Chapter 8 #2
His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the history we shared. Easton had been almost ten when Poppy died, and I remembered the day like it was yesterday. He had come to the woods that evening, curling up under the tree where we used to read together.
My father had found him there, lost and alone, and carried him back to the mansion. Poppy had been sweet, and Easton had been so close to her. I suppose that’s why he was the way he was now—kind, gentle, but with a sadness that lingered just beneath the surface.
I leaned against him, the comfort of his presence making it easier to breathe.
But even as we sat there together, the reality of what lay ahead loomed large.
The life I had chosen—or had been forced to choose—was filled with uncertainty, and I wasn’t sure if even Easton’s kindness could save me from the storm that was coming.
I spent a sleepless night in the room that would be my home for the next two months.
The massive bed offered little comfort, and I found myself perched on the window seat, staring out at the lighted gardens below.
The perfectly manicured hedges and glowing pathways seemed worlds away from the life I had known, a reminder of the opulence I was now entrenched in.
But it was cold, detached, and I felt like an outsider looking in.
The next morning, I endured an awkward breakfast with Colson and Vaughn.
Colson was buried in The Financial Times, his brow furrowed as he absorbed the latest market trends, while Vaughn glowered at me from the end of the long table.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and I couldn’t help but feel like an intruder in their carefully ordered world.
It was strange not seeing my mother at the stove, bustling about as she whipped up fluffy omelets and crispy bacon.
The kitchen had always been her domain, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the air.
Now, she was gone, starting her new career at Windmere Haven Bakery, and I was left to navigate this cold, unfamiliar territory on my own.
I pushed the food around my plate, taking a few bites here and there but barely eating. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the rustling of Colson’s newspaper and the occasional clink of Vaughn’s fork against his plate.
The ride into Manhattan was no better. We sat in the back of the limo, with both Colson and Vaughn absorbed in their phones, tapping away as if I didn’t exist.
I exhaled loudly, a small act of defiance, and crossed my legs, the movement drawing Colson’s attention as my skirt rode up, exposing more of my upper thighs than was proper. His eyes darkened, lips curling into a slow, predatory smile, but his expression remained otherwise passive.
There were no searing kisses this morning, no stolen moments of passion that made my heart flutter.
Colson was all business, the Ashworth mask firmly in place, revealing nothing of the man beneath.
It was just another side of him that I would have to learn to accept, another part of the puzzle that made up the enigma of my soon-to-be husband.
As we pulled up to the imposing building of the Ashworth Financial Corporation, Colson finally put his phone away and turned his attention to me. “I’d like to see you in my office before you start work,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding.
I nodded, my eyes flicking to Vaughn, who was already frowning deeply. He didn’t say a word, just pushed open the door as soon as the car stopped and strode toward the entrance, leaving us behind.
Colson’s hand clamped down on mine, his grip firm as he tucked my arm against his side, leading me into the building.
The lobby was vast and impressive, a testament to the power and wealth of the Ashworth family.
But as we walked through the marble halls, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease settling in the pit of my stomach.
I was stepping into a world where I didn’t belong, a world where every move I made would be scrutinized, every word I spoke dissected. And with Colson by my side, I couldn’t afford to make a single mistake.
Colson didn’t waste any time once we were inside his office.
The door clicked shut, and the Ashworth mask fell away.
Before I could react, he curled his arm around my waist, pulling me against him, and kissed me hard.
His lips were insistent, smearing my lip gloss and leaving me breathless when he finally pulled back.
Instinctively, I reached up to wipe the gloss from his lips, but he caught my hand, sucking my finger into his mouth. My breath hitched as his tongue slid around the pad of my finger, sending a jolt of heat through my body.
My nipples hardened beneath my blouse, and I fought the urge to close my eyes, to lose myself in the sensation. But I couldn’t let myself forget who he was. Colson wasn’t nice, kind, or even decent, but there was something about him that was hard to resist.
With a soft pop, he released my finger, his eyes dark with intent. “I can’t wait to have you in my bed, Josephine,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously seductive.
A wave of anxiety crashed over me. I knew this was inevitable, that we would eventually end up in bed together, but the thought of being so vulnerable to him, of the power he would hold over me once I was beneath him, terrified me.
I bit my lip, trying to steady myself, but he reached out and gently dislodged it with his thumb.
“You’re nervous,” he observed, backing away slightly, giving me space to breathe. The scent of his expensive cologne lingered in the air, dizzying. “But you shouldn’t be.” He gestured toward a chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit, my bride. We need to discuss your schedule.”
“My schedule?” I echoed, confused as I sat down.
“Yes,” he confirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’ll work half a day here at the office, and then you’ll be transported back to the mansion where you’ll focus on your studies.”
I swallowed hard, trying to process the information. “Oh.”
“Don’t be intimidated,” he said, leaning back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. “If you have questions, I’ll help you when I come home.”
I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the idea of this dual life I was about to lead. Colson’s eyes softened slightly as he continued, “I see you have a good relationship with Easton.”
“Since we were children,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips as I thought of Easton. “He taught me backgammon.”
Colson’s expression shifted, a hint of something wicked flickering in his eyes. “I seem to remember you two swimming in the pool late at night during your teenage years.”
My grip tightened on the arms of the chair, and I quirked an eyebrow, surprised. “You knew?”
“I did,” he admitted, his voice calm. “I allowed it because on the nights you spent with Easton, he had no nightmares.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. “He has nightmares? He never told me.”
Colson’s gaze softened, and he nodded. “He has, ever since Poppy’s accident. He was with her when it happened, asleep in the back seat. It’s probably why he survived.”
My eyes welled with tears, the weight of his words sinking in. I had no idea Easton was in the car with his mother when she died. I was only eleven at the time, and all I knew was that Poppy had passed away. The details had been kept from me.
Colson continued, his voice steady, “The car she was driving had recently had a brake job at the dealership. She ran errands with Easton for a few hours after that.” He paused, a bittersweet smile on his lips.
“She liked to take him with her. The entire time, the brake fluid was leaking, and by the time she set out for home… you know the rest.”
“I’m so sorry, Colson,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.
He didn’t respond right away, lost in his thoughts. The silence stretched between us, heavy and unspoken, as I waited, unsure if I should say anything more or let him find his way back to the present.
"Anyway, you have your schedule."
Colson’s voice was clipped, the Ashworth mask firmly back in place.
But I wasn’t fooled anymore. Since he proposed, I had glimpsed the man behind the facade, and I knew there was more beneath that cold exterior.
I rose from my chair, my mind still buzzing with everything we’d just discussed, and headed for the door, deciding to take the elevator to the forty-third floor instead of the stairs.
When I arrived at my usual floor, a strange sense of unease washed over me.
My cubicle was empty. The desk that had been my little corner of the world for the past year was bare, as if I’d never even been there.
I opened the drawers, only to find them completely barren.
Confusion settled in. Colson had said I would be working half a day, so where was I supposed to sit?
I needed answers. Without wasting another moment, I headed back upstairs, my thoughts racing. As soon as the elevator doors slid open on the forty-fifth floor, Vaughn was there, leaning casually against the wall, his expression dark.
“Congratulations,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You made it to the forty-fifth floor without hard work.”
“What are you talking about?” I hissed, my patience wearing thin.
He smirked and gestured toward an office door down the hall, right next to his. My eyes followed his motion, and I froze when I saw the nameplate: Josephine Shaw, Private Equity Associate.
“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.