Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

ADRIEN’S POV

The quiet of the bedroom feels suffocating. I sit on the edge of the large bed, staring blankly at the tiles beneath my feet.

The silence inside my own head is far worse than the silence in the room. Every time I close my eyes, I see those pictures flashing across the television screen in the living room.

I see the dank, smelly alleys, the threadbare clothes, the dirty motel mattresses, and that pixelated video clip exposing every single detail of my ruined past to millions of homes across the world.

A heavy wave of self-loathing settles deep in my chest. I fucking hate this shit.

Part of me wishes I could just break down. I wish I was the kind of person who could turn into a whiny little shit, someone who could just cry, grab onto Orion’s hand, and blindly go along with whatever he tells me to do.

It would be so much easier to surrender, to let him take full control of my life while I hide under the covers and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.

I know I have been through a lot.

I ran away at seventeen, spent three years starving and sleeping on the streets, sold my body just to buy a plate of cold food, and then got dragged right back into Orion’s possessive orbit once I finally managed to get my life back on track.

After that, it was dealing with Louise again, standing in the same courtyard as Alice Dubois, surviving a car accident, getting taken by Masamune where I fully expected to die, getting returned alive, getting legally married to Orion, and actually having sex with him.

And now, this.

I can see that my life has been one long, relentless storm.

Honestly, the hardest part of all this is looking back at these past few weeks and trying to figure out where I even got the courage to sleep with Orion.

What was going through my head? Maybe I was just exhausted. Maybe my brain simply shut down after being pushed past its limit for so long.

It isn’t something I can easily explain to myself. Just like I still can’t explain why Orion is so obsessed with me in the first place.

He is a lunatic obsessed with a man who spent our school days acting like a quiet shadow, following him around with killing intent and watching his every move.

I drop my face into my hands, rubbing my eyes until bright spots dance behind my eyelids.

I don’t want to think about it anymore. But I am not going to sit here like a ghost in an empty house, waiting around for Orion to fix everything while I lose my mind.

I have spent too much of my life sitting in one place, waiting to see if things will get better or worse.

That kind of waiting leaves a bitter, sickening taste in my mouth. It is the exact feeling that drove me to run away from the academy when I was seventeen, back when everything was falling apart and I couldn’t bear to stand still for another second.

I know Orion isn’t weak enough to let the police march into his estate and drag me out. I had nothing to do with that bombing at the engagement party, so I shouldn’t be arrested anyway.

They might want to pick me up for questioning, but they won’t be able to touch me because Orion is Orion.

He holds the courts, the police, and the city in his hands.

Still, staying trapped in this room while the world outside burns is driving me insane.

A soft, polite knock echoes against the heavy wood of the bedroom door.

"Come in," I call out, my voice sounding flat and tired.

The door opens slowly, and one of the mansion’s maids steps inside. She is holding a small silver tray with a porcelain plate resting on top.

When she looks up at me, a strange, warm expression covers her face. It is a genuine, bright smile, the kind of look someone gives a person they are genuinely fond of.

I narrow my eyes slightly, watching her step into the room.

Thinking about it now, most of the staff in Orion’s mansion look at me like this. Whenever I walk down the hallways or sit in the dining room, the maids and guards smile at me with this quiet, gentle affection that I cannot comprehend.

I am a runaway, a former street rat, and a man whose past was just broadcast on global news as a national scandal. So why does she look so happy to see me?

"What is that?" I ask, keeping my tone cautious as I lean back on the bed.

"It is a slice of warm apple pie, Mr. Vassilis," she says softly, setting the tray down on the small table near the armchair.

Who the fuck is Mr... Oh, that’s me now. Fuck.

"I didn’t ask for any food," I murmur, eyeing the golden crust of the pie.

"Before Mr. Vassilis left the estate, he gave strict instructions for the staff to cater to your every need," the maid explains, her smile widening just a little. "The head chef knows that apple pie is your favorite dessert, so he decided to bake a fresh one for you. If you finish this slice and would like another, please let me know right away."

I stare at her for a moment, my brow pulling down into a faint frown. I react in my usual reluctant, guarded way, like a suspicious cat being offered a treat by a stranger.

I look past her toward the wall mirror, catching a glimpse of her reflection. She really does look pleased just standing there in my room.

I don’t understand her, and I don’t think I ever will.

"Okay," I say slowly, shifting on the bed. "Thanks."

"Enjoy, sir," she says with a slight bow before turning and quietly exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

The thought of the food being poisoned does not even cross my mind. Who would be stupid enough to poison a plate of food inside Orion’s mansion?

It would be far too dangerous. The floor would run red with blood before the sun went down.

Besides, I wouldn’t want to die here anyway, if only to save the innocent staff from having to deal with the terrifying aftermath of Orion’s rage.

I slide off the edge of the bed and walk over to the small table. I pull the armchair out and sit down, picking up the small silver fork resting beside the plate.

I take a bite of the pie.

The crust is flaky, and the filling is warm, sweet, and perfectly spiced with cinnamon. It tastes amazing. Truly, the chef here is incredible at his job.

I take another small bite, chewing slowly as the warm food settles the nervous knot in my stomach. I make a mental note to tell the maid to pass my compliments to the chef when she comes back to collect the empty plate later.

As I lean over the table to take a third bite, a strand of dark hair falls forward, brushing against my cheek and blocking my view of the plate.

I tuck the hair behind my ear, but it immediately slides back down over my eye.

I stop. I look at my reflection in the dark glass of the window across the room.

My hair has gotten noticeably longer over the past few weeks. It falls past my jaw now, messy and uneven around my neck.

I look like an androgynous twink. Fuck. That just soured my mood.

"Hmm," I mutter to myself, staring at my reflection. "My hair is getting long."

The realization hits me out of nowhere, clicking into place like a key turning in a lock.

I stand up abruptly from the chair.

My movement is so sudden that my hand knocks against the porcelain plate. The silver fork clatters loudly against the rim, ringing out in the quiet room.

"Who says I have to sit here and wait for this shit to tide over?" I say out loud, my voice echoing off the high ceiling. "This is it."

A sudden surge of restless energy rushes through my veins, wiping away the suffocating fog that has been weighing down my chest all afternoon.

I am done sitting in this room. I am done hiding behind closed doors while people talk about me on television.

In the next second, I stride over to the nightstand and snatch up the sleek new phone Orion gave me a few weeks ago.

I swipe the screen open, navigate straight to his contact, and press the call button. I hold the device to my ear, listening to the rings on the line.

He picks up on the first ring.

Before he can even utter a single word, before he can drop his voice into that smooth, soothing tone he uses to mind-control me, I cut straight through the silence.

"Get your ass back home when you’re done fucking around," I snap into the receiver, my grip tightening around the metal casing of the phone.

"We’re going out, bastard."