Traded To Mr Dawson Cage

Eight

Dawson stared at me for a long moment with irritation like he was going to rip off my head from my neck after I asked about my mother.

Then suddenly, he gave this cold sarcastic little laugh under his breath.

“You choose now to care about appearances?” he muttered.

Before I could react, his hand clamped tightly around my arm which made me gasped softly at the pressure.

He leaned slightly closer without looking at me directly. His expression was perfectly composed for the people watching us.

“If you manage to stand here quietly without embarrassing me,” he said under his breath, “then maybe I’ll consider telling you where your stupid mother was buried.”

My entire body went rigid.

“My mother is not stupid,” I whispered sharply.

My lips trembled so badly I could barely get the words out. “Don’t insult her.”

He clenched his jaw instantly.

The air between us turned sharp and dangerous. I could feel his anger rising, but I didn’t care.

He already took everything from me. So what else was there left to fear?

The priest cleared his throat awkwardly beside us, clearly sensing the tension.

“We are gathered here today—”

I tuned the rest of his words out.

My arm still hurt beneath Dawson’s grip. Even when he finally loosened it, he still held me enough to remind me he was entirely in control.

I stared straight ahead numbly while the ceremony continued around us.

The priest spoke about love, commitment and devotion. But no matter how beautiful those words sounded, it sickened me.

A bitter laugh almost escaped me because it sounded cruel and I knew nothing about this union with Dawson Cage had nothing to do with love.

Nothing about this was sacred because it was ownership, control and punishment.

I could feel everyone watching us.

The small congregation sat silently, observing like they were witnessing some glamorous union instead of a disaster.

I spotted Morgana again who looked relaxed now, almost relieved like a woman who had successfully escaped a prison by locking someone else inside instead.

The sight of her made my stomach twist yet again but I looked away quickly before my emotions would spill over completely.

The priest's voice boomed again.

“Do you take—”

“Yes,” Dawson interrupted flatly.

The priest blinked slightly.

I stared at Dawson in disbelief but he didn’t even look at me like marrying me was nothing more than signing another business contract he couldn't wait to be over with.

The priest awkwardly turned toward me next.

“And do you—”

I froze.

The word caught in my throat because everything inside me screamed not to say it.

My mother’s face flashed through my mind again before Dawson’s voice came quietly beside me.

“Don’t test me.” He growled quietly.

I closed my eyes briefly and then I whispered, “I do.”

My stomach churned and the tears returned to my eyes but I rapidly blinked them back.

The ceremony continued too quickly after that and before I could fully process any of it, the priest smiled nervously at the sight of Dawson’s scowl.

“By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

My chest twisted violently at the thought of his priest's next words.

“Now you may kiss—”

Before the priest could even finish speaking,

Dawson suddenly grabbed my face and crashed his lips hard against my cheek.

I flinched instantly because the force of it startled me more than the kiss itself.

Of course, he didn't kiss me on the lips.

Did he swear already never to do that?

But even with the kiss against my cheek, it felt possessive like he was sealing the ownership in front of his witnesses.

Rage exploded through me so fast it almost made me dizzy.

I turned my head sharply away from him the moment he pulled back and the congregation immediately started clapping.

The sound of the applause echoed through the church loudly, followed by congratulations, smiles and approval.

I felt like I was suffocating.

Dawson stepped closer beside me as we both turned toward the small crowd.

To them, we probably looked powerful, elegant and untouchable but only I knew I was bound in hell.

My hands curled tightly into fists at my sides as the continuous applause filled the church.

I wanted to scream at every single one of them and tell them this wasn’t a wedding, that I was standing beside the man who destroyed my life and also tell them my mother was dead and I didn’t even know where she was buried.

But instead, I stood there like a doll dressed in white while rage and bitterness flooded every inch of my veins.

The applause eventually died and one by one, people began leaving the church.

I stood there numb while everything around me slowly emptied out.

Husband.

The word made me feel physically ill.

Dawson remained beside me speaking briefly with a few men near the altar while I stood silently in my white dress feeling less like a bride and more like a hostage displayed for approval.

Morgana passed by me at some point.

“Well, you survived,” she murmured with faint amusement.

I didn’t even bother to look at her because I knew if I did, I might have slapped her.

She gave a soft laugh under her breath and eventually, the church became quiet.

I slowly turned my head towards the entrance of the church, desperate for air or something that didn’t feel suffocating.

But then I froze at the sight of a woman who stood elegantly near the entrance.

My breath caught instantly as I shook my head slightly in disbelief.

No, that wasn’t possible.

My heartbeat slammed violently against my ribs as I stared for a while longer.

Then she began to slowly walk towards me.

I knew that face.

The familiarity of the shape of her eyes, the way she carried herself and even the slight tilt of her head.

My lips parted soundlessly.

“No…” I whispered weakly.

Tears immediately burned behind my eyes again and my body refused to move because it felt like a dream.

Dawson said she was dead, he said she didn't survive.

But the woman walking towards me wasn't sick or weak or dying. She's alive and she's here in flesh and blood.

My breathing became uneven and for one horrible moment, I genuinely wondered if I had finally lost my mind.

Maybe grief had finally broken me completely and I was now hallucinating.

But this woman didn't look anything like my hallucination and I didn't even know when I took a step back.

When I noticed she wasn't smiling but had a satisfied smirk on her face, confusion cut through my shock instantly.

My mother never looked at me like that yet somehow, it was still her face.

My legs felt weak beneath me and I think Dawson noticed my sudden stillness because I felt his gaze shift toward me but I barely registered him.

The woman kept approaching and then a pathetic sob broke out of me.

“Mother?” I whispered under my breath.