Page 3 of Entrapped
As we danced, I felt the weight of all these unspoken plans and secrets pressing down on me. My resolve hardened, but just as I was about to speak, Vaughn appeared behind Logan, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Might I cut in?” Vaughn asked, his voice smooth but with an edge that made my skin crawl.
I clenched my jaw, but Logan was polite, unaware of the recent undercurrent between us, conceded, stepping aside and allowing Vaughn to take me into his arms. He pulled me close, his hand tightening around my waist in a way that felt possessive and unsettling.
“What would your fiancée say?” I hissed, my voice low so only he could hear.
I had watched Vaughn throughout the day, noting how he catered to his date, Serena Henderson. She was far from what I had expected. Her dull, brown hair hung stringy and lifeless, and her makeup was garish, almost clownish. Her nails were adorned with rhinestones and were impossibly long, giving heran air of cheapness that clashed with the image of a publishing heiress. She looked like she didn’t belong in this world of old money and refined elegance.
“She won’t say a word,” Vaughn replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “And do you think she would be my first choice?”
It dawned on me then that Vaughn, like me, was trapped in a relationship he didn’t want. He was as much a pawn in this game as I was, forced into a life dictated by family expectations and the weight of inheritance.
But that didn’t make him any less dangerous. If anything, it made him more so. We were both caught in a web of lies and deceit, but Vaughn had already shown his willingness to use me to get what he wanted. As he held me close, I felt a shiver of dread. I was surrounded by people, yet I had never felt more alone.
The slow music drifted to a close, and a faster tempo took its place, giving me the perfect excuse to slip away. Vaughn's grip on me loosened, and I seized the opportunity, turning away and heading toward one of the bartending stations that Colson had strategically placed around the massive tent. I needed a drink—something strong to drown out the tension that had been building since the ceremony.
But before I could even place my order, a familiar, venomous voice hissed in my ear.
“I see you got your dress fixed.”
I turned to find Simone standing next to me, a wicked smirk twisting her painted red lips.
“You bitch…I knew it was you,” I muttered, keeping my voice low enough so those around us couldn’t hear.
She laughed, a sharp, mirthless sound. “You might carry the Ashworth name, but you’ll never truly be an Ashworth. And because my father doesn’t want your mongrel spawn, you’ll never have a blood attachment to our family.”
Her words were like acid, burning through the thin veneer of calm I’d managed to maintain. I clenched my fists, trying to keep my rage in check. “Fuck you, Simone.”
“To me, you’ll always be that desperate-to-belong, poverty-stricken little girl. You’ll never be relevant.”
I squared my shoulders, refusing to let her see how deeply her words cut. “And you’ll never be the head of the household. Remember, I’m married to your father, and if I want to cast you out of the house, I’ll do it.”
Her brow furrowed, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “He would never let you.”
I stepped closer, my voice a low, threatening whisper. “That’s where you’re wrong. I share a bed with him, and I can give him what you never can.”
Before she could respond, I felt Colson’s arm snake around my waist, the scent of expensive Cuban cigars clinging to his clothing. He pulled me close, his presence a reminder of the prison I’d willingly walked into.
“What are you two talking about?” he asked, his tone light but laced with an undercurrent of suspicion.
I forced a smirk, tilting my head slightly as I answered. “Simone is thinking of moving out of the mansion.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock, and I watched with satisfaction as Colson’s frown deepened.
“Is that true?” he asked, his voice taking on a harder edge.
“I…um…I was thinking about it,” she stuttered, clearly caught off guard.
“I hope you will reconsider. I prefer you stay,” Colson said, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between us.
Simone’s gaze flicked to mine, a silent promise of retribution in her eyes. “I haven’t decided,” she muttered before turning on her heel and walking away.
Colson turned his attention back to me, cupping my chin in his hand and kissing me softly, the gesture so practiced it made my skin crawl. “I’d like to wrap this up and peel you out of that dress,” he murmured, licking his lips.
I sighed inwardly, knowing that this was just the beginning of the nightmare. Tomorrow morning, we would be flying to Nice, where his yacht was docked and waiting for us. We would sail the Mediterranean for the next few weeks, stopping at various ports along the way. It was the kind of trip I’d only ever dreamed of, a life of luxury that had always seemed so far out of reach.
As the night wore on and the crowd began to thin, Colson took my hand, his grip firm as he guided me through the remaining guests. We moved like a perfectly rehearsed couple, smiling and thanking everyone for coming, though my mind was miles away. The clinking of champagne glasses, the murmur of voices, all felt like a distant hum.
