60. Chapter 55
Eden’s Rotten Apple
Sebastian
F riday morning began like any other, but there was something unspoken lingering in the air.
The California sun shone relentlessly, almost too bright, as Bas walked up the driveway, having just finished his morning workout before heading to school.
Palm trees cast their usual long shadows over the impeccably swept driveway, and parked in front of the villa was his father's black SUV—gleaming like a predator waiting to devour him.
Bas let his gaze wander, searching for a reason to slow down, but the driver was already standing at the door, polite yet unmistakably insistent.
His father sat in the backseat, flawless as always, his suit a masterpiece of fabric, his tie knotted with such precision that Bas could've sworn it was measured out with a ruler and protractor.
"Get in, Sebastian," his father's tone allowed no argument.
Bas pulled his lips into a crooked smile, as he always did when he wasn't in the mood for discussions, and dropped onto the backseat. Immediately, the smell of leath er mixed with his father's cool, sterile cologne surrounded him, reminding him more of a prison than a family.
"Where are we headed?" Bas asked, trying to distract himself with his phone.
"New York." His father spoke as if it were entirely normal to fly across the country on a random Friday morning. "An important meeting. I thought you should accompany me. It's time you gained more insight into the business world."
Bas lifted his head, studying him carefully. "And when exactly were you planning on telling me this?"
"Now." His father flashed him a smile as polished as his appearance. "It's an opportunity, Sebastian. And don't worry—we'll be back tomorrow. You won't miss anything."
Bas's stomach tightened slightly as he imagined Evin's face if he didn't show up on time. Tomorrow was her performance, and he'd promised he'd be there. But the idea of spending a Friday in school clearly lost against the allure of a spontaneous trip to New York.
"Give me fifteen minutes; I need a quick shower," Bas said hurriedly, jumping out of the car. He let out a quiet laugh and quickly typed a message to Evin.
Bas
Hey, my dad’s dragging me to New York. I'll be back tomorrow, promise. I won't miss your performance.
Only seconds passed before the reply appeared.
Evin
What?
New York?
Why ?
You're not coming tomorrow after all?
Bas
I am.
I'll be back in time. My dad has meetings he wants me to join. I won't let you down.
He could practically picture her rolling her eyes and shook his head with a small grin. The SUV silently began rolling down the driveway, and Bas felt the familiar blend of skepticism and excitement. New York sounded thrilling—but with his father, nothing was ever as harmless as it appeared.
__________
Evin
B ackstage, the atmosphere was charged, the tension palpable—interrupted only by hushed voices and the soft rustle of tulle.
Evin laced her pointe shoes with the precision of a ritual, while the other dancers whispered about final positions and minor details.
Frau Wagner stepped in front of the group, holding a list, waiting until all conversations ceased entirely.
“Before we begin, there’s an important announcement,” she started in her usual calm voice, each syllable precisely measured. “Today, scouts from the Royal Ballet School in London, the Juilliard School in New York, and the Ballet School of the Opéra National de Paris are in the audience.”
A quiet murmur rippled through the rows. Some dancers exchanged meaningful glances, others straightened their posture even further, as if poise alone could lift them above the crowd.
Evin remained calm. Her fingers continued gliding over the satin ribbons, knotting them with practiced ease.
The names of the schools washed past her without sticking.
They were distant stars in the night sky—beautiful to look at, but unreachable.
This announcement was meant for dancers like Rafael, not someone like her.
She had her own clear goal in mind: a flawless performance.
Everything else was merely noise that would distract her.
“Remember,” Frau Wagner continued, “this is a dress rehearsal. Show what you're capable of, but work as a unit. No one wins alone—it takes the whole group to shine.”
Evin nodded automatically, her thoughts already occupied with the opening steps of the choreography. The heart of the performance wasn’t in the eyes of the scouts, but in the movements they would create together. Everything else was secondary.
__________
Sebastian
T he flight to New York was calm—almost eerily so.
His father was immersed in paperwork, the picture of cold efficiency, while Bas tried to distract himself with music on his phone.
The cloud cover below them stretched out like an endless sea of white, but inside Bas’s mind, a storm of questions raged.
Why this sudden trip? What exactly was his father planning this time?
Upon arriving in New York, everything moved swiftly.
