Page 67 of Bound By Crimson
Rowan smiled, a little embarrassed but proud.
“Still apprenticing, still learning. I’m taking cosmetology courses, working at the salon, and doing freelance work when I can. It’s not easy, but it’s getting better.”
“That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you, Rowan. You deserve every bit of success that’s coming.”
“I’m proud of you too, Lyric,” Rowan said after a moment. “I’ve seen the life you’ve built. You look... happy.”
“Most of the time.”
Rowan tilted her head. “Most?”
“I’ve been feeling a little lost,” Lyric admitted. “Like I don’t have anything that’s mine anymore. Everyone just sees Kai’s partner.”
“That’s not who you’ve ever been.” Rowan replied.
Lyric laughed gently. “No, I suppose not.”
“Do you remember in high school?” Rowan asked. “You always sketched dresses. During math class, in your journals, even on napkins at lunch. You wanted to design.”
Lyric’s smile softened. “I still sketch. A little.”
“Then don’t stop. Don’t lose the parts of you that made you who you are. It’s easy to forget when everything around you changes.”
---
They talked a while longer, the conversation shifting to lighter memories.
Before parting, they agreed to stay in touch—to rebuild the friendship they both thought had been lost forever.
As Lyric left the café, she felt lighter than she had in months.
The warmth of Rowan’s words lingered in her mind—Don’t lose the parts of you that made you who you are.
That night, back at the penthouse, she pulled her sketchbook from the shelf where she’d buried it weeks ago.
She ran her fingers over the cover.
Maybe it’s time.
Chapter Nineteen
The Promise
The city lights sparkled against the dark glass of the penthouse windows, but Lyric’s reflection in the mirror held her attention.
She stood quietly, the delicate gold locket resting against her collarbone.
The chain had long since lost its shine, but the small golden heart still gleamed faintly in the soft bedroom light.
Her fingers brushed over it absently, as if touching the memory of her mother.
Behind her, her father’s cardigan lay folded on the bed—the knit soft, comforting, still holding the faint scent of home.
It always felt like a hug when she needed one.
These are the only pieces of my family I have left, she thought.
Everything else has changed. Including me.
