Page 16 of Entrapped
“How?” I demanded, my voice cracking with emotion.
“I locked her trust fund,” he said, his tone cold and calculated. “She doesn’t have full control of her money until she’s thirty, or until I approve it. And I froze her credit cards.”
I sucked in a breath, the punishment feeling too light for the crime. “That’s it?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t understand how Simone works. She’s spoiled and petulant. I gave her what she wanted after Poppy died. I didn’t know how else to help my children through their grief.”
“Colson, you could’ve been there for them,” I said, my voice breaking with the pain of what I would never have. “They needed you, and I’ll never know that need because you took that away from me.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought of the child I would never have, the family I would never build. Colson peppered kisses on my face, each one more desperate than the last until his mouth found mine. As much as I didn’t want his comfort, asmuch as I resented him in that moment, I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back.
And I hated myself for it.
Chapter 8
I sat across from Colson, trying to focus on the schedule in front of me. My first dinner party for some of his business associates and their wives loomed on the horizon, and the pressure for everything to be perfect weighed heavily on my shoulders. This was the kind of event where a single misstep could haunt me for months.
"On Saturday, I have a coat drive for the homeless shelter in Asterdale," I said, glancing up to gauge his reaction.
Colson looked up from The Financial Times, his expression as unreadable as always. "That works out well. I have a golf game with Samuel Woodson. Have you thought about learning the game?" His tone was casual, but there was a subtle expectation beneath it.
“Sports? You have the wrong girl,” I replied, shaking my head with a small smile. The idea of me, golf clubs in hand, trying to navigate the manicured greens was laughable.
He reached across the table, his hand warm as it enveloped mine in a reassuring squeeze. “I think I have the right girl,” he said, hisvoice softening in that way that always seemed to chip away at my defenses.
I tried to resist the pull, to remember the coldness that lurked beneath his charm. But as always, I felt myself wavering. Despite everything he had done, Colson Ashworth still had a way of making me feel like I was the center of his universe—at least when he wanted to.
“We’ll need to plan an engagement party,” he continued, his tone shifting back to business. “Vaughn will be asking Serena for her hand in marriage the weekend after.”
I couldn’t hide the distaste that flickered across my face. Vaughn had been seeing Serena for a while, despite his obvious disdain for her. It was a match doomed to fail, and I knew Vaughn well enough to predict that he would stray as soon as the ink was dry on the marriage certificate.
Serena was a means to an end, nothing more—a pawn in the deal Colson and Bart Henderson had struck years ago. The two men had been roommates at Yale and had maintained a close friendship ever since.
“Colson, is it really necessary for him to marry her?” I asked, my voice laced with skepticism. “It seems so old-fashioned.”
He folded his newspaper with deliberate care and set it aside, his gaze locking onto mine. “Joey, you don’t understand the dynamics of the wealthy. Arranged marriages happen all the time. It’s not about love; it’s about alliances.”
I bit my lip, the irony of his statement not lost on me. My own marriage was a cold transaction, a contract I had signed with my eyes wide open. I had been chosen, not because of love, but because I fit a certain mold, met certain criteria.
“Was yours to Poppy?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, the curiosity gnawing at me too strong to ignore.
Colson shifted in his chair, a rare flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “I was not Poppy’s first choice,” he admitted, his voice tight. “Circumstances changed, and I was able to ask for her hand.”
I leaned forward, sensing I had stumbled upon something important. “Who was her first choice?”
His expression darkened instantly, the openness from moments before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “Josephine, this conversation is over,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
I had struck a nerve, and it was clear he had no intention of discussing it further. But the shadows in his eyes told me there was more to the story, something he didn’t want me to uncover. It was one more mystery in the labyrinth that was Colson Ashworth’s past, and I intended to find out what he was hiding.
The bluebloods of Windmere Haven, with their love of gossip and secrets, would surely know the truth. Perhaps the cackle—the term I had started using for the women who fawned over me at every social event—would provide the clues I needed.
As I sat there, pretending to let the matter drop, I made a silent vow. I would find out what really happened, who Poppy’s first choice had been, and what role Colson had played in changing her fate. And when I did, I would use that knowledge to my advantage.
Friday afternoon, I stood outside Colson's office door, my heart racing as I tried to steady my breath. I wasn’t nervous about the report—I had double-checked every figure myself. But there was something about being alone with him that always set my nerves on edge. He had this way of looking at me, a mix of possession and desire, that made it impossible to think straight.
I knocked lightly, and his deep voice beckoned me inside. Colson was seated behind his imposing mahogany desk, his gaze focused on the documents spread before him. The room was steeped in the scent of his cologne, a mix of cedar and something darker that always sent a shiver down my spine.
“Josephine,” he greeted, his eyes lifting to meet mine. There was a spark in his gaze, one I’d come to recognize all too well.
