Page 1 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

~ M ARIGOLD~

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 sudden hush 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. T he 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.

"But I believe this moment calls for something...extraordinary."

Yet, beneath the surface admiration, there lurked an unreadable shadow, a cryptic depth in his gaze that hinted at untold narratives.

Marigold's fingers trembled at her sides.

This wasn't part of the program. This wasn't planned.

It’s not as if she wasn’t used to the uncertainty in the realms of theatrics performances and the world of dance, but she couldn’t figure out what purpose Rowan would have to be walking in on her grand celebration.

It’s hard to not think he’s trying to damper on her grand parade…

She quickly pushes the thoughts away, deciding to not jump to conclusions because this could be something further to heighten the grand finale she just delivered. The whispers from the audience grew, a hushed anticipation building like the moments before a storm breaks.

"Rowan?" she whispered, her voice barely audible even to herself. "What are you—" He held up one hand, silencing her with a gesture as gentle as it was absolute.

The audience leaned forward in their seats.

"I have an announcement," he declared, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before settling on her. "One that couldn't wait for a more... private occasion."

Rowan turned fully toward her now, his pristine tailored suit accentuating the broad set of his shoulders.

"Marigold," he said, his tone clinical, betraying none of the warmth she remembered. "There are times when the curtain must fall on certain acts in our lives, no matter how enchanting they have been."

His jaw tightened momentarily, a brief shadow crossing his features before he recovered his composure.

"Tonight, you've shown everyone what I've always known."

His approach was measured, each step deliberate, as if he were calculating the exact impression he wanted to make — on her, on the audience watching with bated breath. The subtle notes of his cologne reached her, familiar and intoxicating.

He came to celebrate with me.

Marigold thought, her heart accelerating.

After all our discussions about making our relationship more public..

"Your grace on stage is unparalleled," Rowan continued, his voice steady as if rehearsed. "Truly transcendent."

Warmth bloomed in her chest, radiating outward. The post-performance adrenaline intertwined with the heady sensation of having him here, on her stage, before everyone.

Her Alpha, coming to claim her publicly at last.

He pauses as if his next words are going to be the grand breaking point for all those who are ready to grasp every word.

"But it's there our partnership must end. I cannot stand beside you any longer—not in life, not in love."

A collective gasp snaked through the audience, the sound mirroring the shock that twisted inside Marigold. She stood motionless, the spotlight that once caressed her now feeling like an unforgiving glare, exposing her to the raw scrutiny of every eye.

He took a calculated step backward, creating a small but deliberate distance between them.

The spotlight seemed to intensify, burning against her skin as Rowan cleared his throat. His eyes swept across the audience before returning to her face with a clinical detachment that sent a chill through her body.

"I came here tonight to make something clear," he announced, his voice projected for the entire theater to hear. "Our arrangement has run its course. I cannot claim you as my Omega."

Rowan's rejection sliced through the veil of her anticipation, leaving ragged edges that trembled with disbelief. Her world, once choreographed to perfection, spiraled into disarray, a dance of chaos she could not comprehend.

The words hung in the air like shattered glass.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience.

"What?" The question escaped her lips, barely audible.

"You deserve to know that I've made other commitments.

More suitable ones for someone in my position.

" His voice was formal, almost rehearsed. “I found a more suitable Omega for me and my fellow Alphas who agree that you no longer suit our arrangement. Talented, yes, but one that most certainly can’t fulfill all our needs, especially when you focus on your…own goals and career oath.”

What is he trying to say...?

I should give up my dreams so I can commit to him and the pack.

Why couldn’t this discussion be done anywhere? Why specifically now?

What does he get out of all of this?

"I admire your talent, but our compatibility was...overestimated."

Over…estimated?

Marigold's lungs constricted. Each breath became a struggle as reality crashed down around her. The stage beneath her feet — always her sanctuary —felt suddenly unsteady.

This was her safe place. Where she could shine and share her talent with the world and be appreciated.

And now?

Now it was being tainted. Stained.

Potentially ruined beyond repair…

This can't be happening. Not here. Not now.

"Rowan, please," she whispered, her dancer's poise the only thing keeping her upright. "Whatever this is, we can discuss it privately."

There mere idea that this was happening still couldn’t be fathomed. He was her biggest cheerleader, encouraging her to follow her dreams in performance arts.

Bought her first pair of pointe shoes…

She could feel the eyes upon her, the weight of their scrutiny pressing against her skin, yet within her tumultuous heart, a silent plea emerged, begging for invisibility.

She wanted to dance away from this nightmare, to twirl back in time to the embrace of the spotlight that knew no rejection — only adoration.