Page 101 of Bound By Crimson
He kissed her forehead—a gesture both tender and dismissive.
“We will,” he promised.
“She’s on the other side of the estate. She never comes down here. You’ll sleep with me. She doesn’t have to know.”
Lyric nodded, forcing herself to smile, to believe him.
But the scent of the room lingered.
The silence thickened around her, settling into the base of her spine.
And somewhere, buried deep in her stomach, something began to twist.
Chapter Thirty
Everything She Wanted
The estate was bigger than Lyric expected.
Not just in size, but in silence.
It stretched in every direction like it had no edges—just shadows and wood and memory.
Kai led her through the house hand-in-hand, showing her rooms with names like the conservatory, the morning parlor, and the west drawing room.
Each space was immaculate, but cold.
Like everything had been frozen in time.
Beautiful, yes—but still.
Hollow.
She tried to shake it off, but something prickled beneath her skin as they passed long corridors lined with portraits that stared too long, and halls where their footsteps didn’t echo the way they should.
There was staff—more than she expected. A maid in a crisp uniform moved silently down the hall behind them, and a butler nodded from a doorway as they passed. In the distance, she heard kitchen noise—clattering dishes, a faint laugh, the sound of a heavy oven door closing. It struck her then: this house was alive in its own way. Run like a quiet machine, with roles and routines.And yet the only person who actually lived here was Mrs. Thornwick. Lyric wondered if she ever felt lonely, surrounded by all this motion and no real company.
“How is anyone supposed to raise a baby here?” she whispered once, more to herself than to him.
Kai caught it anyway.
He stopped, turned, and brushed a hand through her hair.
“This place takes time,” he said gently. “It’s old. It’s proud. But once it loves you—it won’t let you go.”
That made her laugh, easing the weight in her chest.
He smiled. “Come on. I saved the best for last.”
He led her outside through a back door that creaked like it hadn’t been opened in years.
The garden bloomed in every direction, wild but purposeful, like someone had once tended it with great care and then let it grow a little too free.
The air smelled different here—softer, sweeter. Not like the sharp cold of New York, but something warmer. Earthier. Even in December, South Carolina still bloomed.
In the distance, a maze of hedges rose above the flowers.
“A maze?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
