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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"I’m thinking of adding a new act next month," I began, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. "Something daring, something that will make hearts race even faster. What do you think?"

Her eyes lit up, the professional curiosity mingling with a personal interest that was becoming harder to ignore. "That sounds incredible, Dante. Your vision for the circus... it’s compelling. It’s clear you really love this place."

The way she said it—the emphasis on 'love'—struck a chord. "I do. And I want those who come here to leave with a piece of that love, that wonder."

We stopped walking, standing amid the ghostly echoes of applause. For a moment, I considered reaching out, closing the distance between us, but the circus master in me held back. "Thank you, Ava, for your hard work today. It doesn’t go unnoticed."

When we reached her caravan, she whispered a soft thank you and then vanished inside. I watched her for long moments as she sat at her small desk, the dim light of a single lamp casting shadows on her journal. She chewed on the end of her pen, as I tried to suppress the personal feelings that were knotting together inside of my stomach.

Chapter Four

Ava

Another day and another town later, the midday sun cast long shadows across the circus grounds, but inside the administrative office, I was shrouded in secrecy. I’d slipped inside unnoticed and now papers and files lay scattered across the desk like a map of hidden treasures, each document potentially holding the key to the darker side of the Misfit Cabaret. With the staff preoccupied with the setup outside, my heart pounded as I rifled through the drawers, searching for any hint of the illegal activities I suspected were entangled in the circus’s colorful facade.

As I sifted through invoices and emails printed out and carelessly tossed into a file, a sense of urgency drove my actions. Each piece of paper rustled like a whisper of the secrets they might tell. I was looking for inconsistencies, for names that appeared too often, for amounts that didn’t seem to match the modest ticket sales. My investigation was abruptly paused when I peered out the window and saw Dante crossing the grounds toward a secluded spot behind the main tent. Curiosity piqued, I left the papers scattered and slipped outside, careful to keep my distance as I followed him.

Concealed behind the faded canvas of a supply tent, I watched as Dante met with a group of stern-looking men. Their suits were sharply out of place against the backdrop of the circus's whimsy. Their conversation, though hushed, carried a weight that belied their calm exteriors. The tension between them was unmistakable, their body language guarded as they occasionally glanced around, as if feeling the weight of prying eyes—my eyes. I strained to catch fragments of their dialogue, the words ‘shipment’ and ‘tonight’ chilling me with their implications.

Later that evening, as the circus came alive with the night’s performance, the echoes of laughter and applause didn’t quite reach the depths of my growing unease. Hidden in the shadows beneath the bleachers, I watched the trapeze artists take to the air, their bodies spinning and twirling with a grace that made it all seem like a beautiful illusion. It was then I overheard two acrobats behind me, their voices low with concern, discussing the delayed payments and the unnerving disappearances of some of their peers who had asked too many questions. Each word twisted in my gut, a stark contrast to the joyous facade the audience applauded.

Dusk painted the sky in strokes of orange and purple as I made my way to the animal enclosures, pretending to check on the welfare of the creatures that brought the circus much of its wonder. Hidden behind my feigned concern for a limping elephant, I caught sight of Dante again. He was at the far end of the enclosure, speaking in hushed tones with the animal trainer. As I edged closer, the words became clearer, and what I heard curled inside me like smoke—talk of new arrivals, of keeping them hidden until the heat died down, of payments that would need to be made in more than just cash. As the sky darkened and the circus lights blazed against the night, illuminating the big top in a golden glow, the dissonance between the world Dante ruled and the one I was uncovering became starker.

Alone in my caravan later that night, the events of the day replayed in my mind like a film I wished I could pause and understand fully. I sat at the small table, my journal open in front of me, the pen hovering above the page. How much of what I had learned could I write down? How could I reconcile the magnetic pull I felt towards Dante, a man woven into the very fabric of these possible misdeeds? The words I finally scribbled down were a mix of cold facts and heated, confused emotions—a testament to the complexity of my feelings and the intricate web I found myself caught in.


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