Page 36 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Art of Control

Lyric was brushing her hair when the knock came.

She opened the door to find one of the maids, the older one, whose name she learned was Bernarda, standing stiffly in the hall. “Mrs. Thornwick would like you to join her in the east wing. She wishes to show you the nursery.”

Lyric blinked. “The nursery?”

“Yes, ma’am. She said she’ll meet you there.”

The walk to the east wing was long—too long.

The corridor stretched in an unfamiliar direction, lined with older portraits she hadn’t noticed before.

The faces were unfamiliar, yet all eerily similar.

Same high cheekbones. Same sharp golden eyes.

Like generations of one unbending lineage staring back at her.

The wallpaper changed too, darker and floral, as if even the décor marked where Mrs. Thornwick’s influence began.

The nursery sat tucked beside the far end of the hall, just next to a grand set of double doors. Lyric guessed they led to the woman’s bedroom. Mrs. Thornwick was already inside, running a delicate white-gloved hand over a lace-covered bassinet.

“It’s just as I envisioned it,” she said without looking up. “Soothing, traditional, appropriate. ”

Lyric stepped inside slowly. The room was pristine, pale blues and creams, antique rocking chair in the corner, shelves of porcelain dolls.

“I was hoping…” Lyric began, voice careful, “that we could set the nursery up closer to my room. Maybe between Kai and I. It’s just… it’s a long way from here to the west wing and—”

Mrs. Thornwick turned. Her expression hadn’t changed, but her voice had.

“Malachai has agreed to this.”

Lyric’s breath caught.

“The baby will sleep beside me,” Mrs. Thornwick continued. “You’ll need your rest after the birth. Trust me, you’ll be thankful.”

The words settled like bricks on Lyric’s chest. She tried to respond, but nothing felt safe enough to say.

She smiled tightly instead. “Of course.”

Inside, her heart raged.

She didn’t want her baby at the far end of a creepy hallway, out of reach, behind a door she hadn’t chosen. But this wasn’t her house. And Mrs. Thornwick had a way of making everything feel final.

“I’ll give you time to freshen up,” the woman said lightly. “Dinner in an hour. Don’t be late.”

---

Back in her room, Lyric sat at the vanity and stared at herself. Her eyes were red, her face flushed with frustration. She tried to stay composed, tried to keep her posture poised, but a tear escaped and slipped down her cheek.

She wiped it away.

Don’t let her see you cry.

But it wasn’t just the nursery. It was everything—the way the house breathed at night, the way Kai hadn’t called, the way she didn’t feel like herself anymore. She was floating in someone else’s life.

And now they wanted her baby, too .

She dressed quietly for dinner, smoothing her hands over her gown as if that might flatten the chaos in her chest.

---

Mrs. Thornwick was already seated when she arrived, sipping a glass of red wine like it was part of a ritual.

Lyric sat down, her voice soft. “I wanted to say again... I really think it would be better if the nursery was closer to me. I won’t be able to hear the baby cry from that far away.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Thornwick said, waving her hand. “Stop being difficult. Every new mother thinks she’ll be alert all night, but exhaustion changes everything. It’s better this way.”

Lyric dropped it. There was no point.

Dinner dragged.

About halfway through the meal, Mrs. Thornwick tilted her head and looked her over.

“You’ve filled out quite a bit,” she said casually.

Lyric blinked. “I—excuse me?”

“Your face is rounder. It’s the pregnancy, I suppose. But do be careful. Some women never lose it. And Malachai does like his women slim.”

Lyric swallowed hard, her appetite vanishing.

Mrs. Thornwick dabbed her lips with her napkin. “He always preferred elegance. Soft, yes, but refined. He used to say I had the perfect figure.”

She glanced across the table, her eyes cold and sharp. “Maybe he wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t let yourself go so early. Five months in and already…”

Lyric couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Her hands trembled in her lap, but she gritted her teeth and said nothing.

She would cry later. Not here. Not in front of her.

But deep down, a crack widened.

Not just in her heart—but in the illusion.

Something wasn’t right.

