Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

ADRIEN’S POV

The heavy, rustling sound of Louise’s ice-blue gown fades down the hallway, leaving nothing but the sharp, rhythmic click of her heels echoing against the marble floors.

Then, even that disappears.

I’m left standing entirely alone in the dim, suffocating silence of the church hallway. The air feels heavy, pressing against my chest like a physical weight, making it hard to draw a proper breath.

I stare at the empty corner where she vanished, my mind spinning so fast I feel dizzy.

A virgin.

The words repeat in my head, a relentless, mocking loop. Orion Vassilis is a virgin.

I let out a sharp, ragged breath, running my hand through my hair and completely ruining whatever neat style the stylists had spent an hour perfecting. I grip the strands, pulling slightly just to feel the sting of pain, desperately trying to anchor myself back to reality.

It doesn’t make sense. It defies every piece of logic I’ve built my life on.

I try to force a sarcastic laugh, to laugh it off as some elaborate, pathetic joke Louise conjured up to mess with my head. But the hollow, dead look in her eyes before she walked away tells me everything I need to know. Louise Dubois doesn’t lie about her failures.

Her pride is too immense, too fragile. For her to admit that she spent ten years being utterly ignored, that she spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on private investigators only to find absolutely nothing—that was her raw, ugly truth.

But why? Why does learning this affect me so much?

I lean my head back against the cold stone wall, staring up at the grand, vaulted ceiling of the church restroom corridor. My heart is drumming a frantic, irregular beat against my ribs.

So what if Orion is a virgin?

So what if he dated my half-sister for almost a decade and never once touched her? So what if he didn’t look at women, didn’t look at men, and lived like some untouchable, ice-cold monk while ruling a literal empire of blood and money?

It shouldn’t matter to me. It shouldn’t change a single damn thing.

He’s still the arrogant, controlling monster who dragged me back into this glittering hellhole. He’s still the man who forced a ring onto my finger and treats me like a prize he’s finally locked in a cage.

My hatred for him is supposed to be simple. It’s supposed to be clean, sharp, and easy to maintain.

But it isn’t. Not anymore.

A cold shiver runs down my spine as a frustratingly simple piece of math solves itself in my brain.

If Orion has never touched Louise...

If Orion has never let anyone into his bed, or his life, or his space for the last ten years...

And if the only person he has ever crossed those boundaries with is me...

Then that means the desperate, intoxicating kiss in the darkness of that dusty school janitor’s closet wasn’t just my first kiss.

It was his, too.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, leaving me completely breathless. The phantom sensation of his lips crushing against mine flashes through my mind, so vivid and intense that I can almost taste the smoke and wood on my tongue.

I remember the heat. I remember the way my hands had gripped his jacket, how my body had betrayingly melted into his broad chest despite the screaming warnings in my head.

That damn bastard.

He was seventeen. I was seventeen. We were both drowning in a sea of toxic family expectations, hatred, and confusing, violent tension. But while I ran away to escape the suffocating weight of it all, Orion stayed.

He stayed, he conquered, and he froze. He turned himself into a living block of ice, untouchable to the rest of the world, only to give in the very second he laid his dark, hungry eyes on me again.

I feel a strange, hot tightness in my throat. It’s terrifying. I don’t want to be Orion’s ”only.” I don’t want to be the sole exception to his cold, lifeless world.

If he’s just a mindless monster driven by a passing whim, I can fight him. I can hate him. But if his obsession is something deeper, something that has kept him completely celibate and isolated for a decade...

How the hell am I supposed to escape that?

”M-Monsieur Dubois?”

A timid, trembling voice shatters my spiral.

I violently blink, snapping my head toward the sound. A young, pale-faced server is standing a few feet away. He’s clutching a silver tray with shaking hands, his eyes wide and terrified as if he expects me to hit him just for speaking.

He looks incredibly out of place in his neat waistcoat, his knuckles white against the metal.

I quickly smooth down my jacket, my defensive walls instantly slamming back into place. My expression goes completely blank, the cold, arrogant mask of a Dubois settling over my features.

Even if I’m a pathetic runaway, my surname is still Dubois.

”What is it?” I drawl, my voice cool and dismissive.

The boy swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. ”Monsieur Vassilis... he sent me to find you, sir. He—he instructed me to tell you that you are to make your way to the main terrace immediately.”

My jaw tightens. Of course. Orion is already barking orders, treating me like a dog that needs to be whistled back to his side.

”Is that so?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

”Y-yes, sir,” the waiter squeaks, sweating under the dim hallway lights. ”He said... he said to tell you your fiancé is waiting. He is currently on the terrace, where the matriarchs are.”

The matriarchs. My stepmother, Alice, and his aunt, Lady Dimitra. The two puppet masters of this entire tragic circus.

A cold wave of dread and irritation washes over me. The last thing I want to do is stand under the judgmental, calculating glares of those two women while Orion parries their passive-aggressive thrusts.

But I also know that avoiding them will only make me look weak. In this den of vipers, showing even a hint of hesitation is an invitation to be torn apart.

”Fine,” I sigh, waving my hand dismissively. ”You’ve delivered your message. You can go.”

”Thank you, Monsieur!” The boy nods frantically, looking as though he’s just been granted a stay of execution. He clutches his tray to his chest and practically sprints down the hallway, eager to get as far away from the Vassilis and Dubois drama as humanly possible.

I wish I could too.

I stare after him for a moment, letting out a slow, heavy breath. I need to get my head in the game. I can’t let Orion see how much Louise’s words have rattled me. I need to be sharp. I need to be cold.

I turn around, intending to head toward the exit of the church restroom corridor and make my way to the terrace.

But as I round the first corner, I freeze.

Standing right in the middle of the narrow passage, completely blocking my path, is Leon.

For a second, neither of us speaks.

The silence of the hallway stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. Leon looks entirely different from the arrogant, composed cousin of Orion I usually see.

He’s leaning slightly against the marble wall, but there is no ease in his posture. He looks exhausted. His tailored suit, which should look impeccable, seems to hang heavily on his frame, and his shoulders are slightly slumped.

But it’s his eyes that catch my attention.

Leon’s blue eyes—usually so sharp, calculating, and filled with a quiet, simmering resentment—are dim. They are dull, completely devoid of their usual spark, looking like faded glass.

I open my mouth to spit a cold, mocking remark, to tell him to get out of my way, but he speaks first. His voice is quiet, flat, and entirely drained of energy.

”Is this truly the life you want for yourself, Adrien?”

I pause, my eyes narrowing. ”What?”