Another black SUV awaited them. Bas leaned his head against the window, eyes trailing along the skyline.
The city held something awe-inspiring, something that never failed to captivate him.
Yet, today, he felt like a spectator—disconnected and out of place.
Barely had they touched down at the airport when a chauffeur guided them directly to their SUV.
In the car, Bas’s gaze drifted through the window, watching the high-rises and skyscrapers that always sent chills down his spine—this city was so much larger, so much faster than California. Still, he felt oddly detached.
“We’ll check into the hotel first before dinner,” his father announced matter-of-factly, tapping away on his phone. Bas nodded silently, though it didn't feel like he had any real choice.
The hotel was iconic, right in the heart of Manhattan, boasting a lobby overflowing with marble and elegance.
The ceilings were high, the walls gleaming, with soft jazz music humming quietly in the background.
An attendant in an impeccable uniform escorted them to their suite, which was as breathtaking as the city itself: panoramic windows overlooking all of Manhattan, furniture that seemed straight out of a design museum, and a luxurious bathroom bigger than some people’s bedrooms back home.
“Change quickly, we don’t have much time,” his father said curtly before disappearing into one of the bedrooms. Bas watched him for a moment, reluctantly beginning to change. There were moments when he recognized himself in his father. This was one of them.
A quick glance at his phone showed a message from Evin:
Evin
On your way to the restaurant already?
Bas
Still at the hotel. Forgot how intense New York is. Doesn’t matter—I’ll be back tomorrow. Can't stop thinking about you.
Evin
You better be.
I miss you.
Bas
Miss you too. How was practice?
Evin
Chaotic. As usual. I’ll tell you when you're back.
Bas smiled. He could vividly picture Evin writing this message—sitting on her bed in her room. But the warmth of that thought was interrupted by his father's voice calling from the bedroom.
Bas
Gotta go, Birdie. LY
__________
Evin
T he scent of roasted eggplants and fresh herbs drifted through the house as Evin came down the stairs.
Her hair was still damp, hanging loosely over her shoulders, and the soft warmth of steam wafting from the kitchen wrapped around her as she reached the last steps.
Her parents' voices carried softly through the hallway, a familiar murmur that welcomed her from afar.
Her father sat at the table, a notepad in front of him, rhythmically tappi ng a pen against the paper. Her mother was in the kitchen, quietly humming a melody as she added the final spoonful of yogurt to the salad.
“There you are, Evin,” her father said without looking up. His voice was calm, almost casual, but she sensed he’d been aware of her presence before she'd even entered the room. “How was rehearsal? Everything go as planned?”
“It was okay,” Evin murmured, pulling her knees up to her chest as she settled into one of the chairs. The wooden seat felt cool against her skin. “Typical dress rehearsal. Lots of chaos, a few slip-ups. Nothing dramatic.”
Her mother appeared with a plate of salad, setting it gently in front of her. “I made you a little something. You must be hungry,” she said softly, resting her hand briefly on Evin’s shoulder. “So, how did it really go?”
Evin shrugged, picking up her fork and poking listlessly at a piece of cucumber. “There were scouts there,” she finally admitted, trying to sound as casual as possible. She didn't want the words to hold more weight than necessary.
Her father raised an eyebrow, finally looking at her directly as he put down his pen. “Scouts? For the big schools?” His voice held a hint of curiosity that sent a small wave of tension through her stomach.
“Yeah, but... it doesn't matter. They weren't there for me,” she quickly added, eyes fixed on her plate.
Her mother took a seat opposite her, pulling her chair back slightly to regard her thoughtfully. “Why wouldn’t they be there for you?”
“Mom, please. You’ve seen how many people are performing. Rafael, Nele—they stand out. I’m just… there.” She hugged her knees tighter, as if trying to shield herself from her own thoughts.
Her mother frowned slightly, not sternly, but thoughtfully. “You’re not just ‘there,’ Evin. You're part of the performance because you have the talent and discipline to be there. If the scouts don't see that, it's their loss.”
Her father leaned back, folding his arms over his chest and nodding slowly. “Your mother's right.”
Evin laughed dryly, shaking her head slightly. “The ballet world is... well, they're looking for perfection. And I’m… not perfect.” Secretly, she wished she might have a tin y chance, even though she knew realistically it wasn’t likely.