Page 1 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
PROLOGUE: THE OMEGA WHO HAD IT ALL
~MARIGOLD~
The roar of applause washed over Marigold like a wave, its power lifting her higher than any grand jeté ever could. She stood en pointe, a frozen sculpture carved from grace and discipline, her arms held aloft as if she could embrace the whole auditorium. The ovation swelled, an ocean of adoration crashing against the shore of her triumph.
Her chest rose and fell with exertion, each breath carrying the sweet perfume of roses tossed at her feet. The spotlight embraced her, warming her flushed skin as she held her final pose — arms extended in perfect fifth position, chin lifted in triumph.
This moment. This is what I've sacrificed everything for.
Marigold's lips curved into a smile, her body still humming with the echoes of Tchaikovsky as she took her first bow.
The theater's gilded ceiling seemed to sway above her, hundreds of faces blurring into a tapestry of adoration.
Three years of training for this role, for this night when"The Sleeping Beauty"would launch her from promising talent to prima ballerina.
"Brava! Brava!" The cries rained down as she rose from her third bow, tears of joy threatening at the corners of her eyes.
I've done it. I've actually done it.
Her heart thundered against her ribs, not from exertion but from pure, undiluted happiness. The countless hours. Endless uncertainty. All of it lead to this grand finale which would only be the beginning of so many opportunities she’s been waiting for.
She bowed deeply, her heart dancing to the rhythm of countless clapping hands, each beat a testament to her artistry. The audience saw the poised ballerina, flawless and serene, but beneath the surface, Marigold's pulse raced with exhilaration. The orchestra conductor nodded in her direction, a silent acknowledgment of perfection achieved.
Marigold began to back away, ready to allow the rest of the company their moment in the spotlight, when the audience's applause suddenly shifted, transforming from rhythmic appreciation to murmurs of surprise. A hush rippled through the crowd, starting at the back and sweeping forward like an invisible tide.
Hmm? What’s the problem?
Marigold turned, the silk of her costume rustling softly against her skin. Her breath caught as she saw the man walking towards her.
Rowan Thorne.
Her fiancé...
He stepped into the fading light, his presence alone quieting the sea of spectators. His tall figure cut a striking silhouette against the theater's burgundy curtains, his tailored tuxedo starkly contrasting her delicate costume.
He moved with the confidence of a man who never questioned his right to any space he entered. The suddenhush was heavy, filled with anticipation, leaving even myself in stunned awe of appreciation with the Alpha approaching me.
His silhouette cut a stark contrast against the dimming backdrop, a dark interruption to her moment of glory.
What is he doing here?
Marigold remained frozen, her muscles locking into place by instinct, a dancer's discipline overriding the confusion flooding her mind.
Is he here to do something surprising?
A gift? An announcement? Maybe propose again on a grander scale than their private display of affection and future commitment with his proposal? Her heart can only beat faster with the possibilities.
The audience fell completely silent now, a collective breath held. Even the orchestra members lowered their instruments, all eyes drawn to the Alpha's commanding presence.
In this charged stillness, it was clear that whatever announcement he carried bore significance enough to pause the celebration of her success.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Rowan's voice carried effortlessly across the theater without need of a microphone, rich and resonant. "I apologize for this unexpected interruption to your evening."
His footsteps echoed as he approached center stage.Toward her. The spotlight operator, sensing drama, widened the beam to encompass them both.
He closed the distance between them with measured steps, each stride a deliberate testament to his purpose.
His jaw was set, an emblem of resolve etched into his features, and when his eyes met Marigold's, they shimmered with pride — a pride that seemed to reflect her own achievements back at her.
