Chapter 22
Evelina clasped her hands together, her eyes bright with admiration. "You look gorgeous." Her hands moved over the back of the bodice, checking for any imperfections. "It’s perfect. Colson will lose his mind when he sees you walking down the aisle."
I stared at myself in the full-length mirror. The dress was breathtaking—layers of intricate lace, silk and beading that shimmered softly under the lights. I did make a beautiful bride. But deep down, a part of me wished I was marrying someone else.
Over the past few days, Colson had been distant, his demeanor icy.
He didn't appreciate my insinuation that he was withholding something from me about the accident. Yet, he still checked on me, especially during my first day back at AFC. Logan came by too, his concern palpable, but I assured him I was fine. The headache had subsided, the bruises faded. I was lucky I hadn’t broken anything, or the wedding might have been postponed.
As I ran my hands over the delicate beading on the skirt, Evelina stepped behind me, carefully pinning the veil into place.
When she pulled it over my face, a wave of panic surged through me.
The wedding was less than a week away, and my anxiety had reached an all-time high.
Soon, I would carry the Ashworth name, bound to a man who was not only wealthy but cold and calculating.
Would I eventually become a liability, someone easily discarded when no longer useful?
Or would Colson find it in his dark heart to love me, even in his own twisted way?
I didn’t know. And once Easton left the house, I would have no allies, no children to love, and I would be utterly alone.
Colson was twenty-four years older than me; he would die first, leaving me in a world that had never truly been mine.
I swallowed hard, forcing a smile as Evelina adjusted the veil. "Thank you, Evelina. It’s beautiful," I said, though the words felt hollow.
She beamed, stepping back to admire her work. "You’re going to be the most stunning bride."
I nodded, my reflection staring back at me with an intensity that felt foreign. "I hope so," I whispered, more to myself than to her.
I found it hard to breathe. My chest tightened as the walls of the dressing room seemed to close in around me.
Closing my eyes, I tried to calm the rising panic.
It wasn’t just the wedding or the weight of the Ashworth name that had me on edge.
Tonight, Colson had requested that I come to his room again.
Since the accident, he had been treating me with care, as if I were fragile glass. But with the wedding drawing closer, that tenderness had begun to shift. He wasn’t asking tonight; he was expecting. My heart pounded as I wondered what he would do, what he would say, once we were alone again.
"Joey, are you okay?" Evelina’s voice broke through my thoughts, grounding me in the present.
I opened my eyes to see her holding a pair of stunning heels.
They were impossibly high, with sleek lines that screamed elegance.
The soft cream color complemented the ivory of my dress, and the delicate straps wound around the ankle like a whisper of silk.
The soles were red—a signature of Louboutin, a brand that embodied both luxury and power.
“These will make you feel like a queen,” Evelina said with a smile, as she knelt down to place them at my feet. “The height will give you that extra confidence boost. You’ll tower over the world on your wedding day.”
I reached out and touched one of the shoes, running my fingers over the smooth leather.
They were more than just heels—they were a statement.
I would be taller, more powerful. Every inch of those added heels would make me feel like I could conquer whatever lay ahead, even if it was the man I was about to marry.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, slipping one foot into the shoe. The arch was steep, forcing me onto my toes, but it also elongated my legs, giving me a sense of strength I hadn’t felt in days.
Evelina’s eyes sparkled as she fastened the straps. “You’re going to be unforgettable, Josephine. No one will be able to take their eyes off you.”
I stood, carefully balancing on the heels as the world seemed to shift slightly beneath me.
I could feel the change within myself, the way the shoes altered my posture, my presence.
I wasn’t just Josephine Shaw anymore. I was about to become Josephine Ashworth, and that name carried weight, power, and a sense of inevitability.
As I gazed into the mirror, the reflection that stared back at me was different.
It was stronger, more determined. My green eyes were sharper, more confident.
The panic that had gripped me moments before was still there, but it was buried beneath layers of resolve.
