Page 217 of The Bittersweet Bond

When the final notes faded, her body trembled with exhaustion and adrenaline. She had given everything, burned through every last drop—but it felt right. She knew she hadn’t just danced. She had been the dance.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her muscles burned, screaming for rest—yet she ignored it. The pain was just another piece of the puzzle, another part of the ecstasy surging through her veins.

The audience blurred into a background hum as she glided, leapt, and spun across the stage. Each step was an answer to the years of hard work, each gesture a message without words.

And Rafael… he understood it. Their eyes met, an unspoken We’re flying. And she knew he was right.

The finale swelled into a wild whirl of energy, rhythm and music, a crescendo that exploded in one final, powerful moment before the lights dimmed.

Silence fell over the hall for just a heartbeat. Then the applause broke out—roaring, overwhelming, a wave that carried her away.

Surrounded by the other dancers, she let herself be enveloped by the moment. Rafael’s proud gaze rested on her as she took a bow. Her legs shook with exhaustion, but her heart felt light.

Backstage was chaos filled with joy. Arms pulled her into hugs, voices laughed, tears gleamed in dancers’ eyes. There would be more performances, but tonight belonged to them.

Amid the commotion, her gaze fell on Frau Wagner, who was speaking with Rafael. She knew exactly what it was about.

But for this one moment, she let the thought go.

Tonight, only the dance mattered. That was all that existed in that second.

She had given her all—her heart, her strength, her passion—and every single second had been worth it.

__________

Sebastian

"She was breathtaking, wasn’t she?" Milka beamed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I mean, I knew she was good. But this…" She shook her head, as if words failed to capture what she had just witnessed. The charged energy in the air was almost tangible, carried by the voices of guests streaming out through the doors.

Bas hadn’t expected anything less, but still, Evin’s performance had floored him. He knew she was exceptional—but experiencing it up close like this was something entirely different. The way she moved, as if gravity didn’t apply to her. The way she told a story with every motion, without speaking a singleword. She had managed to captivate even someone like him, who knew nothing about ballet, and keep him completely hooked on the piece.

"Yeah," he finally said, a faint smirk on his lips. "She killed it."

Milka eyed him sideways. "Oh, come on, that impressed you just as much as it did me!"

Bas opened his mouth, about to counter her—but then he stopped. A fleeting shadow, a familiar pattern at the edge of his vision.

Normally, he would have ignored it. Too many people, too many overlapping voices. But something made him analyze the situation. A feeling of unease spread through his chest, relentless and creeping.

His gaze scanned the crowd, searching for the reason behind the gnawing sensation. And then, he found it.

This can’t be happening. Sergej?

For a moment, Bas doubted himself. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, maybe the post-performance chaos was playing with his mind. But then Sergej turned slightly—and Bas knew he wasn’t imagining things.

It was really him.

A cold knot tightened in Bas’ chest. That simmering anger, the one that had been lurking just beneath the surface for weeks, erupted with full force, burning through his veins. His fingers twitched, his jaw clenched harder with every breath.

Without hesitation, he started moving.

"Hey!" Milka called out. "Where are you going?"

The crowd around him no longer mattered.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was calm, but razor-sharp as he stopped directly in front of Sergej.

Sergej glanced at him lazily, as if he had already noticed Bas long before. "Working. How’s your arm?" He flicked a quick glance downward, and Bas let out a sharp breath, trying to keep himself from snapping immediately.

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