Page 61 of Ensnared
As I ate, my mother sat down on the edge of the bed, watching me with a mixture of concern and love. “How are you feeling?” she asked after a moment.
I hesitated, not wanting to worry her, but the words slipped out anyway. “I’m... nervous. Everything feels so overwhelming.”
She reached out and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s normal to feel that way. But you’re strong, Josephine. You’ve always been strong.”
I managed a small smile, grateful for her support, but the weight of the day ahead still pressed heavily on my shoulders. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”
Before she could say more, the door creaked open, and Logan peeked in. “Hey,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, gesturing to the tray. “Mom brought breakfast if you’re hungry.”
Logan’s eyes lit up when he saw the pastries. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, grabbing a bagel and a cup of coffee. He took a seat on the floor by the window, his presence a comforting reminder that I wasn’t alone in this.
We sat together in the soft morning light, the quiet sounds of the house waking up around us. My father joined us after a few minutes, his eyes still heavy with sleep but a smile on his face when he saw the food.
“This is nice,” he said, settling into a chair and reaching for a croissant. “A good way to start the day.”
It was strange to be sitting in my room when we had a beautiful renovated kitchen downstairs, but this is where it all started and it was where I would end my last hours being a Shaw.
We ate in silence for a while, the simple act of sharing a meal grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. It was a brief moment of normalcy, a reminder of who I was before everything changed.
But as the sun rose higher, casting golden light across the room, I couldn’t ignore the reality that loomed ahead. Today would be the beginning of a new life, a life I wasn’t sure I was ready for. And as much as I cherished this time with my family, I knew it was fleeting.
Evelina and her assistant carefully removed my dress from its bag, while the hair stylist and makeup artist began setting up in my small room. The air was thick with anticipation, every detail meticulously planned for this moment. But then I heard Evelina gasp, a sharp intake of breath that sliced through the quiet.
“No, no!” she cried, her voice tight with alarm. “What happened here?”
I spun around, heart pounding in my chest. The seam of my dress was torn open—a jagged two-foot tear that ran down the delicate fabric. I sucked in a breath, my mind reeling. The dress had been perfect when I’d hung it in my room just a couple of days ago, safely tucked away in its bag, waiting for its final steaming on my wedding day.
My stomach clenched with a sickening realization. I knew how this had happened. Simone. She had access to my room, and itwas just like her to make a last-ditch attempt to ruin my day, to make it clear that in her eyes, I wasn’t worthy to marry her father. The thought of her smug, satisfied smile made my blood boil.
Hearing the commotion, my mother poked her head into the room, her eyes wide with concern. “Oh my God, what happened?” she asked, her voice tinged with panic.
“I don’t know, but I have a pretty good idea,” I spat, my anger barely contained.
She hurried over to the dress, lifting the skirt to inspect the damage. “It’s along the seam,” she said, her voice more measured now. “I can fix it.”
“Mom, you can’t,” I protested, though I knew she was more than capable. She raised an eyebrow, her expression firm.
“You doubt me?” she challenged.
I knew better than to question her skills. She’d made clothes for us when we were children, even crafted a dress for my eighth-grade dance that had made me feel like a princess. If anyone could fix this, it was her.
“I’ll need a sewing kit,” she said, her tone brisk. “The fabric is so delicate, I have to do this by hand.”
I racked my brain, trying to remember where I’d seen one. Then it hit me—Colson’s office. He had a box with sewing supplies; I remembered it clearly from the time he’d needed a needle to remove a splinter. The box, with its pretty threads, had likely belonged to Poppy. It sat in a closet near his desk. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to the mansion, but this was an emergency.
“I know where there’s one,” I said, already moving toward the door. “I just have to avoid Colson seeing me.”
Not that it really mattered. I wasn’t superstitious, and the thought of seeing him filled me with a cold dread. Our marriage was doomed from the start—there would be no happiness in it, not for me anyway. But I wasn’t about to let Simone win.
Without another word, I bolted out of the house, running along the perimeter of the woods. The last thing I wanted was to catch a glimpse of the tent or pass by the ceremony space. I needed to stay focused, to get this done and get back before anyone noticed I was gone.
The morning air was cool against my skin as I sprinted toward the mansion, my heart hammering in my chest. I wasn’t just running to fix a dress—I was running to reclaim a small piece of myself in a life that felt like it was slipping through my fingers.
Once I reached the front door, I slipped inside, trying to be as quiet as possible. But as soon as I stepped into the foyer, I saw Vaughn standing there, talking on his cell. His eyes narrowed when he noticed me, and he quickly ended his call.
“Don’t you know it’s bad luck for a groom to see the bride on their wedding day?” he snapped, his tone sharp.
