The Ringmaster’s Secret (The Misfit Cabaret #1) Read Online Aria Cole

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: The Misfit Cabaret Series by Aria Cole
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Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
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Eventually, we pulled back, the reality of our situation crashing down around us. “What happens now?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“We rebuild,” he said, his voice strong despite the hurt. “Not the circus, but ourselves. We move forward, even if it means going our separate ways.”

Tears filled my eyes, but I nodded. “I’ll never forget you, Dante.”

“And I’ll never forget you, Ava,” he replied, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’ve changed my life in ways I can’t even begin to explain.”

We stood together in the Big Top one last time, drawing strength from each other’s presence. The moment was bittersweet, filled with the knowledge that our paths were diverging but also with the certainty that we had left an indelible mark on each other’s lives. As I walked away, leaving the Big Top behind, I felt a profound sense of loss but also a glimmer of hope. Our love, though it couldn’t last, had been real and powerful. And in the end, that was enough.

I stepped into the dressing room, my footsteps echoing in the now-empty space. The once vibrant room, filled with laughter and the hum of pre-show energy, was stripped of its former glamor. Costume racks stood bare, the scent of makeup and sweat lingering in the air. My heart ached as I looked around, memories of the performers who had become like family flooding my mind. As I moved deeper into the room, my gaze fell on a small piece of fabric peeking out from under a bench. I picked it up, recognizing it as a forgotten costume piece—a shimmering scarf that had once belonged to Lila, the trapeze artist. I held it to my face, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume, a bittersweet reminder of the life I had briefly shared with them. This small memento was a tangible connection to the world I had helped dismantle.

Outside, the circus grounds were a hive of activity. Performers packed their belongings, their movements methodical but heavy with sadness. I spotted Dante helping one of the acrobats load a trunk into a truck. His actions were precise, his strength evident, but his eyes revealed the deep pain of losing the community he had built and led. Each item he lifted seemed to carry the weight of the dreams that had been shattered. I turned away, my heart too heavy to watch any longer, and made my way to Lila’s caravan. She was packing her things, her usually bright and lively face drawn with exhaustion. When she saw me, she smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Ava,” she said softly, setting down a box. “I wondered if I’d see you before we all left.”

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” I replied, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry for everything, Lila. For the pain my article caused.”

Lila shook her head, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Don’t apologize. You did the right thing. It’s better this way, even if it hurts now. The truth needed to come out, and you were brave enough to reveal it.”

We embraced, holding on to each other tightly, finding comfort in the shared sorrow. When we finally pulled away, tears shimmered in both our eyes. “Take care of yourself, Lila. And stay strong.”

“You too, Ava,” she replied, her voice breaking. “Thank you for everything.”

Leaving Lila behind, I headed to the main office. The air inside was thick with unresolved tension, the walls bearing witness to the final days of the circus. Dante was there, packing up the last of his personal items. The sight of him, so strong yet so vulnerable, made my chest tighten.

“Dante,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of sadness and something deeper—an unspoken bond forged through our trials. “Ava,” he replied, his voice rough.

We stood there in silence, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between us. I wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but I didn’t know if it would be welcome. The air was charged with unresolved emotions, the chemistry between us as potent as ever.

“I’m sorry,” I finally managed, my voice trembling. “I wish things were different.”

“So do I,” he said, stepping closer. The space between us seemed to hum with electricity. We shared a moment of silence, our eyes locked, conveying all the things we couldn’t say. Then, without another word, he pulled me into his arms. The embrace was fierce, filled with the pain of parting and the lingering heat of our unresolved desire. I clung to him, wishing I could stay in his arms forever. But reality beckoned, and we reluctantly pulled apart. With one last look, I turned and walked away, my heart heavy with the knowledge that our love, while real, couldn’t survive the consequences of my revelations.


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