And it was getting harder to pretend otherwise.

-- -

That night, the silence felt different. Not like peace. Like a warning.

Lyric lay in bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. Every creak in the walls, every whisper of wind against the glass sounded louder—closer. The shadows stretched long and sharp across the wallpaper. That same floral pattern seemed to move in the moonlight.

She told herself it was just her nerves, the house, the loneliness. But after the conversation with Mrs. Thornwick earlier, everything felt darker.

Then—

She heard it.

A door opening down the hall.

Soft. Subtle. Then closing just as quietly.

She sat up, heart in her throat. Kai. He must’ve come home early.

Throwing on her housecoat, she slipped into the hallway, padding barefoot down the hall. Her breath caught when she reached his door.

Locked.

She pressed her ear gently against the wood.

Silence.

She knocked once. Then whispered, “Kai?”

No answer.

Nothing.

She stood there for a long moment, unease wrapping around her like a second robe.

Eventually, she backed away and returned to her room, the whispering wind outside echoing in her ears. Her thoughts tangled into thorns, snagging and tightening with every breath.

Was she imagining things? Was it someone else? A maid? A draft?

She barely slept.

-- -

By morning, her exhaustion felt deeper, heavier. Her body ached, but today—Kai was coming home. That was enough to pull her upright.

She dressed slowly, eyes stinging, and before heading to breakfast, she detoured back to Kai’s room.

The door was unlocked now.

She hesitated, then pushed it open.

The room was untouched. The bed perfectly made. No bags. No scent of him in the air. He hadn’t been here.

Her heart sank. Whoever she heard last night—it wasn’t him.

Still, she went down for breakfast, forcing composure.

Mrs. Thornwick was already seated, hands delicately resting on her teacup.

“Ah, good. You’re up,” she said. “He’ll be home today.”

Lyric smiled faintly. “Yes. I can’t wait to see him.”

Mrs. Thornwick didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, she stirred her tea slowly and said, “My baby’s coming back to me.”

Her stomach twisted sharply.

Not coming back to us. Not even back to Lyric. Back to her. Like Lyric didn’t exist at all.

She said nothing. Just nodded and picked at her toast.

The rest of the morning dragged. Lyric paced. Read. Tried to nap. Failed. Every sound outside made her jump.

Then finally—a car pulled into the gravel drive.

She rushed to the foyer just as the door opened.

Kai stepped inside, tall, handsome, tired looking but smiling faintly.

“Kai!” she breathed, and ran to him.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, heart leaping with relief.

But then—

A presence.

Mrs. Thornwick appeared in the hallway just beyond.

Kai gently untangled from Lyric’s embrace. Not harshly. Just… subtly. Respectfully.

“Not here,” he whispered, voice warm but restrained.

Lyric blinked, pulling back. The joy faded just a little .

Mrs. Thornwick moved toward them, her smile wide and chilling. She reached for Kai’s arm—but it wasn’t a mother’s touch.

As she closed the distance, her body leaned into his, her hips brushing his with a slow, deliberate glide. Her hand rose to his face, fingers trailing along his jawline in a gesture far too intimate, lingering far too long.

For a moment, she gazed into his eyes—a gaze thick with possession, with a hunger that had nothing to do with motherhood.

Lyric’s stomach twisted tighter, nausea blooming low and sudden.

Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe it was nothing. Just exhaustion. Just nerves.

But the doubt dug in anyway, hollow and cold.

Mrs. Thornwick’s eyes flicked lazily to Lyric, the faintest smirk on her lips—as if daring her to notice. As if proud.

It wasn’t maternal pride.

It wasn’t even possessiveness.

It was something else. Something wrong.

Kai smiled stiffly and stepped back, but the damage was already done, the moment lodged deep like a splinter under Lyric’s skin.

She’s trying to make me jealous, Lyric realized, feeling the cold clarity slice through her haze of relief. She wants me to know I’ll always be second.

Still, she said nothing. She only smiled.

Smiled until her cheeks ached.

Inside, something delicate folded and snapped.

He was home.

But something had changed.

And she could feel it.