Page 61 of The Bittersweet Bond

He knew his words had been warped, that the rumors spreading now were even worse than what had actually been said. But that didn’t matter. He had started it. He had let them take it further.

Basburied his face in his hands. He had wrecked everything.

Evin meant more to him than he’d ever let himself admit.

But now she was gone.

And it was his fault.

__________

Evin

By the time she had made it home, her hands were shaking.

She had barely made it to her room before the tears came—hot, angry, relentless.

She hated him.

She hated him with a fire so wild it burned in her throat.

Not because he had hurt her.

No, she could have handled that.

But because he had made her feel small. Like she was nothing. Just another passing moment in his life, something to be talked about, laughed at, tossed aside.

She had cried, but only for a moment. Then, she had wiped her face, squared her shoulders, and done what she always did. She moved on.

__________

The ballet studio was filled with a focused silence, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of pointe shoes against the floor. Evin stood in the front row, her shoulders squared, hands on her hips, her gaze fixed intently on her reflection in the mirror.

Every muscle in her body burned, her legs felt like lead, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not now.

There was no room for weakness here. No room for rumors and no room for Bas.

The mirror reflected an exterior of calm, but inside, a storm of exhaustion and self-doubt raged. There was no room for error—not now, not when everything was on the line. Every step, every turn had to be perfect.

The pain in her feet, tightly confined in laced pointe shoes, was becoming unbearable. Each landing sent shockwaves through her legs, but it didn’t matter. She had to keep going. She wanted this role desperately.

Mrs. Wagner’s sharp eyes followed her every movement. Not a single hesitation or imperfection escaped her scrutiny.

"More precision, Evin! It mustn’t look like you’re struggling," her voice rang out, clear and almost cold. "Every movement must look effortless. Do you understand? Control and grace."

Evin clenched her jaw, absorbing the critique, forcing herself to channel it into her movements. She pushed through an especially painful jump, her feet screaming in protest. Pain was part of the process. Ballet wasn’t just art; it was a battlefield, and only the strongest survived.

Standing at the center of the room, she inhaled deeply as the music began. Her steps were fluid, but her muscles clenched in resistance. She couldn’t let it show. She couldn’t falter.

"Extend, Evin! Stretch, stretch, stretch!" Mrs. Wagner’s voice echoed through the studio.

Evin pushed her arm further, feeling the burn in her shoulders, but she didn’t stop. Her toes were numb, the floor unyielding, yet she pushed harder.

"Own the moment! Let the breath flow!"

With a sharp pivot, Evin spun on her toes, fire pulsing through her feet, but her movements had to seem weightless. Mrs. Wagner’s eyes never left her, catching even the slightest deviation.

"Longer! Stretch until it hurts!"

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