Page 33 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cold Tea and Quiet Threats

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains in Kai’s room, painting soft gold patterns across the bed.

Lyric stirred beside him, but her mind had already been awake for some time.

The words from last night’s dinner still clung to her like damp air—heavy, hard to shake.

She turned slightly to face him, her voice tentative.

“Kai… can I ask you something?”

He stretched lazily, eyes still half-closed.

“Of course.”

“It’s about your mother,” she said quietly. “Last night, at dinner… she said something that stuck with me.”

She paused, watching his face for a flicker of understanding.

“She said everyone needs to justify their presence. And then… she said this isn’t a place for strays.”

The last word caught in her throat.

“I’m probably reading too much into it,” she added after a beat. “It just… didn’t sit right.”

She didn’t say anything else.

She just waited.

Kai sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. His smile was soft, but a little tired .

“Lyric, you must’ve misunderstood her. She wouldn’t say something like that to be cruel. It’s just how she was raised. She’s very… old-fashioned.”

“I don’t know.” Lyric pulled the sheet up around herself, feeling the weight settle deeper into her chest.

“It just felt…strange.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment.

“You’re overthinking it. She probably meant that everyone has a role to play. That’s all. Don’t let it get to you, okay?”

Lyric nodded—but the knot in her stomach stayed tight.

After a quiet pause, Kai exhaled and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“I should tell you something,” he said.

“I got a call while I was out yesterday. From the firm. They’re dealing with a mess since I left. They asked me to come back for a few days—just to help sort it out.”

Her stomach dropped.

Not a little. Not slightly. It dropped.

He was leaving.

And she would be here—alone.

With her.

She didn’t move. Didn’t let it show. But inside, her mind spun.

They had only been here a few days. She hadn’t even memorized the layout of the estate yet.

She still got turned around in the hallways.

The staff didn’t speak unless spoken to.

Mrs. Thornwick always spoke like she knew more than Lyric ever would.

A few days felt like a lifetime.

She pushed it all down, every jagged edge of it.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, her voice steadier than it should’ve been.

“Just for a few days,” he reassured.

“I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Will you still have breakfast with me before you go?”

He turned, grinning. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

-- -

They ate together in one of the smaller dining rooms tucked near the kitchen, where the windows overlooked the east gardens.

The conversation stayed light—a little too light, like both of them were trying not to say what was sitting just beneath the surface.

When he stood to leave, she walked him to the front entrance.

Kai leaned down, brushing her lips with a kiss that lingered longer than usual.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

She smiled, but the corners of it trembled.

“Be safe.”

And then he was gone.

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving a hollow silence that filled the hall.

---

Time passed slowly after that.

Lyric wandered the manor’s endless halls, her hand trailing along the carved wood paneling, the worn tapestries, the windows smeared faintly with mist.

Without Kai, the house felt too large. Too still.

Like it might swallow her whole if she stood still long enough.

She was just about to return to her room when a maid approached—the younger one. Lyric knew them now, but not their names. This one was always quiet. Always gentle.

“Mrs. Thornwick would like to have tea with you in the sunroom,” the girl said, eyes flicking up briefly before dropping again.

Lyric hesitated .

She didn’t want to go. The idea of sitting across from that woman—alone—made her stomach tighten. But saying no didn’t feel like an option.

She needed to be polite.

She needed to keep the peace.

Still, she tried to soften the moment with a smile.

“I see you around a lot. What’s your name?”

The girl blinked, startled by the question. Then she said softly, “Tessa.”

“Tessa,” Lyric repeated. “That’s pretty.”

The girl flushed slightly, nodding once. “This way please.”

“Lead the way.”

---

The sunroom was bright but cold, like a memory of warmth that never reached the skin.

The white porcelain teacups were set perfectly on lace, and Mrs. Thornwick sat already waiting, her posture flawless, her hands folded like a woman preparing for battle—only elegantly.

Lyric stepped in and took her seat across from her.

“Thank you for joining me,” Mrs. Thornwick said smoothly.

“I do enjoy mornings like this.”

“So do I,” Lyric replied, her voice thinner than she wanted.

They sipped in silence for several minutes.

The ticking of an unseen clock sounded louder with every heartbeat.

Then the older woman spoke again.

“You know, he was mine before he was yours,” Mrs. Thornwick said, her voice a polished blade.

Lyric’s hand froze around the delicate teacup.

“My only son. My greatest joy. I raised Malachai to be exceptional. To lead. To carry on something greater than himself. Naturally, I’m protective of him.”

Lyric’s throat was dry.

“I understand. You’ve raised a wonderful man.”

A slight incline of Mrs. Thornwick’s head .

“And I know how easily young women get swept up in the idea of love. Especially those who weren’t raised with… legacy.”

The word dropped like a stone into the center of the table.

Lyric forced herself to hold her gaze.

“I just want to make him proud. And be someone he can count on.”

“Good,” Mrs. Thornwick said.

“Because soon, we’ll have to start thinking about names.”

Lyric blinked.

“Names?”

“For the child,” Mrs. Thornwick said lightly, as if discussing the weather.

“Have you decided on anything?”

Lyric hesitated.

“I’ve thought of a few. But… nothing set yet.”

Mrs. Thornwick stirred her tea precisely, her spoon tapping exactly three times against the porcelain.

“A child needs a strong name. One that carries the Thornwick legacy forward, not whimsy. I’ll send a list to your room. I expect you to consider it carefully.”

Lyric’s stomach twisted, but she only nodded.

“That’s… very thoughtful,” she murmured.

Mrs. Thornwick set her cup down, her hands folding neatly again.

“You want Malachai to love you—do you not?”

Lyric looked up, startled.

Mrs. Thornwick’s smile was thin and cold.

“Then don’t give him a reason not to.”

The air seemed to drain from the room.

Lyric sat frozen as the older woman rose gracefully.

“Enjoy your morning,” Mrs. Thornwick said, gliding toward the door.

And then she was gone.

Lyric stared into her untouched tea, the porcelain trembling slightly in her hands.

The tea had long since gone cold, but she hadn’t noticed .

She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the words Mrs. Thornwick had spoken, or the quiet certainty with which she had said them.

She hadn’t even needed to raise her voice.

Not once.