Page 4 of Ensnared
The unfinished thought hung in the air between us. If I went, I might become trapped in a life I never wanted, bound to a man I despised. But if I refused, my entire family would suffer.
As we stood there, the weight of the Ashworths' power pressing down on us, I realized that this moment – this cruel, impossible choice – was the culmination of years of their control over our lives.
My legs gave way beneath me, and I stumbled, the invitation and note slipping from my grasp and fluttering to the floor. At that moment, Logan burst through the door, his workout clothes damp with sweat. His eyes locked onto mine before darting to the scattered papers at my feet.
"What the fuck is going on?" he yelled, his voice echoing in our small living room.
My father gently guided me to the couch as Logan snatched up the fallen invitation. I heard the crinkle of paper as he smoothed out the crumpled note, his face darkening with each word he read.
"No! Is this bastard crazy?" he screamed, his hands shaking with rage.
I slumped back against the cushions, feeling utterly defeated. "I have to," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't mean he'll pick me."
Logan sat down next to me, his body tense with anger. "Then why invite you at all? You're half his age. He’s known you since you were a baby." he spat, disgust evident in his tone.
I turned to face him, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "You think that matters to someone like Colson? To the Ashworths?" I asked bitterly. "They see us as pawns, Logan. Nothing more."
My brother's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists. "We can't let this happen, Joey. There has to be another way."
But even as he said it, I could see the hopelessness in his eyes. We both knew the truth – in Windmere Haven, there was no escaping the Ashworths' will.
I reached out and took Logan's hand, squeezing it tightly. "If I don't go, they'll come after all of us. I can't let that happen."
The room fell silent, the weight of our impossible situation pressing down on us all. As I sat there, surrounded by my family yet feeling more alone than ever, I couldn't help but wonder: was this always meant to be my fate? And if I walked into the Ashworth mansion on Saturday, would I ever truly walk out again?
I buried my face in my hands, a fresh wave of despair washing over me. "I have nothing to wear," I moaned, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut.
Growing up, I'd always been on the outside looking in. Invitations to the glittering parties at Windmere Country Club or my schoolmates' mansions had never found their way to our humble doorstep.
Fancy clothes were a luxury we couldn't afford. The last time I'd worn anything remotely suitable was for my cousin Maeve's wedding two years ago, and even that dress was woefully inadequate for an Ashworth soiree.
My father rose from the couch, his movements heavy with resignation. He made his way to the small cupboard beside the refrigerator and pulled out the battered steel box that held their emergency fund. Each dollar inside represented sacrificed comforts and endless overtime.
"No," I said softly, my heart aching at the thought of them spending their hard-earned savings on this nightmare. "I have money, but I don't know where I can get a dress in two days."
Logan's voice cut through the silence, raw with frustration. "You can't do this," he repeated, a desperate edge to his words.
I met my brother's gaze, seeing my own fear and anger reflected there. "I have to," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "You know I do."
He pursed his lips but nodded, the harsh reality of our situation hanging heavy between us. If I declined, we'd all be fired, thrown off the property with nowhere to go. Our home, meager as it was, would be lost. My father's old Chevy station wagon, constantly on the verge of breakdown, wouldn't get us far.
Logan stood abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower," he muttered, his shoulders tense as he stalked up the stairs.
As the sound of his footsteps faded, my father returned to the couch, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Across the room, my mother sat at the small kitchen table, silent tears streaming down her face. The weight of our powerlessness pressed down on us all.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. There was no escaping this cruel twist of fate. All I could do now was hope – hope that Colson would choose someone else, that this nightmare would end as quickly as it began. But deep down, a nagging voice whispered that things were about to change irrevocably, and not for the better.
As we sat there in our tiny living room, the Ashworth mansion looming just beyond our windows, I couldn't escape the feelingthat I was about to be pushed into a world I never wanted to be part of.
I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning. The invitation sat on my nightstand mocking me. I grabbed the wrinkled note, staring at the words. I recognized the handwriting as Colson’s himself. Why would he be so damn invested in me?
A soft knock broke through my troubled thoughts. I sat up as Logan slipped inside, an amber-filled glass in his hand.
"Couldn't sleep?" I asked, though the answer was written all over his face.
He settled on the corner of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "Not at all. I just can't see you marrying that tyrant. He's a horrible man."
I sighed, feeling the weight of our shared worry. "Logan, an invitation doesn't mean he'll pick me. I'm sure there are plenty of other women who run in his social circle. They're much more qualified than me to be his wife."
