Page 11 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Eleven

The Girl in the Mirror

Two days.

That’s how long it had been since Lyric last heard from Kai.

She told herself not to panic. Not to spiral. But the silence was eating at her.

She’d sent two texts. Short. Careful.

Thinking of you.

Everything’s fine here.

No reply.

Thomas still arrived each morning, waiting at the curb with the quiet efficiency she’d come to expect. He took her to work. Picked her up after the shop closed. Dropped her at the cemetery when requested. But even Thomas had grown more reserved. Polite. Professional.

Like he knew something she didn’t.

Her phone never left her side. Each time it buzzed, her heart leapt—only to sink deeper with every message that wasn’t from Kai.

The distance felt different now. Heavier.

It wasn’t just the ache of missing him.

It was fear.

Had she pushed too hard? Had telling him not to come back angered him ?

Or worse… had she disappointed him?

By the second night, sleep became impossible. She sat at the kitchen table long after midnight, fingers tracing the rim of a cold mug, heart straining toward a man who felt impossibly far away.

She lit a single candle on the kitchen counter—a scent like vanilla and amber—and let the smoke curl through the room.

She told herself she was used to being alone now.

Sometimes she almost believed it.

When the knock came, it was so soft she almost missed it.

A whisper against the doorframe.

By the time she opened it, no one was there—only a box.

Black.

Tied with a crimson ribbon.

A sharp inhale curled in her chest.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted it, the weight pressing down into her palms like a secret already written.

Tucked between the crimson ribbon: a single card.

The same heavy cardstock.

The same gold embossing.

She didn’t need to open it to know who it was from.

A fragile smile ghosted across her lips as she peeled away the seal.

No words.

Just a location.

And a time.

Gravemoor Castle

Midnight.

Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs.

She untied the ribbon, lifted the lid—

—and froze.

It wasn’t a dress.

It was something darker.

Velvet and lace, blacker than midnight sins, with a slit that licked dangerously high along the thigh.

The corset bodice promised to mold to her curves, pulling her tight, forcing her to stand proud or not stand at all .

Attached garter straps winked like secrets meant only for those brave enough to reach for them.

It was daring.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

A shiver swept over her.

Was she ready for this?

She had never gone this far with anyone before.

Never dared to be seen—truly seen.

She clutched her mother’s locket at her chest, the cool metal biting into her skin.

The fear was real.

But the ache to live—to feel something real again—was louder.

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Later, sitting on the edge of her bed, Lyric stared at the box again.

The memory of him—

His hands,

His mouth,

The way his eyes had consumed her—

They haunted her like a fever she didn’t want cured.

Her thumb traced the locket again.

Then, slowly, she unhooked the chain and placed it gently in the nightstand drawer.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered.

Then she stood.

Walked to the box.

And opened it again.

She dressed slowly, letting the rich fabrics settle into place before she faced her reflection.

She stood in front of the mirror, breathless .

For a long moment, she didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at her.

Not the girl who watched from the corners of rooms.

Not the girl who apologized for taking up space.

No.

The girl in the mirror was bold.

Unapologetic.

Power coiled around her like a second skin.

The black velvet corset hugged every curve, daring anyone to look—and punishing them if they looked away.

The slit in the skirt promised danger, the garter clips gleaming against her thighs like whispered threats.

Her hair tumbled wild and dark around her shoulders, lips painted in deep wine, mouth lush and reckless.

And her eyes—

—her large brown eyes—

Burned with something feral.

Not fear.

Not shame.

Hunger.

She straightened her spine, rolled her shoulders back, and let herself feel it.

The weight of her body.

The weight of her want.

For once, she didn’t shrink away from it.

She didn’t try to bury it or tame it.

She owned it.

This was who she had always been—

The girl who wanted more.

The girl who was done waiting for permission to take it.

By the time the clock struck eleven-thirty, her heart was already pounding.

There was no fear left in her blood now—only heat, only need .

She pulled on a long black trench coat, buttoned it up to her throat, and slipped her feet into low heels.

Thomas was waiting outside.

She stepped out into the night—

Dressed in velvet and shadows,

Walking straight toward whatever waited for her beyond the dark.