Chapter 7

“What’s the issue now, Luigi?” Tyler’s voice dripped with irritation. “Thought you were dying to wrap this shit up. We swear she won’t actually die! We’ll open the doors right before he starts. We’re coding, or whatever.”

Luigi’s voice remained granite hard. “It’s too fucking risky. Nothing happens to her. Find another way—”

“Are you serious right now?” Blake jumped in, openly hostile. “You ghosted Lella tonight to chase after that nobody! She’s been crying her eyes out all evening—took fifty texts to calm her down. You promised we’d plan the grand finale tonight to prove you’re still team Lella. Now suddenly you’re getting cold feet? Have you forgotten who actually matters here? Dump the charity case already and get back to the girl you’ve been obsessed with since kindergarten.”

Luigi’s breathing quickened audibly, as if he was about to launch into an argument, when a delicate voice cut through the call:

“Luigi.” Leila’s soft, hurt tone immediately silenced everyone. “I heard what you guys were discussing. I’ll just ask you directly—I need this to be the final punishment for what she did to me. Are you with me or with her?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You promised you’d do anything for me,” Leila’s voice trembled with perfectly calibrated vulnerability. “I thought I was the one who mattered to you.”

After a lengthy pause, he finally answered, his voice rough with resignation: “Fine. Whatever you want, Leila.”

Her tone instantly brightened. “That’s my Luigi.”

The guys whooped in the background: “Epic finale, here we come!”

“Just make absolutely sure nothing actually happens to her,” Luigi insisted once more, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Ariana stood frozen in the shadows, her entire body going numb as the truth crystallized with devastating clarity. No matter what conflicted feelings he might have, when pushed to choose, he would always choose Leila. She slipped back to the bedroom, picked up her phone, and sent the final message she’d been waiting to send.

17:21

The Black Swan’s Final Revenge Pirouette: The 99th Gỗ

Chapter 7

On their anniversary, Luigi executed the plan flawlessly. “I’ve got a surprise for you today,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically warm. “Close your eyes and let me take you somewhere special.”

Ariana studied his face for a long moment—memorizing each feature, each line—then cloned his expression without protest. Luigi’s lips curved into a slight smile as he secured a silk blindfold over her eyes and guided her to his car.

After they arrived, he helped her navigate into the abandoned house, his hand firm against her back. “Wait here for a minute,” he whispered close to her ear. “I need to get your gift ready. I’ll be right back.”

Ariana stood perfectly still, listening as his footsteps retreated toward the door. Just as the hinges creaked, she called out to him.

“Luigi.”

His footsteps halted.

“I really did love you, you know?” Her voice was steady, devoid of accusation or bitterness—just stating a simple truth.

Silence hung between them as she continued.

“I loved you for so long that I don’t remember what it felt like not to. When you finally said yes to me, I thought the universe had finally aligned in my favor. That night, I stayed awake until sunrise, alternating between crying and laughing because I couldn’t contain the happiness. Pretty stupid, right?”

He remained silent, but she could hear his breathing change.

“Today marks three years,” she said softly. “It’s the first time you’ve ever planned something special for me. Despite everything I know now, some small part of me was still looking forward to it.”

The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

“I’ll be right back,” he finally said, his voice rough around the edges. “Wait for me.”

The door closed with a decisive click.

The moment she was alone, Ariana removed the blindfold, immediately detecting the unmistakable tang of gasoline saturating the air. A calm smile touched her lips as she walked to a closet in the corner, dragging out what appeared to be a body—a custom-made mannequin she’d commissioned the day after overhearing their call, an exact replica of herself down to the clothing she’d planned to wear today.

After the fire, forensics would identify it as her remains. She placed a small digital recorder on the table, already loaded with her prerecorded pleas for help.

“Ninety-eight games, Luigi,” she whispered to the empty room. “For the ninety-ninth, I’m changing the rules.”

She pressed play on the recorder. Her desperate voice filled the house: “Help! I can’t breathe! Luigi, please! The door’s locked! HELP ME!”

Without a backward glance, she slipped out through the service entrance she’d scouted days earlier, sliding into the waiting Uber she’d scheduled to take her directly to JFK. In the distance, as her car pulled away, orange flames erupted against the night sky, a funeral pyre for the girl she used to be.

The Black Swan’s Final Revenge Pirouette: The 99th GẦ