Page 130 of Bound By Crimson
Silence fell again, thick and unbearable.
Mrs. Thornwick didn’t look away. She simply stared—casually, almost curiously—as if Lyric were a painting she couldn’t quite decide if she liked.
Lyric dropped her gaze. Her throat was closing. Words gathered behind it, but none felt safe enough to speak.
What if she’s right? What if I’m overreacting? What if I’m the one unraveling?
She forced herself to speak.
“So… the garden looks lovely today. I was thinking of sketching out back for a bit. Maybe getting some air.”
Mrs. Thornwick didn’t respond at first. Then she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin, stood, and said coolly,
“Please excuse me. I have things to tend to in the nursery.”
She smoothed her skirt, her eyes sweeping over Lyric like she was an afterthought.
“I’ve been told it’s a boy,” she added, almost to herself. “That’s the most perfect and useful thing you’ve done here.”
The air seemed to leave the room. Lyric’s heart stuttered.
As she passed, Mrs. Thornwick placed a hand on Lyric’s shoulder—not comforting, not maternal. Just a brief, possessive touch. Like brushing dust off something she owned.
Lyric sat in the silence that followed, the echo of that final sentence clanging in her mind.
She pressed a hand to her belly.
“Don’t worry,” She whispered, voice soft and steady. “When you come… our Christmases won’t be like this. We’ll make them magical. I promise.”
But even after she escaped the dining room, the dread didn’t leave her.
There was still dinner.
Still Mrs. Thornwick.
Still the echo of what had already been said.
Chapter Forty-One
Dressed in Caution
Dinner without Kai felt like a performance Lyric hadn’t auditioned for.
She sat at the massive table, napkin folded neatly in her lap, posture too upright, every movement too rehearsed. Mrs. Thornwick, of course, was perfect—poised and composed in a high-collared navy dress, sipping from her wine glass like she was at the head of a royal court.
Lyric had dressed carefully. Not for elegance—but for safety. Neutral tones. Minimal makeup. She wore her hair back, as if neatness could somehow protect her.
They ate mostly in silence, save for the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmured compliment from the butler.
Mrs. Thornwick set her glass down gently and smiled.
“Such casual pet names… what was it you called him the other day? ‘Babe’?” Her tone was light, but her eyes stayed locked on Lyric.
Lyric blinked. “Oh. I didn’t realize I said that in front of you.”
“Oh, but you did. It’s sweet, in a modern sort of way. Though I do miss when relationships carried a bit morerefinement. Malachai, for instance, was never one for such vulgar little words. But people do change, I suppose.”
Lyric didn’t answer. She simply nodded once and tried to focus on cutting her roasted vegetables into tiny, perfect pieces.
