Page 28 of Entrapped
Chapter 12
As I narrowed my eyes, I watched Simone raid our refrigerator, her movements quick and furtive, like a thief in the night. She reached for the fresh lemonade, the one I’d specifically asked the chef to prepare with sprigs of mint. It wasn’t exactly like the lemonade my mother used to make, but it was close enough to stir a memory or two. She filled up her travel mug, glancing behind her as if she were afraid someone might catch her.
I stayed hidden in the shadows, curious and irritated. That lemonade was the reason I came downstairs in the first place. I was thirsty, and with Colson not due home for another couple of hours, I had planned to enjoy a quiet moment to myself.
But then Simone grabbed a bag of food and stepped out onto the patio. I followed her with my eyes, wondering what she was up to. And then I saw it—she stopped, looked around, and dumped the lemonade onto the ground.
A flare of anger shot through me, but I forced myself to let it go. Simone had always been spiteful, and I had learned that reacting to her provocations only gave her the satisfaction she craved.As she disappeared down the walk, I finally stepped out of the shadows and poured myself a glass of what was left.
I took a long sip, savoring the cool, refreshing taste—though something was off. It was more bitter than usual, but I shrugged it off. Maybe the lemons were just a bit too ripe this time. I planned to sit in the library with a book until Colson came home, hoping to find some peace in the pages.
But it didn’t take long before I realized something was terribly wrong. About a half hour later, a wave of nausea washed over me, my stomach churning violently. I tried to push it aside, telling myself it was just a bit of indigestion, but it didn’t stop there. My mouth was dry, parched, and no matter how much lemonade I drank, the thirst wouldn’t go away.
Sweat began to bead on my forehead, trickling down my temples as the room around me seemed to shift and sway. The words on the page in front of me blurred, dancing in and out of focus, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples. Panic set in. The thought of a stroke crossed my mind, but this was different. More sinister.
Stumbling out of the library, I clung to the wall for support. Every step felt like an eternity, my legs like jelly beneath me. I tried to call out, but my voice caught in my throat, and the house was eerily silent. Colson’s office was just ahead and a phone on the desk. I made it only a few more steps before my legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, my back against the cold wall.
My head was spinning, a whirlwind of dizziness and confusion. The realization hit me like a sledgehammer—I was going to die. Alone, in this massive house, with no one to hear me, no one to help. Colson would come home to find me like this, another wife lost to the curse that seemed to hang over the Ashworth name.
As darkness closed in around me, my heartbeat thundered in my chest, each beat louder than the last. Sweat dripped from my face, pooling on the floor beneath me, and I could feel myself slipping away. My vision faded to black, and with one last, desperate thought of Colson, I passed out, the world around me dissolving into nothingness.
Colson's hand tightened around my chin, his eyes narrowing as he searched my face for any sign of deceit. I could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, and for a moment, I wondered if he would lash out physically. But instead, he let out a frustrated growl, releasing his grip and turning away from me.
"Josephine," he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "This is beyond reckless. Do you understand the kind of damage this could do? To both of us?"
I pushed myself up against the pillows, feeling the lingering effects of whatever poison had coursed through my veins. My limbs were weak, and my head pounded with every beat of my heart. But I couldn’t let him twist this against me. Not when I knew what I’d seen.
"I didn’t take anything," I insisted, my voice firm despite the shakiness in my chest. "Simone did this. She was the one in the kitchen. She messed with my lemonade. She was the last one to touch it.”
Colson rubbed his temples, pacing the length of the room. "Simone wouldn't do something like this. She's troubled, yes, but she's not a criminal."
I scoffed, incredulously. "She hates me, Colson. She’s been trying to get rid of me since the day we got married. You’ve seen how she acts around me, how she deliberately tries to push my buttons. This was just another one of her sick games, but this time, it went too far."
He stopped pacing and looked at me, his eyes betraying a flicker of doubt before hardening again. "You don't understand her, Josephine. She's been through a lot?—
"And so have I!" I snapped, cutting him off. "But I’ve never tried to drug someone because I didn’t like them."
He fell silent, his jaw clenched as he struggled to find the right words. For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the cold, calculating look I knew all too well.
"Whether you like it or not," he said finally, his tone devoid of any warmth, "we need to keep this quiet. If word gets out that my wife—my young, beautiful wife—was found unconscious with drugs in her system, it’ll be a media circus. It’ll ruin us both."
I stared at him, feeling a cold dread settle in the pit of my stomach. He was more concerned about the Ashworth name than he was about what had happened to me.
"You’re protecting the wrong person, Colson," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. "Simone is dangerous, and if you don’t see that, I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this marriage, probably because she’ll kill me. How will that look for a media circus?"
He didn’t respond, his expression unreadable as he turned away from me. The silence between us grew thick, suffocating, until he finally spoke, his voice low and strained.
"I’ll handle Simone," he said, though the words felt hollow. "But this stays between us. No one else needs to know what happened."
I nodded slowly, knowing that arguing would get me nowhere. But as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was trapped in a precarious game, one where the rules kept changing and the stakes were higher than ever. And Simone, with her twisted mind and hatred for me, was playing to win.
Colson disappeared and I drifted back into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened by a gentle tap on my shoulder. Groggy, I opened my eyes to see Easton standing beside me, a smirk playing on his lips.
"So, drugs. I didn’t think you had it in you," he teased.
I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Oh my God, I can’t believe you would say that," I replied, shaking my head. But the humor quickly faded as reality settled back in.
Easton sat on the edge of the bed, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Dad said it was Simone."