I would face whatever Colson had planned for tonight.
I would step into that room, and I would not waver.
I slipped into the royal blue negligee, the silk smooth against my skin.
The lace trim skimmed my thighs, delicate and daring, a combination that made me feel exposed and powerful all at once.
I draped a matching robe over my shoulders, tying the belt firmly at my waist. The fabric flowed around me as I made my way down the dimly lit hallway toward Colson's room, the plush carpet runner muffling my footsteps.
Vaughn and Simone had made themselves scarce.
Neither of them had joined us for dinner or appeared at the office since the day I fell.
Their absence was a relief, but it also left an eerie silence hanging over the house.
It was as if they were ghosts, haunting the periphery of my life, their judgmental eyes and bitter words just out of sight but never out of mind.
When I reached Colson’s door, I hesitated for just a moment, my hand poised to knock. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Colson was waiting for me, still dressed in his suit, the sharp lines of his tailored jacket perfectly in place. His presence filled the room, commanding and unyielding, a stark contrast to the intimacy of my attire.
I had misread his request. My pulse quickened as I instinctively tightened the belt of my robe, drawing it closer around me like a shield.
His eyes flicked over me, taking in the royal blue silk and the way it clung to my body. But there was no spark of desire in his gaze, only a cold appraisal, as if he was assessing whether I measured up to his expectations.
“Josephine,” he began, his voice low and measured, “over the next few days, I expect you to be on your best behavior. We have the rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and then the wedding itself. All eyes will be on us.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Of course.”
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he loomed over me. “That means you need to put your worries aside. Whatever happened on those stairs is irrelevant now. No one pushed you.”
His words hit me like a slap, the dismissiveness cutting deeper than any physical blow. My grip on the belt of my robe tightened until my knuckles turned white.
“But Colson,” I protested.
“You fell,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “Accidents happen, Josephine. You need to stop fixating on this. It’s done.”
I searched his face for any sign of softness, any hint that he might understand the fear that still gripped me. But his expression was a mask, impenetrable and unreadable.
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I finally said, forcing the words past the tightness in my chest. “I won’t let anything ruin the wedding.”
He nodded, satisfied with my response. “Good. That’s what I need from you.”
As he turned away, dismissing me as easily as one might dismiss a servant, I felt a cold wave of dread settle over me.
I had hoped for reassurance, for some small comfort in this moment of vulnerability.
But instead, I was reminded of the stark reality of my situation.
I was alone in this, and Colson was not my protector—he was my warden, and I was the prisoner of his expectations.
I watched as he moved toward his desk, already consumed by whatever work awaited him there. The distance between us, both physical and emotional, felt insurmountable.
“Is there anything else you need from me tonight?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t look up from his papers. “No. You can go.”
I turned and walked out of the room, my steps as quiet as they had been when I entered. But this time, the silence felt oppressive, the weight of his words pressing down on me with every step I took.
As I reached my own room and closed the door behind me, I leaned against it, closing my eyes as I tried to steady my breathing. The fear, the doubt, the unease—they were all still there, festering beneath the surface.
I couldn't shake the feeling that Colson knew more than he was letting on. The suspicion gnawed at me, but I had to push it aside. There were too many items to tick off our list leading up to the wedding. Yet, even as I tried to focus on the tasks at hand, I made a silent vow: I wouldn’t forget. I would find out the truth.
The Ashworth name gave me power, and once it was attached to mine, I would wield it like a sword. People feared Colson, but they would fear me, too—perhaps even more.
The rest of the evening was spent buried in a book, attempting to drown out the unease swirling in my mind.
The words on the page blurred as my thoughts drifted, but eventually, I shut out the light and let the quiet of the night envelop me.
I was on the edge of sleep when a noise disturbed the silence.
My eyes snapped open to see a shadowy figure standing in my room. My heart pounded as I sat up, tension coiling in my chest as the figure moved closer to my bed. In the light of my nightstand clock, I could make out the features of his face.
