Page 70 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Seventy

Goodluck, Sweetheart

The first pain was sharp enough to take her breath away.

Lyric sat up in bed, hands on her stomach, eyes wide. It rolled through her like a wave—deep, twisting, and unforgiving.

She waited, holding her breath.

It passed.

Then came the next one.

Stronger.

She gritted her teeth, grabbing the edge of the mattress, her vision blurring.

No. No. Not yet. I'm not ready.

Time melted around her.

She screamed through the third contraction, biting the inside of her cheek to stay conscious. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine. She was soaked. Trembling.

No one came.

She screamed again—louder this time, desperation cracking her voice in half.

Her body was betraying her.

Her child was coming—and no one cared.

They're going to let me die in here.

They're going to let Noah die in here.

A knock .

The door creaked open.

Tessa.

Her eyes widened in horror.

“Oh—oh no,” she gasped, dropping the tray. A glass shattered across the floor.

She turned and ran.

And in her panic, she didn’t lock the door behind her.

Lyric stared at the open frame, chest heaving.

Charles wasn’t there.

For the first time he wasn’t standing in the doorway.

That’s when she moved.

Shaking, soaked in sweat, she pushed off the mattress. Her bare feet hit the floor. Her legs almost buckled.

She grabbed the doorframe, forcing herself upright.

Her eyes flicked to the floor—sharp shards of glass scattered across the threshold.

Carefully, she stepped around them, one arm braced against the wall, the other wrapped protectively around her stomach.

The hallway spun around her.

She took one step. Then another.

The walls supported her more than her own body.

Just get to the stairs. Get to a phone. Get out.

Then—

A warm gush between her legs.

Her nightgown clung to her thighs.

She looked down.

Her water had broken—right there in the hallway—like she was less than human.

She cried out—from the pain—from the shame.

And then—

“Stop!”

Bernarda.

Storming down the hall with her sleeves rolled, eyes sharp and furious. Behind her, Tessa looked stricken, covering her mouth.

“No,” Bernarda barked. “Absolutely not. Get her back to bed. ”

“I didn’t mean to—she was—”

“Not now, Tessa. Grab her arm.”

Lyric tried to resist, but her knees gave out.

The next contraction hit like fire through her spine.

Tessa caught her. Bernarda grabbed her other side.

Together, they half-carried, half-dragged her back toward the room.

“Watch the glass,” Tessa warned breathlessly, steering them around the shards.

Bernarda cursed under her breath and kicked a few larger pieces aside with the toe of her boot.

They stumbled back into the room.

“No! Please! I need help—I need out—I need—”

“You need to breathe,” Bernarda snapped.

They laid her down. The sheets were already damp from earlier contractions.

Tessa wiped her forehead with shaking hands.

“I’ll get her,” she whispered. “I’ll go get her now.”

---

Editha arrived within minutes.

Composed. Smirking. A ghost in heels.

“Well,” she said, glancing at the wet trail leading from the hallway to the bed, “you’re in labor. How exciting.”

Lyric clutched the bedframe. “I need a hospital. Please. I can’t—this isn’t safe.”

Editha tilted her head.

“Oh no, my dear. The Thornwicks have always believed in natural births. This estate has hosted dozens of them. Some of them even survived.”

“What?” Lyric gasped. “You can’t be serious—”

“The maids are trained. You’ll be just fine.”

“I need Kai,” Lyric begged, writhing. “He should be here. Where is he?”

The name tore from her lips before she could stop it—and shame burned hotter than the contraction ripping through her.

She hated herself for wanting him even now .

For calling for the man who had betrayed her.

For calling for her uncle.

Editha just smiled.

She turned to go. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

The door clicked behind her.

Lyric screamed.

The pain was stretching time.

Her vision swam. The ceiling breathed. Her hands clawed at the sheets. She could feel Noah pressing down, too soon, too hard, like her body wasn’t ready—but it had no choice.

He should be here. He should be holding my hand. He should be saying my name. He should love us.

Tessa knelt beside her, whispering reassurance through tears.

Bernarda was all business, folding towels, checking for progress.

Another contraction hit.

Lyric screamed until her throat tore open.

She was alone.

Even surrounded by hands, she was utterly alone.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t even the pain.

It was the betrayal behind it.