Page 5 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Five

The Roses

Lyric rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, the morning light pale and sharp against the curtains. For a moment, she didn’t move.

Her skin still tingled.

She touched the hollow of her throat where his lips had pressed—where the red ribbon had once lain.

His scent still clung to her skin and hair. Smoke, sandalwood, and that darker trace of something untamed. It curled around her like heat, like memory, like a mark only she could feel.

Her pulse quickened, memories flooding back in fragments. The candlelight. The music. The weight of his hands. The burn of his eyes through the mask.

She swallowed, throat tight.

She didn’t even know his name.

---

By the time she arrived at the Velvet Cauldron, it was almost noon.

The bells above the door chimed as she slipped inside, clutching the dress and mask .

Velora looked up from behind the counter, where she was sorting a tray of crystals. “Late start today, Little Star?”

“I—yeah.” Lyric flushed. “Rough morning.”

Velora’s gaze softened. “Good. That means you lived a little.”

Lyric smiled faintly as she carried the dress and mask to their usual spots. The gown felt heavier than it had before. Like it had absorbed the weight of what had happened—the heat, the ache, the power.

She carefully placed the mask back inside the glass case by the window, where it had first been displayed.

She smoothed the gown’s satin as she returned it to its place. Her fingers lingered at the bodice, remembering how his hand had rested there… possessive. Commanding.

She didn’t feel like the same girl anymore.

Something had shifted inside her. She wasn’t sure she could ever be that quiet, cautious version of herself again.

Velora leaned against the counter, watching her with a knowing smile. “So. Tell me everything.”

Lyric blinked. “Everything?”

“The masquerade, darling.” Velora twirled a strand of her copper-streaked braid. “The music. The food. The gowns. Was it as glamorous as you imagined?”

Lyric drew a breath. “It was…” She closed her eyes, the memories rising easily.

“The ballroom had huge stone walls with iron candelabras all along the sides. The candles made the shadows dance. There were crystal chandeliers, but they looked like they’d been there for centuries. The whole place felt… gothic. Beautiful, but eerie too.

There was an orchestra playing music that made you feel like you were in another century. The food was incredible. Pastries. Champagne. And everyone was masked. Dancing. It felt like stepping into another world.”

“And the people?” Velora asked, eyes bright .

“Elegant. Mysterious.” Lyric paused, carefully choosing her words. “It felt like they all belonged there.”

Velora grinned. “It sounds like magic.”

Lyric smiled, but her pulse raced. She had left out the most important part.

The man.

The dance.

The heat that still simmered beneath her skin .

The bells above the door chimed again.

Lyric turned, expecting a customer. But instead, a delivery man entered carrying an enormous bouquet of deep red roses.

“Delivery for Lyric Dawson,” he said, reading from the card clipped to the bouquet.

Lyric’s breath caught. “That’s me.”

The man set the arrangement on the counter and left without another word.

Velora’s brows arched as she leaned in to admire the roses. “Oh, these are breathtaking.”

Lyric stood frozen, staring at the blooms. Deep crimson petals, lush and soft, arranged in a sweeping, dramatic display.

No note.

But her breath caught again.

Tied around the stems was a crimson ribbon—the exact shade of the one she had worn that night.

Her hand trembled as she touched it. “Is this…”

Velora’s eyes widened. “That’s your ribbon.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lyric’s pulse roared in her ears. Her ribbon. He had kept it. And somehow—he knew her name.

Velora smiled slowly, giving her a little wink and a smirk. “I don’t think you’ve told me everything after all.”

Lyric’s face flushed. “I—” But the words tangled in her throat.

-- -

That evening, when her shift ended, Lyric didn’t go straight home. Her feet carried her toward the cemetery.

The gate creaked softly as she slipped inside, the air cool and heavy with the scent of damp grass and earth.

She made her way to the familiar headstone, the one carved with her parents’ names.

She sat cross-legged, as she always did, pulling her mother’s locket from beneath her cardigan and holding it between her fingers.

“I miss you both so much,” she whispered. “I keep thinking it’ll get easier. But it doesn’t.”

She glanced toward the trees, their shadows stretching long across the grass.

“I met someone,” she admitted softly. “But… it’s stupid. I don’t even know his name. And he’s—he’s too good for me. Someone like him… probably isn’t meant for someone like me. I’m probably just fooling myself.”

Her throat tightened.

“I keep hoping,” she added, her voice barely above a breath. “Even though I know I shouldn’t.”

She closed her eyes, letting the quiet wrap around her like a blanket.

---

“I’ll see you soon.”

But two weeks had passed.

No sign.

No word.

Maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe she had just imagined the promise in his voice.

But still, when the nights grew long and the world quieted, she found herself waiting. Even if she didn’t want to .