.24

whispered, voice breaking. “I was sure I’d hallucinated you. I kept telling them to make sure you were here when I woke up, but they thought it was the concussion talking. You’re actually

her closer, as if expecting her to

remained perfectly still within his grasp, her voice devoid of

clouded

his grip,

to me, Luigi, was when everyone believed I died.” Her tone was conversational, as if discussing the

ninety–eight calculated humiliations from the person they trusted most and still

color as the full implications registered–she

he struggled upright, nearly tearing out his IV

begged, reaching for her. “It wasn’t–it started that way, but

a performance tomorrow that requires my complete focus. This

grabbing her wrist. “I can’t lose you again. Not when I’ve just

of me.” Her voice remained

frantically, his grip tightening.

expression shifted subtly, taking on a weariness

Twenty–eight dancers