Page 68 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Sixty-Eight

No One Is Coming

She wasn’t sure how many days had passed.

Time had blurred into one long stretch of silence and sameness. The meals arrived in silence, brought by the same woman with the blank face and tighter bun—Tessa.

Charles stood behind her every time, silent and unmoving, his broad frame a constant reminder that escape was pointless.

Always the same tray. Always the same rhythm.

Eat. Rest. Sleep.

And through it all, Lyric waited.

At first, she waited for Kai.

Then she waited for someone to say it was a mistake.

Now she just waited for anything to change.

She stared at the door again today.

Not like before, not with panic or tears—but calculation.

She crossed the room, opened the top drawer, and reached for the small silver box that held loose hair pins and other small things. Her fingers found one, slightly bent at the end. She straightened it as best she could and moved to the lock.

She’d seen it in movies. A twist, a click, some magic.

But this lock wasn’t magic. It was real. It resisted her desperation. It refused to bend .

She tried for ten minutes—slowly, then frantically—until her hands were shaking and the pin snapped in two.

She didn’t cry this time.

She just lowered herself to the floor, breathing through the defeat.

---

Later, she stood at the far wall of her room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes fixed on the upside-down wallpaper.

The torn seam.

The misaligned flowers.

That damn attic door.

She couldn’t stop staring at it.

Was there another way out?

She couldn’t remember. When she was up there, she never thought to look for another escape. Why would she?

The attic felt like another life. But she remembered stairs and how large the attic was. Maybe there was something.

Was there another door? Another passage?

What if another room also connected to it?

What if there was a servant’s exit—an old dumbwaiter—anything?

---

That night, she pulled the journal out again.

To skim for attic clues—or maybe just to feel a little less alone.

She flipped through quickly at first, scanning for anything useful. Then she paused, fingers resting on a worn page near the middle.

One word had caught her eye—attic.

She began to read:

Sometimes she locks me in for days. I think she forgets I’m even here.

But I still have the attic. I still have a place to breathe and write and disappear.

She won’t go up there. She’s too afraid of the dead.

That’s the only reason I can still hide this journal. It’s the only thing she hasn’t taken.

Lyric pressed her hand to the page, her fingers trembling.

The attic hadn’t just been a room to Eden.

It had been freedom.

Even then.

She hugged the book to her chest and whispered to Noah.

“I’m not done trying.”

But after the journal was closed and the silence settled thick around her, the ache inside her returned.

How could he leave me like this?

Her mind circled it endlessly, the sickening truth settling deeper into her bones.

Maybe he called.

Maybe he begged his mother to let her go.

Maybe he tried.

But if he had—why wasn’t he here?

Why wasn’t he breaking down the door, telling her it was all a nightmare, that he still loved her?

She wanted to believe it was Mrs. Thornwick. That she was the mastermind, the manipulator, the monster.

Because if this was all Kai…

If he’d abandoned her, lied to the world, locked her away—

Then how could she still want him?

How could her body still ache for him?

How could her heart still whisper his name?

It made her sick.

Not just the betrayal.

But the shame.

The shame of loving him.

Of needing him.

Of begging for him—even now—knowing what he was to her.

She pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, nausea curling up her throat .

He hadn’t come.

He hadn’t tried.

And that silence screamed louder than any truth.

He let her vanish.

Let her rot in this place, like she was nothing.

And worst of all—

She still wanted to believe he wasn’t the one who put her here.

Still prayed that somewhere inside him, love had lived.

Still hoped he hadn’t meant for this to happen.

But another part of her, the part forged in loneliness and betrayal, knew better.

He wasn’t coming.

No one was coming.

She’d told Rowan not to look for her.

Made her promise.

Told her to take the money and run—to disappear and never come back.

At the time, Lyric truly believed she’d find a way out.

She hadn’t known how deep the trap went—hadn’t known she’d become a prisoner.

And now…

Now that promise felt like a chain around her own neck.

Rowan wasn’t coming.

Because Lyric had told her not to.

If she wanted to live—if she wanted Noah to live—she would have to save herself.

Her throat closed around a sob she refused to let out. She tipped her head back against the wall, willing herself not to cry.

I loved you, she thought bitterly. And you buried me alive.

The gut-punch of truth tore through her, leaving nothing but the quiet throb of survival.

She clutched the pillow tighter against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut until the tears burned hot trails down her cheeks.

You made me love you.

You made me believe in a life that never existed.

And now… now I will have to live in shame for the rest of my life .

The words echoed inside her—bitter, broken, final.

And outside the locked door, the house fell silent.