Page 7 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL
~MARIGOLD~
"They're saying horrible things,"her understudy whispered, appearing in the doorway. "About you and Rowan. And Magnolia?—"
In her dressing room, Marigold methodically removed her stage makeup, watching her professional mask dissolve along with the foundation and rouge. The face that emerged in the mirror was a stranger's — pale, wounded, and somehow older.
"Close the door," Marigold said, not looking away from her reflection. When they were alone, she continued removing her costume, each pin and hook unfastening something deeper within her.
"Will you fight back?" the younger dancer asked. "Make a statement?"
For what?
Who would even give a damn about an Omega’s opinion in our judgemental world of showbiz and the “golden” spotlight?
Marigold slipped into a simple black dress.
"There's nothing to fight for here."
"But your career—your reputation?—"
None of it matters.
If it did, none of this would have happened. None of this would be such a trajectory if it couldn’t be shattered and stolen from my grasp simply because my dreams were just as important as my Alphas’ happiness.
I thought we shared the same hopes, and after years of commitment an tailoring to their needs and desires, I expected being encouraged to follow my own dreams after all the self-sacrifice would have been worth it.
Obviously not…
"Were never truly mine."
She gathered her few personal belongings, leaving the rest — gifts from Rowan, photos with Magnolia, the accumulated treasures of a life built on lies.
"I was just borrowing them until the truth came out."
Her phone buzzed incessantly with notifications, but she silenced it without looking.
She’d rid of it. She’d have no choice because it wasn’t something she bought. It was gifted by her Alphas who emphasized the importance of her safety and being able to communicate with them and those of importance to her.
Now it was buzzing with all the tabloids and articles probably being plastered on social media and would be on the front page of the daily newspapers tomorrow.
All mockery…
"Where will you go?" the understudy repeated the question from earlier.
Marigold paused at the door, her hand resting on the knob.
"Somewhere I can remember who I was before all this. Before them."
Willowbend.
The name came to her suddenly — her grandmother's cottage, empty since her passing three years ago. The small countryside town where Marigold had spent childhood summers before the ballet academy consumed her life.
Before she met the Alphas she thought would be her forever.
"They'll follow you," the understudy warned. "The press, the gossip?—"
"Not where I'm going."
