Page 18 of Entwined
“I didn’t want this,” I sobbed, the words torn from me in a rush of pain. “I didn’t want any of this.”
“I know,” Simone whispered, her grip on me tightening as she tried to hold me together. “We’re here for you, Joey. We’re all here for you.”
But despite her words, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was utterly, completely alone.
Chapter 8
I spent the days after Vaughn’s outburst in a self-imposed exile, retreating to my room like a wounded animal. The staff, bless them, brought my meals, but the plates mostly went back untouched. I couldn't bring myself to eat, my appetite as dead as my future with Colson.
Instead, I stared out the window, watching as winter begrudgingly gave way to spring. The world outside would soon renew itself—the grass turning green, flowers blooming. Life would go on. But I wasn’t sure how I would ever adjust to my new reality.
The morning of the will reading, I was sitting at my vanity, absently brushing my hair when a soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I hesitated, then called out, “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and Easton stepped inside, dressed in a sharp navy suit. His expression was as somber as the occasion.
“Joey?” His voice was gentle, almost hesitant.
I met his gaze in the mirror and sighed. “Is it time?”
He nodded, a trace of sadness in his eyes. “Yes. The limo’s waiting. Vaughn will meet us there.”
A wave of relief washed over me. The thought of sharing the confined space of a limo with Vaughn was unbearable. He had returned to work full-time a few days ago, and I was grateful for the distance it created. Easton offered me a hand, and I took it, allowing him to help me to my feet. He guided me downstairs, where Simone waited by the front door.
Since Colson’s passing, Simone had been staying at the mansion, a presence I both appreciated and resented in equal measure. She wasn’t the same girl from high school, the one who tormented me with cold indifference. Now, she was kind, considerate even, and I found myself wondering why she hadn’t been this way before. Was it grief that softened her? Or had she always had the capacity for kindness, buried deep beneath the surface?
She reached out and took my hand as we stepped outside, her grip warm and steady. I glanced at her, and she offered a small, comforting smile. I nodded, grateful for the support, though a part of me couldn’t help but wonder how long this new version of Simone would last.
The limo ride to Xander Wilder’s office was quiet, the tension palpable. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the cool leather seat. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, the emotional toll of the past weeks finally catching up. My thoughts drifted as we drove through the city, the anticipation of the will reading gnawing at my insides.
I didn’t expect much—Colson had already made sure I would be financially secure, thanks to Simone’s trust fund. I had also made a decision a week ago: after the will was read, I wouldmove to my parents’ home. There was no way I could continue working at AFC under Vaughn’s rule. He would likely demote me, banishing me back to a cubicle, or worse.
When we finally arrived, the receptionist led us into a sleek conference room. Vaughn was already there, sitting at the far end of the table. His eyes narrowed the moment he saw me, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead on the spot. His hatred was a dark, seething energy that filled the room. He didn’t even know what the changes to the will were yet, but his animosity was already directed squarely at me.
Xander Wilder, a man in his early forties with a no-nonsense demeanor, entered the room holding a thick folder. His assistant distributed fresh copies of the will, the papers crisp and unnervingly final. I kept my gaze on the document in front of me, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vaughn’s face darken as he skimmed the first page. His jaw ticked with suppressed rage, and for a moment, I thought he might lunge across the table at me.
Xander cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Please refrain from reading ahead,” he instructed calmly. “I’ll address any questions regarding the distribution of assets as we go through the document. We’ll start with Mr. Ashworth’s real estate holdings. The mansion in Windmere Haven, the triplex recently purchased in Manhattan, and Colson’s home in Southampton will be transferred to Josephine Ashworth.”
“The fuck it will!” Vaughn’s scream shattered the tension, his voice echoing off the walls like a gunshot. His chair scraped violently against the floor as he shot to his feet, his face contorted with fury.
“Vaughn, calm down,” Easton urged, rising as well, his voice steady but firm. “Let Xander finish.”
But Vaughn wasn’t hearing any of it. He pointed a trembling finger at me, his eyes blazing with hatred. “You conniving bitch,” he hissed. “This is your doing. You manipulated him.”
I stayed seated, my fingers gripping the edge of the table as I fought to keep my composure. “I didn’t do anything, Vaughn. Colson made his decisions, and you need to respect that.”
“Respect?” Vaughn laughed bitterly. “You expect me to respect this? You barely knew him, and now you get everything?”
“Vaughn, stop!” Simone’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. She moved to stand between us, her hands held up in a calming gesture. “This isn’t helping. We need to hear the rest.”
Vaughn’s chest heaved with anger, but he didn’t move. Xander, unfazed by the outburst, continued in his professional monotone, “As I was saying, these properties will be transferred to Mrs. Ashworth as outlined in the will. If there are no further interruptions, I’ll proceed to the next section.”
Vaughn glared at me one last time before slowly sinking back into his chair, his fists clenched on the table. His eyes never left mine, burning with a promise that He wouldn’t let this go.
Xander meticulously detailed Colson’s remaining assets, saving the most significant revelation for last. His voice carried a weight that made every word hang in the air. “To my wife, Josephine Ashworth, I leave my two yachts, my entire investment portfolio, and the following accounts.”
As he continued, I glanced around the table, sensing the rising tension. The numbers Xander read out were staggering—more than enough to make me a billionaire. The cash accounts were just the cherry on top. Vaughn’s face grew taut, his jaw clenched, and he began to gnaw on his knuckles, a clear sign that his self-control was slipping.
“And finally,” Xander announced, his tone even, “control of Ashworth Financial Corporation will be assumed by my son, Vaughn Ashworth, and my wife, Josephine Ashworth, with…”
