The 99th Game Was Mine All Along novel Chapter 14

At this announcement, the younger dancers erupted in excited squeals and whispers.

"Oh my God, Luigi Maggiore is coming here?"

"I heard he hasn't attended a social event in months!"

"Do you think he's looking for new talent to sponsor?"

The company scattered to their dressing rooms, frantically touching up makeup and adjusting costumes, each hoping to catch the eye of Boston's most eligible widower.

Only Ariana remained frozen in place, her mind racing with alarm.

Why would Luigi come backstage? Even during his most obsessive pursuit of her years ago, he had never once visited her behind the scenes—his assistants had simply delivered roses or arranged town cars.

Her thoughts spiraled into darker territory. Was this somehow connected to the revenge plots he'd schemed with his friends? Had he somehow recognized her despite the mask? Was he planning some new humiliation as punishment for deceiving him with her false death?

Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms as fragmented memories of the ninety-eight "pranks" flashed through her mind.

"Ariana," Margaret's concerned voice cut through her panic. "You've gone completely white."

"I just—" she managed, her usual composure crumbling.

"You don't look well at all. Perhaps you should return to the hotel before he arrives. I'll make your excuses—some diplomatic nonsense about vocal rest affecting your breathing. Don't worry about Maggiore—we've got plenty of donors without him."

Ariana nodded gratefully, not trusting her voice. With a quick pivot, she headed for the stage door, not even pausing to remove her performance mask or change from her costume.

Just as she reached the exit corridor, approaching footsteps echoed from beyond the heavy velvet curtain, accompanied by the theater director's sycophantic voice.

"Right this way, Mr. Maggiore. The company is absolutely thrilled you've joined us tonight. Your support of the arts is legendary."

As the curtain began to part, Ariana's heart nearly stopped. She quickly ducked into a shadowed alcove used for quick costume changes, pressing herself against the wall as Luigi entered the backstage area.



Luigi stepped into the crowded backstage space, immediately uncomfortable with the theatrical chaos. Female dancers in various stages of costume swarmed around him like designer-perfumed moths to a flame, voices overlapping as they introduced themselves.

"Mr. Maggiore, I danced the second variation—"

"—such an honor to meet you—"

The silence between them stretched, electric and uncomfortable, until Luigi finally broke it.

"Why are you still wearing your mask offstage?" he asked, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind.

From the moment she had first appeared onstage, something about her had reached directly into the most wounded part of him. While every other dancer had worked desperately to gain his notice tonight, this woman alone seemed determined to avoid it.

She had been the first to vanish during curtain calls, nearly running from the stage as if pursued by something only she could see.

This evasiveness fascinated him. Since his public announcement as a grieving widower, Boston's socialites had pursued him relentlessly despite his obvious disinterest.

Yet this dancer recoiled from him as if he were radioactive.

More unsettling still was how her movement quality had triggered something visceral within him—for a brief, irrational moment, he'd believed he was watching Ariana, impossible as that was.

If he hadn't personally scattered what remained of her ashes after Leila's desecration, he might have believed in ghosts.

These questions had driven him backstage immediately after the performance, propelled by an irrational hope he couldn't even admit to himself: that somehow, impossibly, this was Ariana. Ghost or miracle, hallucination or elaborate deception—he didn't care. He just needed to see her one more time, to say what he should have said years ago, before it was too late.

To beg forgiveness from the woman whose life he had destroyed for a revenge that was never justified to begin with.