Chapter 104: Your Wasted Lucky Strike
The dark, intricate carvings on the plaster ceiling are the first thing that slowly bleed into focus the moment he opens his eyes.
Adrien blinks once. Then twice. His vision is blurry, swimming in a haze of soft grey shadows and heavy exhaustion, but the pattern above his head is unmistakable.
He knows those swirling lines. He knows the heavy wooden beams crisscrossing overhead and the faint glow of warm light hidden in the corners.
It’s the ceiling of his room in Orion’s mansion.
His mind works through the dense fog clouding his thoughts, dragging him backward through a blur of chaotic memories. It takes a moment for his brain to piece together the timeline of how he ended up back under these familiar wooden beams.
He remembers waking up in that expensively furnished private room right after the crash, the smell of rubbing alcohol and sanitizer heavy in the air.
He remembers being led through the noisy, neon-lit corridors of the casino, surrounded by the deafening hum of slot machines and the sharp scent of stale cigar smoke burning his throat.
He remembers sitting in that suffocating VIP room with Yaya, listening to the man talk in that smooth, calculated tone that made every nerve ending in Adrien’s body scream with warning.
And then, he remembers the sharp feeling of cold fingers against his neck.
Yaya had pressed a firm pressure point right beneath his jaw with scary precision. That bastard knocked him out like a goddamn ninja.
The world had tilted sideways in an instant, and as darkness swallowed him whole, a sharp spike of terror had pierced straight through Adrien’s chest.
Even though Yaya had claimed with that eerie calm smile that he had no intention of hurting him, blacking out like that had felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff and falling into an endless abyss with no end in sight.
He had dropped into the dark with the sickening, gut-wrenching fear that this might be the last time he would ever open his eyes.
A part of him believed that he would ever wake up again.
In this world, when a man like Yaya puts you to sleep, you usually do not wake up.
Yet here he is. Living. Breathing. Heart beating steadily against his ribs.
A heavy, overwhelming wave of relief washes over him, so intense it makes his aching muscles sag into the mattress beneath him. He’s safe. The realization settles deep into his chest, warm and undeniable.
For all the danger, unpredictability, and sheer madness that breathes within the walls of this mansion, it’s still the one place where no outside hand can reach him. In Orion’s domain, he’s shielded by a lunatic far more terrifying than anyone lurking in the shadows outside.
Then, an agitating, grating voice cuts straight through the quiet darkness of the room.
"Why are you staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers to the universe, duckling? Why not stare at me like that instead?"
Adrien doesn’t turn his head. He keeps his gaze firmly locked on the plaster above, deliberately ignoring the towering presence sitting right at his bedside.
He’s not sulking. He is simply over it. He has survived a kidnapping, a car crash, and a shadowy mob boss, only to wake up next to a completely different kind of nightmare.
He doesn’t have the energy to deal with the dramatic bastard sitting next to him.
Orion is leaning over the edge of the bed, watching him watch the ceiling with unblinking intensity. One of his large, calloused hands reaches out, slowly caressing the top of Adrien’s head, smoothing down his dark hair with rhythmic strokes.
It’s fucking eerie.
It sends a cold shiver sliding right down Adrien’s spine. He can practically feel the dark, heavy energy radiating off the man. It hangs in the air like heavy smoke, densely suffocating, and charged with something deeply unstable.
Orion is vibrating with a quiet, dangerous aura that fills every corner of the vast bedroom.
Adrien’s well-honed instincts, finely tuned over years of dodging dangerous people, volatile madmen, and life-threatening situations, scream at him to play dead.
Close your eyes. Stop breathing. Pretend you are still out cold. Don’t give him a reason to start talking.
Unfortunately, his eyes are already wide open, and Orion is staring straight into them with frightening clarity.
Instead of asking him if he is in pain, or if he needs a doctor, or if he is feeling fine after taking a bad hit to the head, Orion leans in a fraction closer, a dark, dangerous glint burning in his dark eyes.
"Did you miss me as much as I missed you? Because I really missed you, Adrien." Orion asks softly, his voice thick with an unsettling warmth.
