Page 225 of The Bittersweet Bond

No drama. No arguments.

So why did it feel so fucking awful?

Chapter 58

No Good Bye at All

Evin

The city lights stretched into blurred streaks against the car window. The hum of the streets was muffled behind the glass, distant and detached, as she and Bas drove toward Ocean Park. The night still clung to her skin—warm, electric—like it had settled deep into her bones. The performance. The adrenaline. That fleeting sensation of existing in another world, weightless, if only for the fraction of a breath.

Now, it was all gone.

Now, she was here, in the passenger seat of Bas' car, the cool leather beneath her fingertips, and she could feel that something was wrong.

The silence between them wasn’t just silence. It was intentional. A distance that stretched further with every passing street, every turn, every flicker of the streetlights outside.

Normally, Bas would have said something.

Anything.

A sarcastic remark about the stiff parents in the front row who had applauded politely but without enthusiasm. A comment about the music, the lighting, or the guy who had walked up to her after the performance to congratulate her.

But Bas said nothing.

Evin pulled her knees slightly closer, pressing her fingers into the fabric of her dress. Her gaze drifted toward him. His profile was tense, his jaw tightening slightly, his fingers gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles had turned white.

“Everything okay?”

No reaction.

Only the flickering reflections of streetlights on his skin, the rhythmic blink of the turn signal as he changed lanes.

Evin swallowed. “Bas?”

He inhaled sharply, ran a hand through his hair as if bracing himself for whatever he was about to say. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”

She froze.

There it was.

That feeling of the ground slipping out from under her.

She leaned back against the door, the cool metal pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. “Then don’t.” She tried to keep her voice light, like it was just a dumb remark, but there was a slight tremor in it.

He stayed silent.

The only sound left was the low hum of the engine.

Evin watched him.

The way his fingers clenched around the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him. The tension in his shoulders, his breathing too measured.

Then, quietly: “I had to make a decision.”

Her stomach twisted.

Her nails dug into the soft fabric of her dress. “What decision?”

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