Page 192 of Bound By Crimson
Not yet.
She lay there, the scent of dust and old wood closing in around her, breathing through the pain—knowing what was coming, and knowing no one was coming to help her.
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.
