Page 3 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Three

The Invitation

Today had been mercifully quiet.

After yesterday’s emotional storm—seeing Rowan and Eric, and the discovery of the adoption papers that had weighed on her mind ever since—Lyric was grateful for the calm.

The afternoon sunlight slanted through the shop’s front window, catching on the crystal mobiles and casting rainbows across the worn wooden floor.

Lyric leaned against the counter, arms loosely folded, watching dust dance in the light. She was thankful for the uneventful day. The lack of drama. The stillness.

But the stillness brought something else too.

Restlessness.

Her life felt so small now. Narrowed to routines that didn’t mean much. Get up. Go to the Velvet Cauldron. Light the candles. Count the hours. Walk to the cemetery. Go home.

She didn’t even know what she wanted anymore—except that she wished she didn’t have to be herself. Just for a little while.

Anyone else. Anywhere else.

Movement outside the window caught her eye.

A black car pulled up to the curb.

Not just any car .

Sleek. Expensive. Its windows tinted so dark she couldn’t see inside.

A man stepped out from the driver’s side.

He was tall, dressed in a crisp, dark suit. Not the kind of suit you picked up from the mall. Tailored. Sharp. Professional.

Lyric straightened instinctively. She didn’t recognize him. She knew almost everyone in this town by sight—and this man didn’t belong here.

He crossed the sidewalk with quiet purpose and entered the shop, the bells chiming softly behind him.

Lyric stayed behind the counter, fingers curling around the edge. “Can I help you?”

The man stopped a respectful distance away and gave a small, polite nod. His voice carried a smooth British accent.

“This is for you, miss.”

He held out a black envelope.

It was thick. Heavy cardstock. The kind of envelope that didn’t come from a post office.

A crimson wax seal held the flap closed—pressed with an emblem she didn’t recognize .

Nobody used wax seals anymore.

Lyric frowned slightly. “Are you sure this is for me?”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation.

“Who’s it from?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

She hesitated, then accepted the envelope carefully. “Okay.”

“Have a good day, miss.”

Without another word, the man turned and left.

Lyric watched through the window as he returned to the car.

The engine purred softly. The vehicle pulled away, disappearing down the street.

She glanced down at the envelope in her hands.

It was heavier than it looked. Cool to the touch. The wax seal shimmered faintly in the afternoon light.

Realization settled in.

That’s two strangers in two days .

First, the man she’d collided with yesterday. Broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, with dark golden eyes she hadn’t forgotten.

That man.

He had crossed her mind more than once since their brief encounter.

Not just because he was unfamiliar.

But because he had been… the kind of man whose eyes didn’t just look at you—they chose you. And she didn’t want to look away, but she forced herself.

And now this driver.

New faces stood out in a town like this. They weren’t supposed to just… appear.

She ran her thumb along the edge of the crimson wax seal, hesitated for a breath, and then cracked it open.

The handwriting was elegant, almost old-fashioned, the ink shimmering faintly in gold.

You are cordially invited to the Masquerade Ball at Gravemoor Castle.

Friday, April 14th.

Event begins promptly at 11:00 p.m.

Midnight attire required.

Mask mandatory.

Lyric stared at the date.

April 14th.

That’s my birthday.

This Friday.

Her pulse kicked up. “That’s only two days from now.”

She read the words again, certain she had misunderstood.

Gravemoor Castle.

The name stirred old memories.

The castle had loomed at the farthest edge of town. It had stood long before the town ever existed—an ancient, grey-stone monolith wrapped in shadow and ivy. Gargoyles peered down from the highest turrets. Cracked iron gates kept out curious trespassers .

As kids, they’d all dared each other to sprint past it. Some said vampires lived there. Others swore it was abandoned.

But cars had always come and gone. Tinted windows. Strangers no one knew. No one ever moved in, but someone was always watching.

No one she knew had ever been inside.

And now, apparently, she was invited.

Lyric frowned, confusion knitting between her brows.

Before she could think further, the chimes above the door jingled.

Velora swept in, arms full of wildflowers, a scarf trailing behind her like a comet tail. “Sorry I’m late! There was a deal on eucalyptus and I—”

She paused, eyes narrowing playfully. “What’s with the confused look?”

Lyric didn’t speak. She simply held out the invitation.

Velora set the flowers down and unfolded the black cardstock carefully. Her eyes widened. “Gravemoor Castle?”

Lyric nodded.

Velora let out a breath. “I’ve always wanted to see what’s inside that place. No one ever talks about it, and I’ve lived here longer than most. If those walls could talk…”

She shook her head in wonder, still studying the invitation. “I’ve heard rumours of parties there lately,” she said softly, eyes narrowing. “But no one I know has actually ever been invited…until now.”

Lyric swallowed. “It’s this Friday.”

Velora glanced at her.

“And it’s… my birthday.”

Velora’s face lit up. “Then it’s a sign from the stars. You have to go.”

“I don’t even own a dress. Or a mask.”

“Not true.”

Before Lyric could protest, Velora was already moving.

