Page 58 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Never Meant to Be Found

The room was still.

Only the distant tick of the clock filled the silence.

Lyric lay curled on her side, one hand resting protectively over her stomach, the other gripping the leather-bound journal like it might vanish if she loosened her fingers.

Her body ached.

Her mind reeled.

The wallpaper. The attic. The photo. The name—Eden.

None of it made sense.

And yet, all of it felt like a key sliding into a lock somewhere deep inside her.

The woman in the photo could’ve been her twin. Lyric looked again at the writing on the back— Eden 21, Malachai 10.

Kai was only ten in that photo. Those eyes were unmistakably his.

Eden was twenty-one.

Which meant now, she’d be in her forties.

There was no way she could be Lyric’s twin.

And yet, the resemblance was… impossible to ignore.

Lyric recalled a conversation with Kai when they first met, about Kai saying she looked like someone he once loved .

She stared at the journal in her hands again, heart pounding harder than before, and opened it to the last pages.

Something told her to start there.

The ink was darker here, almost heavy, like each word had been pressed into the paper with purpose.

Like it wasn’t just written—it was meant to be found.

She began to read.

I’m so ashamed of what this family believes. Of what they still do. Of what they expect.

Keeping the bloodline pure—that’s how she says it. Like we’re breeding show dogs. A stain on the blood. I hate it. I hate that I ever believed in it.

Lyric’s chest tightened.

I don’t want that for my daughter. I won’t let that be her life.

I won’t let her grow up behind locked doors, raised on secrets and superstition.

I won’t let her be groomed to become the next obedient Thornwick wife.

She deserves freedom.

The words blurred for a second.

Her eyes burned.

She blinked quickly, forcing herself to keep going.

I hate myself for who I got pregnant by.

For what that means. But I will not hate her.

She is not a mistake.

She is the only pure thing I’ve ever known in this house.

And I’m going to get her out.

Lyric sat up, slowly, her arms trembling.

She turned the page, feeling Eden’s desperation.

The next entry hit her like a strike to the chest .

My mother already picked out her name—Edwina.

A legacy name. A curse wrapped in lace.

She bought the dress. The bonnet. She told the staff.

But that’s not her name. That will never be her name.

Her name is Lyric. Not Edwina.

She will have a life that sings, not one that suffocates.

Lyric’s lips parted.

Her pulse hammered in her throat.

Lyric.

She wrote my name. It has to be a coincidence.

She swallowed hard, the journal trembling in her hands, and read the final lines.

I know I should feel worse about leaving Malachai behind.

But I believe our father will protect him.

He loves that boy more than anything.

He’s the only light left in this house. He didn’t want this for me either. He tried to protect me. But she said it was God’s will. That the Thornwick blood had to remain pure.

That we were chosen. Sacred. Set apart.

She spoke those words like scripture—as if her voice carried divine authority.

I’m not just running away.

I’m saving my daughter.

Lyric stared at the page.

The brown-haired woman in the photo, Eden Thornwick, hadn’t just looked like her.

She looked exactly like her.

Lyric’s breath hitched.

This wasn’t possible.

The handwriting in the journal looked the same as the note that was left with the blanket and adoption papers.

The matching pillow to the handmade blanket was in the attic .

Is Eden my birth mother?

It seemed crazy—insane, even. But the proof was in her hands.

Still… nothing made sense.

Lyric pressed her hand over her stomach, tears slipping free before she even felt them coming.

The pressure behind her ribs grew unbearable—like her whole body was trying to contain something that couldn’t be held anymore.

Malachai knew.

He had to have known.

From the beginning.

And now, so did she.