“Colson?” My voice was tentative, shaky.
“It’s me, baby,” came the slurred reply.
The unmistakable scent of whiskey filled the air as he sat down heavily beside me, the mattress sinking under his weight.
The sharp tang of alcohol clung to him, and as he leaned in, I could see the wild gleam in his eyes, full of a desire I hadn’t seen in weeks.
This wasn’t the controlled, calculating Colson I was used to. This was someone different—dangerous.
Without warning, he slammed his mouth onto mine, his hand tangling in my hair with a painful grip that brought tears to my eyes. His kiss was rough, desperate, and there was an unsettling hunger in the way he moved. Colson never called me baby.
I pressed against his chest, trying to push him away as his tongue invaded my mouth, sliding over mine with a brutal force.
My heart raced in fear and confusion as he grabbed my hand and shoved it against the hard bulge in his pajama pants, a low growl rumbling from his throat as he broke away from my lips.
“I want to fuck you, Josephine,” he growled, his voice thick with alcohol and lust.
I gasped as he yanked my head back, exposing my neck to the cool air. “No. We only have three days left. Please,” I begged, my voice trembling with desperation.
His grip tightened, his eyes narrowing as he spat out, “You’re mine, Joey. You’ve always been mine. From the first time I saw you walking the gardens in the dark after you graduated from Yale, I knew you would eventually be my wife.”
The words sent a shock through me, a cold wave of realization crashing over me. Vaughn’s warning from months ago echoed in my mind. The whole event Colson had planned to choose a wife—it was a farce. He had already chosen me long before.
“No,” I moaned, the truth sinking in like a dagger. “You lied.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “I watched your sexy little ass in those tight shorts as you strolled among the flowers. I had to have you. You’ve grown into a beautiful, young woman. You left a teenager and returned a seductress.”
I stared at him, horrified and betrayed. The Colson I thought I knew had shattered before my eyes, revealing a darkness I hadn’t been prepared for. This was the man I was about to marry—a man who had orchestrated everything, manipulated my life to suit his desires.
And now, there was no escape.
“Why?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
Colson's grip tightened on my chin, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Why does anyone want to covet what they see?” he replied, his tone cold and dismissive.
I yanked my face from his hand, the sting of his touch fueling my anger. With a surge of defiance, I slapped him hard across the face. “I’m not an object!” I screamed, my voice cracking with the force of my emotions.
A slow, cruel smirk spread across Colson’s lips. “To me, you are,” he said, his voice laced with contempt. “I need you for my arm and to keep my bed warm. Now give me what I came for.”
Before I could react, he gripped the collar of the t-shirt I was wearing and yanked it violently, the fabric tearing down the middle. I struggled against him, but he was too strong, his body crashing down on mine and pinning me to the mattress.
Panic surged through me as he clamped down on my neck with his teeth, biting me hard enough to draw tears of pain from my eyes. He was marking me, claiming me as if I were his possession.
“Colson!” I cried out, my voice breaking with desperation. “Please. I’ll give you whatever you want, but don’t hurt me. We have the wedding,” I pleaded, my words tumbling out in a frantic rush.
For a moment, his eyes flickered, and it was as if my words had flipped a switch inside him. He suddenly released me, rolling onto his back as if nothing had happened. Within seconds, he was snoring, the sound of his deep, even breaths filling the room.
I scrambled off the bed, my hands shaking as I ran into the bathroom.
I slammed the door shut and locked it, my heart racing as I slid down to the floor.
The tears came in a rush, unstoppable and fierce.
I buried my face in my hands and cried, the sobs wracking my body as I tried to process what had just happened.
Twenty minutes passed, but the horror and humiliation still clung to me, refusing to let go.
I knew then, more than ever, that I was trapped—trapped in a life I hadn’t chosen, with a man who saw me as nothing more than a trophy to be displayed and used.
And as I stared at my tear-streaked reflection in the mirror, I realized that the wedding would only cement my fate.