Page 62 of The Bittersweet Bond

Her heart pounded as she fought through the pain, extending further, leaping higher. Sweat trickled down her spine, her breath sharp and controlled.

"And… jump! Higher! Hold, hold, hold!"

Evin’s body screamed for relief, but she pushed herself to the limit. There was no room for hesitation. No space for pain. Not anymore.

Summoning every ounce of her strength, she pushed off the ground, feeling the strain in her calves and the heaviness in her legs. The jump wasn’t high enough. She knew it instantly.

"Even higher, Evin! More tension! You can't let yourself sink like that!"

Every cell in her body screamed for rest, but Evin forced herself to keep pushing. The final beats of the music echoed through the room, and with one last jump that nearly pushed her to her limits, she landed heavily on her toes. Her entire body burned, but she bowed—gracefully, as she had been taught.

This was the moment she had been working toward for months—and she wouldn’t fail.

As the dance ended and she bowed, the room fell silent. Mrs. Wagner stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unyielding.

"Good, Evin," she finally said, her tone cool. "But you know what I expect! You’ll get the role... but only if you achieve the physical refinement necessary. You still have time—use it wisely."

Relief flickered inside her—but so did something heavier. Her words weren’t just an expectation. They were a warning. Slimmer. Lighter. Less is more.

The triumph suddenly felt heavier than it should have. She had won, but the doubts gnawed at her relentlessly. Perfect... but at what cost?

The pressure inside her surged unexpectedly. Evin’s heart pounded, but she only nodded silently. The victory felt hollow because she knew the price for this role wasn’t just in her talent but in her willingness to keep fighting against herself.

__________

The locker room buzzed with quiet conversation and the rustling of fabric. Evin sat on the hard wooden bench, head lowered, trying to steady her breathing. Her muscles burned, her feet throbbed, but none of that compared to the weight pressing on her.

She knew today had been an intense practice, but Mrs. Wagner’s words had cut deep.

Next to her, Nele slipped off her pointe shoes effortlessly, as if today had been nothing. Her posture was perfect, her shoes tied with textbook precision. Evin felt Nele’s gaze on her before she even spoke.

"You know," Nele began, glancing at her own calves with feigned indifference, "most prima ballerinas barely have hips. It just looks... more elegant. Lighter. But, of course, we all have our strengths, right?"

She flashed a fleeting smile, but there was a cold glint in her eyes.

Evin bit down on her response. But it hit its mark. The comment was subtle enough to pass as an innocent observation, yet its sting was unmistakable. She glanced down at her own body—her slender hips, which she’d always considered an advantage. Now, everything about her suddenly felt too big, too heavy. Her stomach twisted into knots.

"Yeah, strengths," Evin murmured, striving to keep her voice steady. "But it’s not just about the body—it’s about discipline and technique, too."

Nele chuckled softly, pulling her hair into a flawless bun.

"Oh, of course. But let’s be honest, you know the body matters." She paused deliberately, ensuring the other girls in the locker room heard her words. Then she leaned forward slightly and whispered, "And honestly, Evin, you’ve got those curves... but as a lead? Maybe sometimes less is more."

Evin’s throat went dry. "Let me worry about that," she shot back, trying to lace up her shoes faster.

Nele stood, casually brushing her hand over her flat stomach as if her words were entirely unintentional. "Well, I’m here if you can’t quite make it."

Shepulled on her jacket and gave Evin a dismissive glance before striding out of the locker room.

A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it back down.

She refused to let Nele win. But the doubt had already crept in, gnawing at the fire that had driven her this far.

__________

Sebastian

The gym was supposed to be his escape. A place where he could push his body hard enough to silence his thoughts. But today, not even the burn in his muscles was enough to drown out the memory of Evin’s face.

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