Page 7 of Entrapped
I nodded, wrapping the sheet around myself as I slid off the bed. My movements were slow, deliberate, as I tried to ignore the way his gaze followed me. I could feel the heat of his eyes on my skin, the possessiveness that seemed to radiate from him. It wasn’t love; plain and simple.
In the small bathroom, I shut the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. The reality of my situation was sinking in deeper with each passing minute. I was married to Colson Ashworth, bound to a man who saw me as his toy, not his partner.
The water was cold when I splashed it on my face, but it helped clear my mind. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the woman who looked back at me. I hardly recognized her. The girl I used to be, full of dreams and hopes, was buried under the weight of this marriage, this new life.
But I wasn’t going to let it crush me. I wouldn’t let Colson or anyone else break me. I had to find a way to survive, to find smallvictories where I could. I would play the part of the obedient wife, but I would never truly belong to him.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my posture, letting the sheet fall away as I reached for the clothes Colson left hanging on the hook of the door—a delicate silk robe, the kind that clung to my curves in all the ways he liked. I tied it tightly around my waist, the fabric cool against my skin.
When I returned to the bedroom, Colson was still on the bed, his laptop open again, though his attention was fully on me. His eyes roved over my body with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, holding out a hand to me. I took it, letting him pull me back onto the bed, my resolve hardening even as I pretended to melt into his embrace.
“I’m yours, Colson,” I whispered against his ear, and I could feel his body respond to the words, his grip tightening around me. It was a lie, but one I needed to tell for now.
I could play this role. I would play it until I found a way to turn the tables, to reclaim some part of my life. The road ahead was dark and uncertain, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I would find my way, no matter what it took.
Chapter 4
The rain was relentless as we landed in Nice, the sky a deep gray that matched the heaviness in my chest. We were staying at The Diamond Square Nice, in their presidential suite—a wedding gift from Oliver and Ryleigh Fox.
It was supposed to be a gesture of luxury, of opulence, but all I felt was exhaustion. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind, and now it was all catching up to me. I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone walk in a straight line.
Colson’s arm was firm around my waist as he guided me through the hotel lobby. My shoes pinched my feet, and every step felt like a struggle. By the time we reached our suite, all I wanted was to collapse.
The suite was breathtaking, all polished marble and gold accents, the kind of place I’d once dreamed of staying in. But now, it felt like a prison cell. I kicked off my shoes and crawled into the massive bed, not caring that it was still early evening. The luxurious duvet was a welcome relief against my tired body.
“I have dinner scheduled for seven,” Colson said, his voice smooth as he undid the buttons on his shirt.
“I’m not sure I have the energy to chew,” I mumbled into the pillow, my words slurring from exhaustion. I could feel my body giving in, the weight of sleep pulling me under.
He didn’t argue. Instead, he lifted me in his arms, his movements surprisingly gentle as he pulled down the covers and slid me beneath them. The bed was warm, soft, a cocoon that I didn’t want to leave.
“Sleep, sweet girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
The tenderness in his voice startled me. This was the same man who had been so rough, so demanding just hours before. Now, he was treating me with a kindness I hadn’t expected, hadn’t even known he was capable of. It was as if he had two sides—one cruel and domineering, the other gentle and caring.
It amazed me that he had this within him, this capacity for softness. Maybe something from Poppy had rubbed off on him, or maybe this was just another side of his control, a way to keep me off balance.
I closed my eyes, letting the sound of the rain against the windows lull me into a light sleep. But even as I drifted off, a part of me stayed alert, wary of what the night might bring. Colson was unpredictable, and while this moment of tenderness was welcome, I knew it could change in an instant.
For now, I let myself relax, sinking into the plush mattress. But I wouldn’t forget the man he was, the man he could be. I couldn’t afford to let my guard down completely—not with him, not ever.
I woke to the sensation of soft, warm kisses trailing along my neck, pulling me from the depths of sleep. For a moment, I forgot where I was—forgot everything, really. The kisses were tender, each one placed with such care that it sent a shiver down my spine. When I opened my eyes, I found Colson leaning over me, his lips brushing against my skin as he whispered my name.
“Josephine,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “It’s time to wake up, sweetheart. Dinner is ready.”
I blinked, trying to shake off the fog of sleep, but the warmth of his affection held me in place, like a heavy blanket I wasn’t ready to push off. I couldn’t reconcile this Colson with the one I knew—the one whose cruelty I’d already experienced, whose appetite for control and power seemed insatiable.
This wasn’t the man who’d hurt me just hours before. This Colson was different. He was open, almost emotional, as if there was something real behind his touch.
“Colson…” I whispered, searching his eyes for a trace of the mask he usually wore. But there was nothing hidden there, just a soft gaze that made my heart twist in confusion.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. His fingers were gentle, lingering as if he didn’t want to break the contact.
I nodded, still too caught off guard to speak. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I couldn’t help but lean into his touch, even though every part of me screamed to be cautious. I knew better than to trust this sudden tenderness. I’d seen his cruelside, felt it firsthand. Colson Ashworth wasn’t the kind of man to let emotions rule him. He had a head for money and power, and he wouldn’t let love—or anything resembling it—get in the way of that.
But as I lay there, wrapped in his touch, I couldn’t deny the pull I felt toward him. It was maddening, confusing, and utterly impossible to ignore. He was showing me a side of himself that I didn’t know existed, and despite everything, I found myself wanting to believe it was real.
