62. Chapter 57 #2
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 ov er 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
" S he 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 single word.
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.
"Out of all the events you could’ve chosen, you’re here again tonight?" Bas took a step closer, his voice low but cutting.
Sergej held his gaze. A slow, tired smile ghosted over his lips. "I’m just doing my job, but the fact that I still get to you this much…" He tilted his head slightly. "Should I be flattered?"
The audacity of him standing there, so nonchalantly, sent something dark surging inside Bas.
"Cut the crap," Bas growled, his voice barely more than a dangerous rumble. "Pack your shit and get the hell out before I throw you out myself."
Sergej didn’t even flinch. His face remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Then—almost carelessly—he let out a quiet chuckle.
"Still playing the protector?" His tone was almost amused. "Or are you a bouncer now?"
A wave of nausea rolled through Bas.
"I told you to fuck off." His hand shot forward, gripping Sergej’s arm in a hold that left no room for argument. The fabric beneath his fingers crumpled slightly.
Sergej didn’t move, his expression remained blank. But at the corner of his mouth, a small, mocking smirk twitched.
"Bas."
A familiar voice cut through the air between them. Deep and steady, carrying quiet authority.
Mr Hayes.
Slowly, Bas turned his head. Despite the resistance within him, he met the older man’s gaze—calm, unreadable, but firm.
"Let him go," he said, his tone unwavering.
Bas’ chest rose and fell quickly, his breath shallow. Every muscle in his body was still coiled tight, his grip on Sergej’s arm unrelenting. But after a brief moment of hesitation, he let go.
Sergej pulled his arm back, rubbing the spot with exaggerated nonchalance. His gaze remained hard to decipher, but a flicker of triumph gleamed beneath the surface.
"Cute," he murmured, blinking sluggishly. His eyes lingered on Bas—cool, unreadable. Then, a subtle tilt of his head, a shadow passing through his expression. Not a threat. Worse. A quiet admission that he wasn’t going any where. And then he disappeared into the crowd.
But something in his gaze lingered, gnawed at Bas, left an uncomfortable pull in his chest.
Evin’s father stepped closer, giving Bas a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"That was the right decision," he said, his voice firm but not reprimanding. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Don’t take this too personally. He’s just a fraud.
" With that, he vanished into the crowd as if he had never been there.
Bas disagreed. But he also knew the whole story.
And that was exactly why his anger twisted into something heavier, something suffocating, as another thought forced its way into his mind.
His father’s words.
Why had his father been right? Should he have taken the deal?
If he had, Sergej would be gone now. For good.
But at what cost? Fuck.
For a moment, Bas couldn’t help but wonder if refusing the deal hadn’t just been stupid—but selfish. Now, he had nothing in his hands except his fists and a decision that had never been his to win.
Maybe his father had known that all along.
And that thought alone made Bas feel sick.
__________
Evin
T he applause was still vibrating in her bones, even as the echo of the performance slowly faded and the world fell back into its usual rhythm.
She stood in the small dressing room behind the stage, while the rest of reality fought its way back into her consciousness from a distance.
Her body felt strange —full of energy yet utterly drained.
Every muscle in her legs ached, but it was a good kind of pain, a reminder of what she had just accomplished, proof of the weeks of hard work that had led up to this very moment.
Slowly, she stretched out her legs, rolled her toes, and felt the familiar pull in her tendons—aftershocks of all the strength she had poured into making it through the evening.
Her fingertips absently traced the smooth fabric of her costume, still clinging to her skin, while her gaze drifted into the void, unfocused.
She knew she had to change, knew that Milka and probably Bas were waiting for her somewhere outside, ready to shower her with praise or crack jokes to shake off the tension still lingering in her shoulders.
But she wanted to hold onto this moment just a little longer, wasn’t ready to let reality pull her back in just yet.
Then, she heard footsteps—steady yet hesitant, as if the person approaching wasn’t sure whether they should disturb her.
"Evin?" The sound of her name made her blink, pulling her gaze out of the emptiness, bringing her back to the present as she turned and found herself looking into the face of Mrs. Wagner.
Her teacher seemed focused, almost careful, as if she was searching for the right words, as if she knew that whatever she was about to say carried weight—that it wasn’t something that could just be said in passing, because it would change things.
"Do you have a moment?"
Evin straightened slightly, feeling her heartbeat shift unbidden, speeding up as her mind scrambled for clues, trying to understand what was coming. "Of course."
Mrs. Wagner took a step closer, pulling a document from the folder in her hands.
A neatly folded sheet of paper. But it wasn’t the paper itself that caught Evin’s attention—it was the way it was being held.
Not casually, not like an afterthought, but like something that mattered.
Something that could open a door she hadn’t even known existed.
"I didn’t want to overwhelm you right after the performance, but I have something for you. " The teacher paused briefly, as if giving Evin a moment to prepare herself before saying it out loud. "The Royal Academy of Dance has offered you a spot in their exclusive summer program."