Page 23 of Ensnared
“Is that what spreading your legs for my father gets you?” Vaughn’s words were venomous, meant to cut deep.
I didn’t think. I just reacted, my hand flying up and slapping him as hard as I could. The sound echoed in the otherwise empty hallway, and for a brief moment, Vaughn looked genuinely stunned. I didn’t wait to see his reaction. I turned on my heel and entered my new office, shutting the door firmly behind me, leaving Vaughn outside.
The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by a sight that made my heart skip a beat. All my personal items were arranged neatly on the desk—pictures of my family, the tiny ceramic Disney figurines I’d collected on the only vacation we ever took, and my paperback books. It was as if someone had carefully recreated a little piece of my old life in this new, unfamiliar space.
Private Equity Associate. The title on the door felt like a cruel joke. I had applied for this very position months ago and had been declined without even an interview. It would have meant a thirty-thousand-dollar bump in salary, money I desperately needed back then. But now, what did it matter? My fiancé was a billionaire, and my salary seemed insignificant in comparison.
I sat down at the desk, the weight of everything pressing on me. I opened the drawers, half expecting them to be empty too, but they weren’t. Inside the top middle drawer was an envelope with my name written in Colson’s bold handwriting. I pulled it out, my hands trembling slightly as I opened it. Inside was a black card with my name embossed on it and a note from Colson:Use it for whatever you need.
My chest tightened, and suddenly, it felt hard to breathe. I leaned back in the chair, trying to make sense of the past twenty-four hours. My life had been upended, and I was struggling to process it all. The man I was supposed to hate was becoming more complicated by the minute, and now, this new title and the black card—symbols of power and control—only added to the confusion swirling in my mind.
Chapter 9
The morning’s events left me rattled, making it impossible to focus on work. My mind replayed the scene in Colson’s office, the weight of his touch, the dark truth he revealed about Easton’s past, and the cold mask he’d slipped back into as if nothing had happened.
I stared blankly at the computer screen in front of me, fingers hovering over the keyboard but unable to type a single word. The envelope with the black card still sat in my desk drawer, a reminder of the power Colson held over me, over everything.
At noon, the shrill ring of my phone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for it, my heart racing as Colson’s extension flashed on the screen.
“The limo is downstairs,” his voice was smooth, measured. “It’s time for your first training session. You’ll be starting with etiquette.”
I swallowed hard, nodding even though he couldn’t see me. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Good. Don’t keep Velva waiting.”
The line went dead, leaving me in the heavy silence of my office. I grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. The idea of being trained in etiquette, of all things, felt surreal. But I knew this was just the beginning. Colson was determined to mold me into the perfect wife, someone who could navigate his world with ease.
The limo ride back to the mansion was a blur, my thoughts swirling with anxiety. When we arrived, I was greeted by a woman who was the epitome of poise. Velva McKinney stood in the grand foyer, her platinum blonde hair shining almost silver under the chandelier. Her sharp blue eyes assessed me with a calculating gaze as she extended a perfectly manicured hand.
“Josephine Shaw, I presume,” she drawled, her Southern accent lilting in a way that was both charming and intimidating. “I’m Velva McKinney. It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear.”
I took her hand, surprised by the firmness of her grip. “Nice to meet you too, Mrs. McKinney.”
“Velva will do just fine,” she corrected with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Shall we begin?”
She led me to the formal dining room, a space I had only glimpsed in passing. The table was set with an overwhelming array of silverware, glasses, and plates. My heart sank as I realized this was going to be more intense than I had imagined.
“First things first,” Velva said, her voice crisp as she gestured to the table. “We’ll start with the basics of table etiquette. Knowing which utensil to use and when is crucial in high society.”
For the next three hours, Velva guided me through the intricacies of table manners. She explained the purpose of each piece of silverware, how to use a finger bowl, and the specificglasses for water, wine, and champagne. Her instructions were precise, her tone demanding as she corrected my posture, my grip on the knife, even the way I unfolded my napkin.
My head was spinning by the end of it, the sheer amount of information overwhelming. Every time I thought I had a handle on one aspect, she introduced another rule, another nuance. I found myself longing for the simplicity of my old life, where a meal didn’t come with a list of dos and don’ts.
As Velva finally concluded the lesson, she gave me a look of appraisal. “You’ve done well for your first session, but there’s much more to learn. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
I nodded numbly, feeling utterly drained. “Thank you, Velva.”
She gave me a curt nod. “Rest up, dear. You’ll need your wits about you for what’s to come.”
With that, she swept out of the room, leaving me alone at the table. I stared at the elegant place setting in front of me, my mind reeling from the day’s events. This was just the beginning, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing myself piece by piece.
I rose from my seat, a heaviness settling in my chest. Instinctively, I peeked into the kitchen, half expecting to see my mother bustling about, prepping dinner as she always did. But the space was cold and empty. It was just after 4 p.m., and the silence was deafening. I yearned to hear about her first day at the bakery; she should've been home by now since her shift started at 6 a.m.
Without wasting another moment, I dashed upstairs, quickly changing into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The vast expanseof lawn stretched before me as I stepped outside, the scent of freshly cut grass filling the air.
I smiled faintly, knowing it was my father's landscaping crew who maintained these grounds. Colson had orchestrated everything seamlessly in such a short time, including the investment paperwork that now ensured my family's stability.
As I approached our little house, a sinking feeling gripped me. The two chairs that once adorned the small front porch were gone. Puzzled, I tried the door—it was unlocked. Pushing it open, I was met with emptiness. The entire place was barren. Panic rose within me as I sprinted upstairs, only to find the rooms stripped bare, not even the curtain rods remained.
