Page 124 of Bound By Crimson
The wind stirred the garden around her. The once comforting hedges now loomed like walls.
And just like that, the garden that once felt like hers became a stranger.And so did he.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Quietly Crushed
Lyric closed the door behind her and collapsed against it. The weight of everything Kai had said—and refused to hear—crushed her. Her body shook with quiet sobs, the kind that come from heartbreak that has no outlet.
She stood in the center of the room, hollow.
Then she looked up.
The mirror above her dresser caught her in full—unforgiving. Her face was rounder. Softer. Her collarbones no longer sharp. Her stomach, though not enormous yet, pushed gently against the silk of her nightgown.
She turned sideways. Examined it. Her hands slid across the curve of her belly, and all she could hear was Mrs. Thornwick’s voice:
“You’ve filled out quite a bit. He likes his women slim.”
The tears returned without warning.
She hadn’t noticed it happening. She was just trying to grow a life. Just trying to survive in a house that seemed to want to eat her whole.
Her fingers curled into the edge of the vanity. Her knuckles whitened.
I can’t lose him.
Maybe everything would be fine once the baby came.
Maybe she was the problem.
Maybe she was already losing everything and didn’t even know it.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
She opened the wardrobe and reached for a black slip she hadn’t worn in months. It barely fit anymore. She pulled it on anyway.
Then she draped one of Kai’s shirts over her shoulders—buttoned only halfway—to cover her stomach. She glanced at herself once more, and this time, she avoided her own eyes.
Her legs carried her out of the room almost on instinct. The hallway was dim and silent. She moved quickly, barefoot over the cold wood, past portraits with watching eyes and flickering sconces, until she reached Kai’s room. Her hand hesitated on the doorknob, then she let herself in.
It smelled like him.
That alone nearly broke her again.
She sat on the edge of his bed, folding her legs beneath her, pulling a throw pillow gently across her lap to hide what the mirror had just made her hate.
She waited.
Every minute felt longer than the last.
She kept fixing her hair. Adjusting the pillow. Wiping her face. She didn’t want him to see she’d been crying. She didn’t want to look broken.
She wanted to be the girl he used to look at like she was magic—like he couldn’t believe she was real.
The doorknob turned.
Her breath caught.
