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

Chapter 18

For the next two weeks, Ariana immersed herself completely in the remaining performances, leaving no mental space to dwell on Luigi Maggiore or their unsettling reunion.

As the final curtain fell on their Boston engagement, she welcomed her first real break in months, planning a solo road trip along the New England coastline

Just as she was comparing rental cars on her phone, an unfamiliar number lit up her screen. Against her better judgment, she answered.

“Miss Collins,” Michael’s voice was tight with barely suppressed urgency. “There’s been an incident with Mr. Maggiore. He’s in a bad state. Please–if you could just come to the estate-”

Having survived three years of Luigi’s elaborate manipulations, Ariana immediately recognized the familiar pattern of another manufactured “emergency.”

“I’m not qualified to handle whatever crisis Luigi’s created for himself,” she replied evenly. “That stopped. being my job when he arranged my death.”

Before Michael could launch into whatever script he’d prepared, she ended the call and promptly blocked the number, dropping her phone into her bag with a mixture of irritation and finality.

Twenty minutes later, settled in the back seat of an Uber, Ariana gave the driver the address of the rental agency before closing her eyes for a much–needed power nap.

She awoke disoriented some time later to the driver announcing their arrival. Still groggy, she paid through the app and stepped out, only to find herself standing before the imposing iron gates of the Maggiore estate instead of the rental car office.

Realization hit with a jolt of anger. Either the driver had deliberately ignored her instructions, or someone had intercepted and changed her ride details remotely.

Just as she pulled out her phone to order another Uber, the estate’s massive entry doors swung open. Davis, the Maggiore family’s long–serving butler, emerged with several staff members, their faces lined

with evident relief.

the steps. “Thank God you’ve come.

efficiently escorted through the marble foyer she had

Her hasty “death” had left everything

Rack Swan’s Final Revenge

cashmere throw draped over the sofa arm, even the half finished cup of tea she’d left on the mantle the morning of the fire, now

through a museum exhibit dedicated to her

at her elbow, explaining the situation

staircase.

hushed tones. “He’s refused all food for days, fired his medical team, and has been

pretenses, miss, but he’s been talking about-” he hesitated, “-permanent solutions. I feared

struggled to maintain her emotional detachment. Part of her insisted this was just another performance designed

beyond all reason–couldn’t help

truly loved her now, how could he have orchestrated three years of methodical humiliation then? How could love and such calculated cruelty possibly coexist within the same

before gently pushing the door open. Immediately, the overpowering stench of bourbon and unwashed

near–total darkness, heavy blackout drapes drawn against the afternoon sun. In the dim light, she could just make out a figure slumped against the foot of the

doorway, turning to Davis with a coldly composed smile. “Well, he’s clearly still alive. I don’t see how

widened in alarm as she pivoted to leave. “Sir!” he called desperately toward