Page 221 of Bound By Crimson
She’d sneak into the nursery, same time every night. He’d stir in his crib before she even touched him—already smiling, already reaching.
She’d hold him close, whisper to him, breathe him in like he was air and memory all at once. Then she’d put him back, kiss his forehead, and slip away.
He didn’t know anything about the pain. About betrayal. About cages that wore perfume. She hoped he would never have to. She hoped to get him away before then.
That part of her night was sacred.
But lately, there was a second part.
The wall.
She didn’t go every night at first.
But now? Every night she swore she wouldn’t go. That it was too dangerous. Too risky. That going once or twice should’ve been enough—just long enough to decide if she could trust him, just enough to see if he could help her escape.
She swore she wasn’t falling for him.
Told herself this was about getting out—nothing more.
But each night, she found herself looking forward to it.
Not just the hope of freedom—buthim.
His voice.
His laugh.
The way he spoke to her like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t broken after all.
Her feet betrayed her—again and again. Like some deeper part of her had decided the risk was worth it.
And she hated herself for it.
She kept trying to frame it as survival—that was safer. Easier.
If she could get him to help her and Noah, then none of this would matter.
But the truth was harder to ignore with every passing night.
She wasn’t just craving freedom anymore.
She was craving him.
And that made him dangerous in ways she didn’t know how to prepare for.
She’d cross the garden with her father’s cardigan wrapped around her like safety, sit on the cold bench, and wait.
Grayson didn’t always show up right away. But when he did, she heard him before he spoke—his voice soft and warm, floating through the garden air like a breeze.
“Long day today. Roof collapse on the old coach house. I almost went down with it.”
“The estate owner believes one of her garden gnomes moves at night. I told her it’s probably squirrels, but she’s not convinced.”
Lyric smiled just barely. A garden gnome shifting in the night sounded ridiculous—but not half as ridiculous as the truth she was living. Her story was worse. Wilder. The kind of thing people wouldn’t believe even if she screamed it. And yet, somehow… she had a feeling he’d still listen. But she’d never tell him. Not ever.
He did most of the talking.
And Lyric listened like it was the only thing keeping her sane.