Adrien opens his mouth to speak, ready to unleash a sharp, biting insult, but instead of words, his dry throat betrays him. A violent, rattling cough tears through his chest, shaking his bruised frame and sending a sharp pang of pain through his sore ribs.
Before he can push himself up or struggle against the pain, heavy hands grab his shoulders. Orion moves with startling gentleness, lifting Adrien into a sitting position and propping the heavy pillows carefully behind his back.
He reaches for a glass of water sitting on the nightstand, holding it up to Adrien’s pale lips with careful patience.
Adrien doesn’t resist. He takes three long, eager gulps, letting the cool liquid soothe his raw, burning throat before pulling his head back with a small gasp.
He clears his throat, wiping a stray drop of water from his chin with the back of his uninjured hand. Then, he turns his head slowly and looks Orion dead in the eye.
"Are your soulless eyes still working right? Or have you finally lost your sight, you pupil-less bastard?" Adrien rasps out, his voice rough and scratchy like sandpaper. "Because do I look like a person who has missed your irritating ass?"
Orion doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t even scowl or show a flash of irritation. Instead, he smiles at him. It’s a tender expression, soft around the edges, suited for a man utterly taken with his prize, but terrifying given the murderous edge still lingering in his posture.
The man is just a walking mess of contradictions.
"I was worried you had gone through mental torture," Orion says smoothly, his voice dripping with affection as he leans his chin on his hand, studying Adrien’s face. "I thought you might not be able to retain your wonderful sass. But seeing as you’re speaking normally, you seem to be just fine."
Adrien rolls his eyes, resting the back of his head against the wooden headboard. "Well, contrary to the way I’m treated by you in this place, Yaya treated me like a king. He had great food, quiet rooms, and no crazy people breathing down my neck every two seconds."
It’s a lie, but it’s the sentiment that counts.
In an instant, the tender warmth on Orion’s face vanishes. His expression darkens, the dark light in his eyes snapping into something cold, sharp, and downright murderous.
The air in the room feels like it drops ten degrees in a single second.
"Your time with Yaya will be a brief memory," Orion says, his voice flat, low, and smooth as glass. "Because I intend to put that bastard’s picture on an obituary very soon."
Adrien watches the dark rage rolling across Orion’s face. He sees the manic edge creeping back into his posture, the dangerous tension tightening his jaw, the deadly promise written in the sharp angle of his shoulders.
This absolute nightmare of a madman!
Without warning, Adrien reaches out with his uninjured right hand, grabs the front of Orion’s shirt, and yanks him forward with all the strength he can muster.
Orion’s breath hitches as he’s pulled off balance. Before he can react or question the sudden movement, Adrien leans in and presses his lips against Orion’s in a quick, firm kiss.
It’s chaste, brief, and unprompted.
Adrien pulls away just as fast, releasing his grip on the shirt and leaning back against his pillows as if nothing happened.
Orion sits frozen on the edge of the bed. The terrifying mob boss who makes whole syndicates tremble looks as if he has just been struck by lightning.
His eyes are wide, lost in complete wonder. Slowly, hesitatingly, Orion brings two fingers up to his mouth, brushing his own lips as if trying to prove to himself that the kiss actually happened.
Adrien lets out a dark, amused huff of laughter, watching the sheer chaos take over Orion’s brain.
"I might have been losing my mind," Adrien says softly, his wicked eyes gleaming despite the purple bruises decorating his face. "Because while Yaya had me locked away, I didn’t think of anything else. I just kept waiting for a manic lunatic to come busting through the doors to get me out. Even if the said lunatic never actually showed up."
Orion continues to stare at him, looking captivated, as if Adrien has just handed him the keys to the universe.
The lingering threat of violence against Yaya seems to melt into the background, replaced by an overwhelming, starry-eyed focus on Adrien.
Adrien leans forward slightly, his body aching from the bruised ribs and the splint on his wrist, but his gaze remains sharp and mocking.
"If you had actually busted in to save me like a hero," Adrien adds with a low chuckle, "you might have gotten lucky tonight. A very lucky strike."