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.

phone for the twenty–first time–nearly three hours had elapsed–the operating room doors

gurney, his head heavily bandaged, but surprisingly conscious. His unfocused gaze swept the waiting area until it found her,

The word escaped

reached for her

17:23

Final Revenge Pirouette: The

12.24

to make sure you were here when I woke up, but they thought it

as if expecting her to evaporate

remained perfectly still within his grasp, her voice devoid of emotion:

clouded

her hands from his grip,

died.” Her tone was conversational, as if discussing the weather. “It gave me the freedom to

experience ninety–eight calculated humiliations from the person they trusted most and still remain standing in the same room

word struck with surgical precision. Luigi’s face drained of color as the full implications registered–she had known.

his injuries, he struggled upright, nearly tearing out his IV in panic.

“It wasn’t–it started that way,

it,” she interrupted, glancing at her watch. “I have a performance tomorrow that requires my complete focus. This melodrama wasn’t on

her wrist. “I can’t lose you

Her voice remained

head frantically, his grip

changed tactics. Her expression shifted subtly, taking on a weariness that penetrated his

tomorrow. Twenty–eight dancers and thousands of