Page 8 of Ensnared
"Milaya, Colson wanted me to tell you that your makeup artist and hairstylist will be here at 4 p.m. tomorrow," Evelina said, her Russian accent lilting over the words.
I felt the blood drain from my face. "W... what?"
Evelina's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Colson's orders. You're a lucky girl," she purred as she and her assistant swept out of my home, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume and a growing sense of dread.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I scrambled back into my sweatpants and t-shirt, as if the comfortable clothes could shield me from the reality of what was happening. My mind raced, piecing together the puzzle of Colson's actions.
This wasn't just interest; it was a calculated move. The sinking feeling in my gut told me that the other invitees were likely just a front. Colson had every intention of making me his fiancée.
I gathered up the three dresses and shoes, their weight seeming to increase with each step as I struggled up the narrow stairway to my room. An hour later, Logan found me curled up on my bed, silent tears streaking my face.
He sat down, pulling me into his arms. I buried my face in his shoulder, unable to tell him about Colson's stylist or my growing fears.
"You'll be fine," Logan murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. He pulled away slightly, his eyes scanning the room. "Where did the dresses come from? I thought you were going out with Mom?"
I sniffled, guilt twisting in my stomach as I lied. "She had to work late. Colson sent them over. He sent over his personal stylist."
Logan's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sure that will go over well when the others find out," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Suddenly, all the fear and frustration I'd been holding back burst forth. Anger welled up in my chest, hot and fierce. "Fuck them," I spat. "I'm sick of these rich bitches."
The vehemence in my voice seemed to surprise Logan. I’d spent so much of my young life feeling inadequate around the wealthy of our community. This was my chance to show them up.
He pulled back, studying my face with concern. "Joey, what's really going on?"
I opened my mouth, ready to spill everything – the stylist, my suspicions about Colson's intentions, the suffocating feeling of being trapped. But the words caught in my throat. How could I explain something I barely understood myself?
Instead, I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. "Nothing. I'm just nervous about tomorrow."
As Logan hugged me again, promising everything would be okay, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was standing on the edge of a precipice. And tomorrow night, at Colson's party, I might just fall over the edge.
I tossed and turned in bed, sleep eluding me once again. The weight of tomorrow's events pressed down on me, making the air in my tiny room feel thick and suffocating. Finally, I threw off the covers and slipped out of the house, desperate for some fresh air.
The late May night was cool and still as I made my way across the grounds. My bare feet sank into the dew-dampened grass, grounding me. I found myself drawn to the beautiful gardens, their manicured paths and elegant benches a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in my head.
I settled onto a bench, breathing in the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine. For a moment, I felt at peace.
"Couldn't sleep either, huh?"
The voice startled me, and I whirled around to see Vaughn emerging from the shadows. My heart rate spiked, a mix of fear and something else I couldn't quite name coursing through me.
"Vaughn," I breathed, taking in his disheveled appearance and the bottle of Jack Daniel's dangling from his hand. "You’re out late."
He laughed bitterly, taking a long swig from the bottle. "Celebrating," he said, his words slightly slurred. "My father's grand plan coming to fruition."
I stiffened. "You know about tomorrow?"
Vaughn's eyes, usually sharp and mocking, were clouded with something that looked almost like pain. "Oh, I know all about it. Dear old Dad's latest power play."
He stumbled closer, and I found myself rooted to the spot. To my surprise, he gently cupped my cheek, his touch softer than I'd ever experienced from him.
"Joey," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "You have no idea what you're walking into."
Before I could respond, his lips were on mine. The kiss was passionate, desperate, nothing like the cruel smirks and biting remarks I was used to from Vaughn. To my shock, I found myself kissing him back, my hands tangling in his hair.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Vaughn rested his forehead against mine. "You have to leave," he said urgently. "Get as far away from here as you can."
"What?" I asked, still dazed from the kiss. "Vaughn, I can't leave."
