Page 36 of Entrapped
“Anything you need,” he said, his tone sincere.
Dinner continued without incident, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing beneath the surface. Colson was in good spirits, laughing and chatting with my family, completely unaware of the tension thrumming just below the surface.
As dessert was served, I rose to check on the staff, using it as an excuse to slip away from the table. I needed a moment to collect myself, to shake off the feeling of Vaughn’s eyes on me.
I walked into the kitchen, where the staff were bustling about, preparing the final course. I took a deep breath, the scent of spiced apples and cinnamon calming my nerves.
“Do you need something, Mrs. Ashworth?” one of the staff asked, her voice filled with concern.
“No, everything is fine,” I replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “Just wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”
As I turned to leave, I nearly collided with Vaughn, who had silently followed me into the kitchen. My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively took a step back.
“Vaughn,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “What can I do for you?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Needed some air. The dining room was getting a bit stuffy.”
I swallowed hard, glancing around the kitchen. The staff were too engrossed in their tasks to notice us, but I knew I couldn’t afford to be alone with him for long. “You should go back. Serena will wonder where you are.”
“She’s too busy talking about wedding plans,” he said dismissively, taking a step closer. “She won’t notice.”
I felt my pulse quicken, every instinct screaming at me to get out of there. “Vaughn, please. This isn’t the time or the place.”
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. “You look lovely tonight, Josephine.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I need to get back to Colson.”
Vaughn’s lips curled into a smirk. “Colson doesn’t deserve you. You know that, don’t you?”
I shook my head, backing away. “You’re wrong, Vaughn. Colson is my husband. We have a good marriage.”
He scoffed, the sound harsh and bitter. “Is that what you call this arrangement?”
“Enough,” I said firmly, my voice finally gaining strength. “You need to stop this. Whatever you think is happening between us, it isn’t. I’m with Colson, and you need to respect that.”
For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in Vaughn’s eyes—regret, perhaps? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same cold, calculating gaze.
“Fine,” he said, his voice cold as he turned to leave. “But remember, Josephine. You can’t run from me forever.”
He left the kitchen, and I released a stuttering breath. I needed to find Colson, to feel the safety of his arms around me. This was my life now, and I couldn’t afford to let Vaughn ruin it.
Straightening my shoulders, I walked back into the dining room, my mask of composure firmly in place. Colson rose from the table, tapping his butter knife against his wine glass. Everyonestopped talking to look at him. He held his hand out to me, and I came around the table to join him.
The dining room buzzed with conversation, the rich aroma of Thanksgiving dinner still lingering in the air. Colson stood at the head of the table, raising his glass for a toast. His commanding presence immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room.
I watched him, my heart swelling with a mix of pride and nervous anticipation. I had a feeling I knew what he was about to say, but the way he always commanded a room still made me catch my breath.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Colson began, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. He paused, allowing the room to fall into a respectful silence. "As we gather here today to celebrate family, I want to take a moment to recognize someone who has made our lives infinitely richer. My wife, Josephine."
He glanced down at me, his eyes softening as he smiled. My heart fluttered in response. I offered him a small, appreciative smile, feeling the warmth of his words wash over me.
"Josephine came to me some time ago with a simple request," Colson continued, his voice growing more serious. "She wanted to buy her parents a new home, a place where they could be comfortable—a place that reflected the love and respect she has for them."
I looked across the table at my parents, who were already exchanging curious glances, their expressions a mixture of surprise and confusion. My father’s hand rested on my mother’s, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles in reassurance.
Colson reached into his inner jacket pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. The movement was deliberate, drawing every eye in the room to the object in his hand. He held it up for a moment, the weight of his gesture clear.
"But I thought," Colson said, unfolding the paper slowly, "that such a request deserved more than just a purchase. It deserved something new, something special. So, rather than simply buying a home, we had one built from the ground up."
