The Strange Groom's Cursed Bride-Chapter 74: “Give her back”

Breakfast was quiet, almost awkward. But that was nothing new for the Wildfires.

They were already seated when Dawin arrived.

He found his way to the dining area, his gait composed and just a little too casual. He loosened his dark tie with one hand as the housekeeper stepped forward to take his coat. His face looked like he hadn’t slept, but his presence, as always, was impossible to ignore.

The entire family looked up.

Elisa Wildfire, the matriarch, put down her teacup with practiced grace, her gaze softening almost imperceptibly as it landed on her eldest son. The Patriarch, Devon Wildfire, usually an invisible force in the estate, sat at the head, his expression as unyielding and stern as ever. Beside him, Van sat hunched in his seat, one leg bouncing, his expression somewhere between indifference and suppressed irritation.

Dawin sat. No thank-yous. No greetings. Just silence, until the butler poured him black coffee and retreated, eager to escape the palpable tension.

"What have you been up to?" Devon asked, his voice low but firm, cutting through the quiet.

Dawin looked up, his calm, unreadable gaze meeting his father’s.

"And why," Devon continued, his gaze unwavering, "did you get involved in something like that—without consulting this family?"

It was clear what "that" meant. His sudden involvement in the drug raid.

Dawin didn’t even blink. He reached for the butter knife and sliced cleanly through a croissant.

"I didn’t see the need," he replied coolly, buttering the bread as if they were merely discussing the weather.

Van rolled his eyes and scoffed. Elisa glanced sharply at him, but the patriarch was already bristling.

"Dawin!" he snapped, his voice a command in itself.

"Now, Chairman, calm yourself," Elisa interjected smoothly, her voice a soothing balm that nonetheless held an undercurrent of steel. She sent Dawin a small, approving nod, a subtle message of her unwavering support for her favored son. "He did good, at least. The stocks are high, people are talking about him and us. He’ll be voted into Congress flawlessly now. So there’s no problem, dear." She offered her husband a placating smile, her focus entirely on the political and economic leverage Dawin’s recent actions had seemingly provided.

"This isn’t just about public image," Devon growled, frustration etching lines on his face. "I asked you a question. How did you get involved in this in the first place? Who—"

Elisa opened her mouth to cut in again, but Van beat her to it, his patience snapping. "For crying out loud, Mother, let Dawin speak for himself!"

Elisa’s head whipped toward her younger son, her features hardening. "Don’t start, Van."

"Start what?" Van sneered, pushing back his chair slightly. "Calling out the fact that everything he does is suddenly heroic, while I’m sitting here being treated like I sell drugs under the bridge?"

Elisa’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a dangerous level, the doting mother replaced by the formidable matriarch.

"Don’t you dare speak to me like that. Your older brother is doing his best for this family, building a future, while you’re wasting away your life on... on nothing!" Her voice, usually composed, was laced with venom.

"What the fuck!" Van exploded, hitting the table as he stood up. "You want him? Take him." He shoved his chair back and stormed out of the dining area and out of the apartment completely, the heavy double doors slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed cracked like ice.

Devon sighed, a weary, disappointed sound, and rose from his seat. Without another word, he left the dining area, taking the elevator upstairs.

Now, only Dawin and Elisa remained at the table.

Dawin continued to eat, unperturbed, his gaze fixed on his plate, as if the dramatic exit had been nothing more than a passing breeze.

Elisa pressed her fingers together under her chin and exhaled slowly. "That was unnecessary."

Dawin said nothing. He chewed in silence.

She watched him for a moment, her eyes softening only slightly, her admiration for his stoicism evident.

"Dawin," Elisa began, her voice softer now, but with an unwavering resolve. "Now that things are like this, you need to get married soon. I’ve already sought through and have a list." She picked up a folded sheet of paper beside her plate. "Linda Clarkson makes the top, of course, but you can choose whomever you want from the list. They are all wonderful women."

Dawin paused, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. He set it down gently. "I’m not interested," he said as he picked up a napkin to clean his mouth, his disinterest palpable.

Elisa’s perfectly sculpted brows drew together in a frown. "This is important, Dawin. No matter how much you achieve, if you’re not married, someone out there will always hold that against you. It’s about securing our legacy, our influence."

He picked up his fork again, twirling it idly. "Still not interested." His tone was utterly detached, dismissive.

She frowned now, a flicker of exasperation crossing her refined features. "By chance... do you already have someone in mind?"

Although she doubted it. This was Dawin. If there was something he didn’t bother with, it was fickle things like falling for a woman. He was ambitious. Goal-driven. Her precious son. Such trivialities didn’t concern him.

There was a pause. Dawin looked up at her, sharp and still. The weight of his stare made her raise her brow. She tried again, even though she already knew the answer. A firm NO.

"I could consider. At least... her family reputation should be on par."

He kept looking at her. His eyes, usually cool and calculating, held a disturbing intensity, a depth that hinted at hidden currents. "Are you willing," he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, "to give me who I want?"

Elisa hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but the need to maintain control, to push her agenda, won out. She slowly, cautiously, nodded.

This... couldn’t be... right?

There couldn’t be someone.

Dawin dropped his cutlery onto the plate with a soft clink. The sound resonated in the quiet room. His eyes were cold, resolute, a decision carved in ice.

"Give her back."

Elisa blinked. "What... do you mean...?"

"Aurora." He said, his voice a hushed, chilling declaration that hung in the air like a sudden frost.

The Matriarch’s eyes went through a rapid series of changes. Confusion, a dawning question. Shock. And then, a profound confusion mixed with deep shock. Her perfectly composed facade crumbled.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