Page 21 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Twenty-One

The Night Before

The boutique was perfect.

It smelled like fresh paint and new beginnings. Every mirror gleamed. Every hanger was spaced just right. The walls were soft ivory, warm against the brushed gold racks. Her designs hung like pieces of herself—pressed, tagged, and waiting to be chosen.

Lyric walked through the space slowly, fingertips grazing the edge of a shelf, the curve of a mannequin’s shoulder. She moved in a kind of hush, as if speaking too loudly might wake her from whatever dream she was standing in.

Callie leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching her with a small smile.

“It’s stunning, Lyric. You did this.”

Lyric turned to her, her chest too tight to answer. Instead, she just nodded.

Callie seemed to understand. “Take a moment. I’ll wait outside.”

The door clicked shut, and silence wrapped around her like velvet.

She walked the shop alone—barefoot now, her heels abandoned by the wall.

The soft thud of her steps echoed off the floor .

In her mind, she saw flashes of where she’d come from: A small town, the creaky floors of Velora’s shop, the smell of incense and mothballs. Long days spent behind the counter, wondering what to do with her life. Not being able to afford college. Barely scraping by.

She’d never imagined this. Not really.

She stood in the center of the room and turned slowly, arms folded over her chest.

Her name was on the window now.

Lyric.

Simple. Bold. Hers.

Her throat tightened. She blinked, once, twice, but the tears came anyway.

She didn’t wipe them.

They were happy tears. Disbelieving tears.

I did this.

Not alone. She knew that.

She couldn’t have done it without Kai—his power, his money.

But it was her blood, sweat, and tears that pulled it all together. Showing up every day, even when she doubted herself.

Her hands. Her Vision. Her fight.

She cried quietly for a few minutes, then exhaled hard, like she was emptying her lungs for the first time all day.

When she stepped outside, Callie was waiting by the car with Thomas.

“All good?” Callie asked.

Lyric smiled through damp lashes. “Better than good.”

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The ride home was quiet. Thomas didn’t speak unless spoken to.

Lyric rested her head against the window, watching the city smear past in gold and glass.

She felt worn out—in the best way. Her body ached, her feet were sore, her shoulders stiff—but her chest buzzed .

Like she’d done something important. Like she’d stepped into her skin for the first time in years.

When they pulled up to the penthouse, she thanked Thomas and hurried inside.

“Kai?” she called out, kicking off her shoes.

No answer.

But a light was on down the hall.

She found him in the bedroom—stretched out across the bed, one arm slung over the pillows.

Still wearing his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, shoes kicked off at the side of the bed.

Asleep.

Her heart squeezed.

She wanted to wake him.

To crawl into his arms and tell him everything.

Instead, she set her bag down quietly and slipped under the covers beside him, resting her hand lightly against his back.

For the first time in a long time, she fell asleep smiling.