Page 66 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Sixty-Six

Not This Name

She woke to pain.

A slow, grinding ache low in her stomach, like something was trying to claw its way out.

For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. A nightmare. A sick hallucination.

But then she opened her eyes, and the world didn’t shift. It stayed. Heavy. Real.

Her heart lurched painfully against her ribs.

She was back in her room. But it wasn’t the same.

The clothes she’d worn were gone, replaced with soft cotton and loose fabric. Her hair was brushed. Her bare feet clean. She quickly reached for her mother’s locket. It was still there. Still safely around her neck.

But someone had touched her. Someone had changed her. And she hadn’t even known.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She scrambled toward the door, yanking at the handle with both hands. It didn’t move.

She pulled harder, frantic now. Nothing.

“Hello?” she shouted. “Let me out!”

No answer .

She pounded on the door with her fists until her arms ached, her voice cracking against the silence.

She stumbled to the window, clutched the frame—but it wouldn’t budge.

Her breath hitched. She tried again, harder. Still nothing.

That’s when she saw them.

Nails. Driven straight into the wood.

Her stomach turned.

Even if she screamed, who would hear her?

There were no neighbors. No passing cars. Just acres of forest and silence.

Tears blurred her vision. She turned, staggered back to the bed, every step heavier than the last.

Fresh berries sat in a ceramic bowl on the nightstand. Toast. A pitcher of water. A napkin folded neatly beside it.

Like she wasn’t a prisoner. Like she wasn’t falling apart.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching her stomach. Her baby.

And that’s when the memories came crashing back.

The journal. The truth.

Kai— her uncle.

Her hands trembled violently.

How could he do this?

The thought slashed through her like a knife.

How? How could he touch her, kiss her, hold her—while carrying that secret?

Who did that to someone?

She pressed her hands over her face, but it didn’t block out the shame, the horror, the betrayal eating her alive.

Editha cannot be my grandmother. I cannot be a product of this family.

But she was.

The blood in her veins said so.

She pulled her knees up as far as her belly would allow, curling in on herself like she could make herself smaller, invisible.

They had been watching her. Studying her. Photographing her .

Manipulating every step of her life like she was some pawn in a game she never even knew she was playing.

Had they killed her parents? Had they planned all of this from the beginning?

Her throat tightened until she could barely breathe.

I’m just a piece of property to them. A vessel. A bloodline to claim.

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

Her hands flattened over the curve of her belly protectively. Her son. Her innocent son.

She would not let them have him.

She would not let him become another Thornwick.

The silence in the room pressed against her, thick and heavy.

She could almost feel the house breathing around her, listening. Waiting.

“I’m gonna get you out of here , ” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Just like my mother did for me.”

The silence pressed in around her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Wiped the tears away with the back of her shaking hand.

“I swear it,” she whispered fiercely, the words slicing the stillness. “I don’t know how. But I will.”

Even if it killed her. Even if it meant tearing the whole house down brick by brick.

Not in this house. Not in this name. Not ever.