The 99th Game Was Mine All Along novel Chapter 18

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. 

“Miss Collins!” Davis hurried down the steps. “Thank God you’ve come. Please–it’s urgent.” 

Before she could articulate her protest, she found herself efficiently escorted through the marble foyer she had once called home. 

Stepping back into this space sent an unexpected wave of déjà vu washing over her. Her hasty “death” had left everything preserved exactly as it had been–her dance theory books still stacked on the side 

The Rack Swan’s Final Revenge Pirouette: The 99th Gl 

table, her favorite 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 long since evaporated. 

The effect was deeply unsettling, like walking through a museum exhibit dedicated to her former life 

Davis hovered anxiously at her elbow, explaining the situation as he guided her toward the grand 

staircase. 

“Mr. Maggiore hasn’t been…functional…since encountering you at the hospital,” the older man explained in hushed tones. “He’s refused all food for days, fired his medical team, and has been drinking continuously. The business is in freefall.” 

The butler’s voice dropped even further. “I know I had no right to bring you here under false pretenses, miss, but he’s been talking about-” he hesitated, “-permanent solutions. I feared what might happen if I didn’t intervene.” 

As they ascended the marble stairs, Ariana struggled to maintain her emotional detachment. Part of her insisted this was just another performance designed to manipulate her back into Luigi’s orbit. 

Yet another part–the part that had once loved him beyond all reason–couldn’t help wondering if his apparent self–destruction might be genuine. 

But if he 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 person? 

Davis paused outside the master suite, his hand hesitating on the ornate handle before gently pushing the door open. Immediately, the overpowering stench of bourbon and unwashed male assaulted her senses. 

The once–immaculate room lay in 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 bed, surrounded by empty bottles and what appeared to be shattered picture frames. 

She remained firmly in the doorway, turning to Davis with a coldly composed smile. “Well, he’s clearly still alive. I don’t see how my presence is required or helpful‘ 

The butler’s eyes widened in alarm as she pivoted to leave. “Sir!” he called desperately toward the 

darkened room. “Miss Collins is here!” 

At this announcement, the disheveled figure on the floor stirred, lifting his head with visible effort. Luigi squinted toward the doorway, struggling to focus through what was clearly several days‘ worth of intoxication.