Page 51 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Fifty-One

Folded Note, Shattered Heart

She knew he was leaving again. He’d told her nearly a month ago. He said it was for a high-profile client in Europe.

It was too far to fly when she was this close to her due date. He told her it was for her safety—but part of her wasn’t sure it was the only reason.

There was no dramatic reveal, no cold announcement.

Just… a date that loomed closer every morning she woke in his arms.

And now, it was here.

Kai stood at the wardrobe, freshly showered, buttoning his cuffs.

She eased herself into a cross-legged position on the bed, one hand instinctively resting on the curve of her belly, folding his shirts like she had a thousand times before. Her movements were slow and careful. Gentle. Controlled.

He glanced back at her, smiling.

“You’ve gotten good at this.”

She forced a smile.

“Practice makes perfect.”

She didn’t want to make it harder. He was being kind—warm, even .

Everything between them had smoothed over in the past weeks. The nursery had gone quiet. Mrs. Thornwick’s snide comments had dulled. The storm had passed.

She told herself that.

He kissed the top of her head, his lips warm against her scalp.

“I’ll only be gone a week.”

She nodded.

“I know.”

His suitcase lay open beside her, half-packed.

She reached for one of his sweaters to fold—and saw it again.

The nightstand she had been staring at for weeks. The one Kai had quickly tossed that folded-up note into. The note that hadn’t left her mind since.

Every night she saw it. Every morning she thought about it. Sometimes she’d find herself halfway to the drawer before stopping, heart pounding, whispering to herself that it didn’t matter. But it did. It always did. And now—she couldn’t take it anymore.

It might be gone by now. She’d noticed it once since then and left it alone, pretending not to care. Pretending it didn’t bother her.

But now he was in the bathroom.

And she was alone, and the nightstand was right there.

She stared at the drawer.

Her hands stayed still in her lap.

It’s nothing .

Her fingers moved before her thoughts did.

She pulled it open with care—just enough to peek in. And there it was. Folded neatly with soft, looping handwriting.

Kai —written neatly on top.

Lyric opened the note.

Thank you for last night. I needed that. I can’t wait to see you again—just one more month. Miss you already.

-C.C .

There was no name. Just initials.

No context. Just… implication.

Her stomach twisted.

The bathroom door creaked open behind her, and she quickly slid the note back into place.

She closed the drawer with shaking fingers and tried to mask the heartbreak clawing at her ribs.

A secret, now sewn into her silence.

Kai walked out, still drying his hands.

“You good?” he asked.

She smiled too quickly.

“Yeah. Just finishing up.”

Kai reached for the suitcase and zipped it closed, then walked to his nightstand, and quickly gathered a few papers—hesitating at the note. He slipped it into his pocket, and cast a glance at Lyric, too quick to be innocent.

Lyric’s pulse thundered beneath her skin. Her heart was racing, but her face stayed still. Was he looking at her that way because he knew? Had she left the note crooked? Touched something she shouldn't have?

He didn’t seem to notice. Just kept moving. Still, she couldn’t stop gripping her hands in her lap, knuckles tight, fingers digging in like she could anchor herself there. It wasn’t until he crossed the room that she saw it—half-moon indents pressed deep into her skin.

“I’ll call every night,” he promised. “And hey—you’re doing so good here. My mother said you’ve really stepped up.”

“That means a lot,” she managed.

He leaned down, pressed a kiss to her cheek.

It was soft but fast.

Like brushing dust off a shoulder.

“I’ll see you soon.”

And then he was gone.

She stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with her hands.

Then slowly, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the space where the suitcase had been.

The imprint it left behind looked like something missing .

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Not in here.

She didn’t think to grab her phone from her room. Besides—there was no one she could talk to. Not yet. If she opened her mouth, the grief might spill out before she could contain it.

Instead, she moved on instinct—grabbing her sweater, slipping on shoes, and stepping quietly down the hallway.

Down the grand staircase.

Past the rooms that echoed with someone else’s power.

Past the kitchen doors.

Out through the garden doors.

The air was cool against her skin, the sky low and grey, like it was holding back its own emotions.

She crossed through the garden quickly, not stopping to breathe in the roses or admire the neat rows of hedges.

Not today.

She didn’t stop until she reached the stone bench tucked behind the creeping vines.

The wall stood tall before her—ancient, cracked in places, wildflowers growing between the stones.

It looked like something out of a fairytale.

Or a prison.

She sat down slowly, hands clasped in her lap, stomach tight beneath her palm.

The breeze whispered.

She thought of the note.

The handwriting.

The softness of it.

The suggestion curled inside those few words.

She thought of how Kai kissed her.

Not like a man afraid to leave something he loved.

But like someone closing a door gently.

She tilted her head back, eyes to the sky, and whispered,

“Why does it always feel like I’m losing something I just started to have?”

The wall said nothing .

It just stood there—unmoving.

Uncaring.

But she would return to it again— she always did.