The Strange Groom's Cursed Bride
Chapter 93: Unhealthy obsession

Chapter 93: Unhealthy obsession

The air in the house was thick with an unnatural stillness, a quiet dread that would prickle one’s skin.

Yet, Dawin moved with his usual unhurried grace toward the elevator, the soft ding echoing in the silence. He had barely emerged on his mother’s private floor when she appeared, her face a rigid mask of fury, a stark contrast to her usual serene composure.

"Dawin!" Her voice, usually a silken murmur, was sharp, frayed at the edges with a desperation he rarely heard. She pulled him by the hand, her grip surprisingly strong, her movements determined, almost frantic. He allowed himself to be led, a questioning brow raised, as she practically dragged him inside her expansive study and slammed the heavy door shut, the lock clicking with an ominous finality.

She didn’t stop there. With agitated, almost jerky movements, she swept across the room, pulling down the heavy velvet blinds with a sharp tug, plunging the room into a muted twilight. Then, with a furious jab of her finger, she shut down the large, glowing computer screen on her desk. Elisa, the Matriarch of the Wildfire family, never moved with such uncontrolled energy.

She spun on him, her eyes blazing, the refined composure she wore like a second skin completely shattered. "Are you crazy?!"

Dawin merely raised a questioning brow, his expression unwavering, completely unbothered, almost bored. It was clear. Elisa had never before spoken to Dawin like that, her voice stripped of its usual dignified calm, raw with undisguised fear.

"What did you think you were doing out there with Aurora?!" she demanded, her voice rising, a desperate edge to it.

He looked unbothered, his composure unyielding, radiating an almost unnatural calm. "Participating in the event, Mother. As assigned."

"WITH AURORA?!" she bellowed, the sound echoing off the high ceiling, a note of hysteria creeping in. "Did you see how you were acting? In front of everyone? The entire city saw you! That pauper!"

"What’s wrong with that?" he asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, a dangerous glint in his eyes when she used that word for Aurora.

Her anger, hot and uncontrollable, finally boiled over. Her hand shot out, cracking against his cheek with a sharp, sickening sound. The slap was shocking, utterly unprecedented.

Dawin’s head snapped to the side. He turned slowly, his gaze, previously unbothered, now dark and utterly lethal. The air in the room seemed to drop several degrees, thick with unspoken threat. He didn’t move, just watched her with a chilling stillness.

Elisa screamed, a raw, almost desperate sound, clutching at her perfectly coiffed hair, her composure dissolving into outright panic. "Do you want to kill me, Dawin?! Why are you suddenly being rebellious at this age? After all we’ve built?!" Her eyes landed on his hand. She snatched his hand by force, wrenching it up, desperation making her movements clumsy. "How did you get these injuries?!"

He forced his hand out of her grip, his eyes colder than she’d ever seen them, a chilling frost. "Why are you asking me pointless questions? I grazed myself." The lie was delivered with such seamless conviction, it was almost believable, if not for the tremor in her own heart.

She was livid, her chest heaving, her breathing ragged. "Do you think everyone refers to me as the Matriarch just because? If I simply sat down like a princess, not knowing whatever was happening around me, would our family have survived until now? Would we be where we are?!" Her voice was high-pitched, laced with a fear that seemed to consume her.

He narrowed his gaze, looking at her with an unsettling detachment that only served to fuel her raw, exposed rage. "What are you trying to say, Mother?"

His calm, almost bored tone was a fresh insult, a dismissal of her every desperate plea. She struggled to rein in her trembling, her mind racing, searching for the delicate thread that connected his recent erratic behavior. "Did you... did you meet Derren Ringland last night?" The question was barely a whisper, a desperate hope clinging to denial.

Dawin was quiet for a long moment, the silence amplifying the frantic beat of Elisa’s heart, stretching taut like a bowstring. Then, he inclined his head slightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible tilt. "It seems you’re quite... up to date."

