Bound by the Past, Locked by the Heart novel Chapter 208

"Willa?" He propped himself up, leaning over as if trying to catch a glimpse of her face.

Willa beat him to it, sniffing lightly and letting out a soft, sleepy murmur. "I'm exhausted. Let me sleep."

After that, she went completely still.

She held her curled-up posture, deliberately evening out her breaths to feign sleep.

Randal lay back down, pulling her entirely into his embrace from behind.

A long while later, a barely audible sigh escaped his lips. "Go to sleep."

They stayed locked in that position for hours, and eventually, Willa genuinely drifted off.

By the time she woke the next morning, Randal was already gone.

Mrs. Gable informed her that Randal said she should rest if she wasn't feeling well, and that he would be back tonight.

A tragic realization suddenly hit her—she was acting more and more like a caged bird, pathetically waiting day after day just for her master to grace her with a single glance.

With her morning sickness getting exponentially worse, it wouldn't be long before Mrs. Gable grew suspicious. Willa knew she couldn't stay locked up in this house all day anymore.

Determined, she placed a call to Martin.

"Willa?" Martin answered, his tone laced with pleasant surprise. "You finally decided to grace me with a call? How are you feeling?"

Willa leaned back against the headboard, a faint smile touching her lips. "I'm pretty much fully recovered. About that cultural heritage project... did you find someone else to shoot it?"

"We've been holding out for you!" Martin replied, his words spilling out rapidly. "Iris has been driving me insane about it. We had someone else give it a try, but the footage just felt lifeless. If you're ready to step in, that would be absolutely perfect."

"What's the subject for the first episode?"

"We're heading out to Oakmere to feature a Filigree Jewelry Craft studio," Martin explained. "The master artisan is Agatha White, sixty-eight years old. It's a third-generation craft passed down straight from her grandmother."

"Have you heard of Filigree Jewelry Craft? It involves weaving fine gold and silver threads into intricate patterns and soldering them onto ornaments. It's the same technique they used to make the elaborate headpieces for royals centuries ago."

"Can Master Agatha still handle that level of intricate work?"

"She can, though nothing too insanely complex anymore. She mentioned her eyesight isn't what it used to be, so the ultra-fine threads are tough to see. But she's still fully capable of creating basic patterns."

But she kept her eyes firmly shut, feigning sleep.

The footsteps closed in and stopped by the bed. A hand reached out, gently pulling the blanket up to tuck over her shoulders.

Then, the door clicked shut with a soft thud.

Willa opened her eyes, finding herself entirely unable to drift back to sleep.

When morning arrived, she felt completely drained, her stomach once again violently tying itself in knots.

She forced herself to sit up, leaning against the headboard while waiting for the intense nausea to slowly ebb away.

The symptoms had been growing progressively worse over the past few days. The mornings were absolutely brutal; she couldn't keep a single piece of food down, and even the faintest smell of grease triggered her gag reflex.

Mrs. Gable had already asked her multiple times if she was ill and offered to call a doctor.

Every single time, Willa brushed it off as an old, lingering issue.

But she knew the facade wouldn't hold up for much longer.