First, she crossed to the glass case near the window—the one filled with antique jewelry, watches, and forgotten treasures. She opened it carefully and lifted out a crimson masquerade mask edged in black lace .

The satin ribbons trailed like streams of wine.

Then Velora crossed to the opposite end of the shop, pulling aside the beaded curtain that hid her private vintage rack—dresses she hadn’t yet decided to sell. She rifled through the hangers until she found what she was looking for.

She pulled out a gown.

Deep, rich crimson—the color of ripe cherries and fresh sin.

Off-the-shoulder. Corset-laced bodice.

The fabric clung to the bodice and fell like liquid down the sides, pooling into flowing skirts edged in dark lace.

The dress shimmered like it had been waiting in the shadows for this very moment.

“These are yours.” Velora smiled like the universe had just delivered them. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

Lyric ran her fingers along the bodice. The satin was soft beneath her touch.

The dress was stunning.

Sexy. Powerful.

Wearing it, she wouldn’t have to be Lyric Dawson—the girl whose parents died, who walked to the cemetery every night. The one everyone pitied.

She could be someone else.

“I don’t know, Velora,” she said quietly. “It would feel weird walking in by myself. I’d feel out of place.”

Velora rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “No one will even know it’s you.”

Lyric traced the edge of the mask’s black lace, doubt and temptation twisting inside her.

She didn’t say yes. Not yet.

But the idea lingered.

For once, maybe—just maybe—she could be someone new.

---

Friday Evening.

The sun had dipped below the hills. Closing time.

Lyric crossed the shop to flip the sign to CLOSED just as two figures passed the window .

Rowan and Eric.

They walked hand-in-hand, laughing, sharing a cup of ice cream.

The ice cream hit her harder than the hand-holding. That had been her and Eric’s thing. Their quiet ritual.

Velora noticed too. Her hands stilled where she was tidying up the jewelry case. She turned toward Lyric, her expression guarded, silently waiting to see if Lyric had seen them—and what her reaction would be.

Lyric froze.

For a moment, the ache rose in her chest like it always did.

But instead of swallowing her, it steeled her.

She straightened her shoulders.

“I’m going.”

Velora blinked, then smiled. “To the ball?”

Lyric nodded. “Yes. I’m going.”

Velora’s face brightened. “That a girl.”

She moved quickly, retrieving the crimson dress and mask. She also pulled out a small, ornate box from under the counter. Inside lay brushes, a few lip colors, and an old—but elegant—palette of shadows.

“You don’t usually wear makeup,” Velora said gently. “But I can help, if you want.”

Lyric hesitated, then nodded. “Please.”

She sat at the small table near the window as Velora carefully applied a deep, sultry crimson lip color to match the dress. Her eyes were lined with just enough black to make them striking but not harsh.

Velora smiled as she worked. “We’re not changing you. We’re just enhancing what’s already perfect.”

Once the makeup was done, Velora helped her into the gown and tied the mask in place.

Then she took Lyric’s hand and led her to the tall antique mirrors at the back of the shop.

Lyric stood before the mirror, fingers toying nervously with the black satin ribbons at her hips.

She barely recognized the woman reflected back at her .

The crimson gown hugged her curves with unapologetic confidence. The corset lifted her posture, shoulders back, chin raised. The crimson and black lace mask framed her eyes, making them seem deeper, bolder.

But it wasn’t just the dress.

For the first time, she didn’t see the version of herself who had spent so long surviving, shrinking, and staying quiet.

She saw a woman who could take up space. Who deserved to take up space.

Velora stood at her side, eyes shining. “My God, Lyric. You’ve been hiding this goddess under cardigans and scarves for far too long.”

Lyric’s breath caught.

She touched the mask, then the satin dress, and for a moment, tears stung her eyes.

This isn’t for them, she reminded herself. Not for Rowan. Not for Eric. Not to prove anything to anyone.

This is for me.

She lifted her chin. “I’m ready.”

At 10:45 p.m., Velora grabbed her keys.

“Come on. I’m driving you.”

The drive out to Gravemoor Castle was quiet. The roads curved through dark hills and empty fields.

As they approached the old gates, the castle loomed out of the night—grey stone, gargoyles, the silhouette of ivy-covered turrets against the moon.

Velora slowed to a stop.

Other cars were already parked along the drive- sleek, unfamiliar. Guests in glittering gowns and masks were stepping out beneath the warm glow of the castle lights. Lyric didn’t recognize a single one.

Velora beamed. “Oh, you have to tell me everything. I want to know what it looks like inside, what the food is like, what the people are wearing—all of it.”

Lyric smiled, heart racing. “I will.”

Velora reached into a drawer beneath the dashboard. “Wait.”

She pulled out a length of deep crimson satin ribbon .

“Every masquerade queen needs one final touch.”

She tied the ribbon gently around Lyric’s neck, the satin cool against her skin. The bow rested at the nape of her neck like a secret only they shared.

“There,” Velora whispered. “Now you’re perfect.”

Lyric stepped out into the cool night air, her crimson gown glowing in the soft light.

As she walked toward the castle, she felt not just like someone new…

But like someone finally claiming her own story.