Page 64 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Sixty-Four

For Your Own Good

She woke to stillness.

The light through the curtains had shifted—grayer now, flatter.

Late afternoon, maybe.

Her body ached as she sat up, one hand instinctively cradling her belly.

The air in the room felt different. Off.

She couldn’t place it, but something…

She turned to the dresser.

Her phone was gone.

She blinked.

Frowned.

It had been there. She remembered tossing it down.

Right there— right next to the vase of dried roses he’d given her. Once romantic. Now withered, brittle… like everything between them.

She stood too quickly. Her back twinged as panic spiked through her chest.

She checked the floor. The blankets. Under the pillow. The nightstand drawer.

Nothing.

Panic clawed at her throat .

Gone.

She sank to the edge of the bed, one hand gripping her belly, the other sweeping under the mattress. Her movements were clumsy, frantic.

The journal was still there.

She clutched it to her chest, her breathing ragged.

At least they hadn’t found that.

Not yet.

But the violation was clear.

Someone had been in her room while she slept.

And they had taken her only connection to the outside world.

The hollow chime of the clock in the hall told her it was midday.

She knew instinctively:

Mrs. Thornwick would be in the dining room.

And Lyric was supposed to be there too.

Supposed to sit across from the woman who had orchestrated every piece of her life like a spider weaving a web.

Supposed to smile and pretend that woman wasn’t her—

Grandmother.

Her stomach twisted.

No more hiding.

She shoved the journal back under the mattress and pushed herself upright with a grunt, one hand braced on the edge of the bed.

Then she stormed down the hall, her steps heavy but determined, echoing in sharp rhythm across the polished floor.

She didn’t knock.

She threw open the dining room door.

Mrs. Thornwick sat alone at the long table, a cup of tea steaming in front of her, every inch of her posture smug and settled.

She looked up with a small, pleased smile.

“Well, you decided to join me after all,” she said sweetly, her eyes skimming over Lyric’s tangled hair and pale face.

“You look like a mess, dear.”

Lyric’s hands curled into fists at her sides .

“Where is it?” she demanded, voice shaking.

Mrs. Thornwick raised her brows, feigning innocence.

“Where is what, dear?”

“You know damn well what I want.”

The smile fell from Mrs. Thornwick’s face, replaced with a chilling calm.

“You will not use that kind of language in my house,” she said crisply. “Learn some respect.”

Lyric didn’t even blink.

“My phone,” she snapped. “Where is it?”

Mrs. Thornwick sipped her tea slowly, like she was savoring the moment. Then she set the cup down with a delicate clink.

“You’ve been very emotional lately,” she said evenly. “We must be careful about what influences you’re exposed to in your condition.”

Lyric’s vision blurred with fury.

“You had no right !” she shouted.

Mrs. Thornwick smiled again, thin and sharp.

“Everything I do is for your own good, dear. One day, you’ll see that.”

Lyric’s entire body trembled.

Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out, her footsteps slamming the floor like gunfire.