Elisa was horrified, her face paling, a sickening dread washing over her. She was still in denial, desperate for it to be a misunderstanding. "W-What were you thinking, Dawin? You... you didn’t actually... you hadn’t done that, right?" Her voice was barely a whisper, pleading for him to deny it, for him to reassure her that the reports were false.

Dawin adjusted his shirt, a subtle, almost imperceptible shrug of his broad shoulders, as if dismissing a triviality. "I was letting off steam." The casualness of his confession was a punch to her gut.

Elisa screamed again, a guttural sound of pure terror and despair that tore from her throat. She was shaking uncontrollably, her eyes wide with a horrifying realization that threatened to shatter her carefully constructed world. "What has come over you, Dawin?! You are Dawin! Dawin Wildfire! Our heir! One wrong move and you are out! Our entire family is out! How... how did you get involved in that? Why? And... drugs were involved. This... this has to be a mistake, right?!" She looked at him, desperately searching for a flicker of denial, a hint of explanation, anything to calm the burgeoning panic in her chest. But his face remained unreadable, utterly impassive, a blank mask that offered her no solace, no reprieve from the horrifying truth.

Dawin simply smirked, a chillingly calm expression that didn’t reach his eyes. He turned from his mother and moved to the stately armchair by the unlit fireplace, sinking into its plush cushions with an air of utter nonchalance. He crossed one leg over the other, the picture of elegant disinterest, almost bored by her anguish.

"You took down the news." It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, flat and certain, a confirmation of her frantic efforts to bury his tracks.

Elisa stiffened, but her fury was quickly giving way to raw, unadulterated desperation. She hurried to him, sinking to her knees beside his chair, grasping his uninjured hand, her fingers trembling violently. "Dawin, please. Why are you rebelling at this age? If you don’t want to get married, you can still take your time. But please." Her voice cracked, a plea bordering on a sob. "Why... why must you get involved in all that? If you want to release some steam, there are ways. You could take up boxing, or whatever. You could... you could even get women. But please. Do not get involved in things like that. If your father found out... one wrong piece of information from someone out there, our whole lives would shatter. Our lives would be out. You... you need to climb into parliament."

She was trying to reason with him, her words tumbling out in a desperate torrent, her perfect composure long gone. He was simply looking at her with a bored expression, his gaze distant, as if she were a buzzing fly he merely tolerated, utterly unmoved by her terror.

"As for Aurora," she continued, her voice hardening with an almost frantic edge, the subject clearly a raw nerve, "she... she is already married to Hades. Because there is nothing special about her. She’s useless. A pauper. Nothing to warrant such... attention. This... obsession is unhealthy, Dawin! It will ruin you!"

Dawin’s eyes, previously detached, narrowed to cold slits, a dangerous, possessive gleam entering their depths. He shifted, his body language subtly hardening, an unyielding stone. "I’ll be the one to determine that." His voice was low, cutting through her desperate plea like a scalpel, a chilling declaration of intent.

Elisa’s composure snapped again, irrevocably. She grew livid, yelling as she sprang to her feet, sweeping off the ornate lamp, a heavy crystal paperweight, and a stack of financial reports from her desk with a furious, desperate sweep of her arm. Glass shattered against the polished floor. Papers scattered like autumn leaves in a storm.

He stood up, turning to leave, his back to the chaos he’d ignited. But before he reached the door, he stopped, his voice a quiet, deadly calm that held far more menace than any shout. "Don’t ever hit me again."

He opened the study door. A housekeeper stood there, frozen, a silver tray with a steaming tea set clutched in her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide with terror, having clearly heard the escalating screams.

Dawin simply eyed her, a silent, chilling warning in his gaze. He walked past, disappearing down the hallway, leaving the lingering scent of his calm, terrifying power.

The Matriarch, left in the wreckage of her study, her face contorted with impotent rage and profound fear, turned her furious frustration toward the terrified maid.

"What are you standing there for?! Get out! Get out!" Her voice was raw, a desperate sound of a woman losing control.