Page 118 of Bound By Crimson
He nodded toward her stomach, more gently now. “You expecting?”
Lyric’s hand instinctively moved to her bump. “Yes.”
Walter’s face softened. “Congratulations. But I’ll be honest, miss. This place?”
He glanced up at the towering windows of the estate.
“It doesn’t feel like a place for children. It feels like something that forgets how to love them.”
Lyric didn’t respond. She just stood there, letting his words soak in like the morning dew.
A breeze passed through the garden. Somewhere in the distance, the window hummed again.
And now something about this place made her realize she couldn’t even trust the light to keep the darkness away.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Art of Control
Lyric was brushing her hair when the knock came.
She opened the door to find one of the maids, the older one, whose name she learned was Bernarda, standing stiffly in the hall. “Mrs. Thornwick would like you to join her in the east wing. She wishes to show you the nursery.”
Lyric blinked. “The nursery?”
“Yes, ma’am. She said she’ll meet you there.”
The walk to the east wing was long—too long. The corridor stretched in an unfamiliar direction, lined with older portraits she hadn’t noticed before. The faces were unfamiliar, yet all eerily similar. Same high cheekbones. Same sharp golden eyes. Like generations of one unbending lineage staring back at her.
The wallpaper changed too, darker and floral, as if even the décor marked where Mrs. Thornwick’s influence began.
The nursery sat tucked beside the far end of the hall, just next to a grand set of double doors. Lyric guessed they led to the woman’s bedroom. Mrs. Thornwick was already inside, running a delicate white-gloved hand over a lace-covered bassinet.
“It’s just as I envisioned it,” she said without looking up. “Soothing, traditional, appropriate.”
Lyric stepped inside slowly. The room was pristine, pale blues and creams, antique rocking chair in the corner, shelves of porcelain dolls.
“I was hoping…” Lyric began, voice careful, “that we could set the nursery up closer to my room. Maybe between Kai and I. It’s just… it’s a long way from here to the west wing and—”
Mrs. Thornwick turned. Her expression hadn’t changed, but her voice had.
“Malachai has agreed to this.”
Lyric’s breath caught.
“The baby will sleep beside me,” Mrs. Thornwick continued. “You’ll need your rest after the birth. Trust me, you’ll be thankful.”
The words settled like bricks on Lyric’s chest. She tried to respond, but nothing felt safe enough to say.
She smiled tightly instead. “Of course.”
Inside, her heart raged.
She didn’t want her baby at the far end of a creepy hallway, out of reach, behind a door she hadn’t chosen. But this wasn’t her house. And Mrs. Thornwick had a way of making everything feel final.
“I’ll give you time to freshen up,” the woman said lightly. “Dinner in an hour. Don’t be late.”
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