Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

FLASHBACK TO TEN YEARS AGO...

ADRIEN’S POVThe cold stone floor of the basement hallway feels damp beneath Adrien’s feet. He walks slowly, each step a calculated battle against his own body.

His ribs throb in a steady, agonizing rhythm that matches the heavy beating of his heart. Every breath he takes is shallow, filtering through his chest like broken glass. It hurts.

He keeps one hand pressed firmly against his side, trying to hold his broken pieces together, while his other hand lightly brushes the rough stone of the wall for balance.

The hallway is dark and narrow, smelling of old dust, wet earth, and the faint, bitter scent of coal from the furnace. It’s the only part of the grand Dubois estate that feels honest.

The rest of the house is covered in gold leaf, expensive marble, and glittering chandeliers, but beneath the surface, it’s just as rotten and cold as these underground passages.

He reaches the heavy wooden door that leads to the main floor of the estate. He pauses, his hand resting on the brass handle. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to steel himself, forcing the pain down into a tight, dark corner of his mind.

He cannot afford to look weak. In this house, showing weakness is like pouring blood into a pool of sharks. They will tear him apart just for the satisfaction of watching him bleed.

He pulls the door open and steps into the grand carpeted corridor of the main floor. The sudden transition from the cold, damp basement to the warm, brightly lit hallway makes his eyes water.

He blinks rapidly, his swollen left eyelid stinging under the glare of the crystal chandelier.

He’s only taken a few steps toward his father’s study when a sharp, familiar voice cuts through the silence.

”Well, well. Look what finally decided to crawl out of its hole.”

Adrien freezes. His muscles lock up, a sudden spike of irritation and dread flaring in his chest. He slowly turns his head, his good eye narrowing as he looks at the figure standing near the grand staircase.

It’s Louise.

She is still wearing her school uniform—a dark, perfectly tailored blazer with the gold crest of their elite academy sewn over her heart. Her long, dark hair is styled in flawless, bouncy curls, and her posture is arrogant and entirely unbothered.

Adrien is startled to see her. A wave of confusion washes over him before the realization hits him like a dull blow.

He’s spent so long groaning in pain on his thin basement mattress, lost in his own chaotic thoughts and agonizing memories, that the entire school day has already passed.

The sun has set, the afternoon is gone, and Louise is already back from the academy.

She takes a few slow, deliberate steps toward him. Her polished leather shoes click loudly against the hardwood floor, a sound that makes Adrien’s jaw tighten. She stops a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks him up and down.

A cruel, mocking smile curls the corners of her lips. She stares at his swollen face, her eyes lingering on the dark, purple-and-black bruise that completely surrounds his left eye.

”My god, Adrien,” she scoffs, her voice dripping with fake pity. ”You look absolutely pathetic. Tell me, what does the underside of father’s boots taste like? Did you enjoy rolling around on the floor like a dirty rat?”

Adrien’s hands clench into tight fists at his sides. The sudden movement pulls at the bruised muscles of his chest, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from letting out a sharp gasp of pain. He can feel the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

He doesn’t say a word. He just grits his teeth, his eyes burning with a quiet, lethal hatred as he stares at his half-sister.

He wants nothing more than to wipe that smug, arrogant look off her flawless face, but he knows better. If he strikes her, if he even raises his voice, his father will finish what he started last night.

He forces his expression to go blank. He turns his gaze away from her and begins to walk past, intending to ignore her completely.

But Louise isn’t done with him yet.

As he brushes past her shoulder, her voice drops, becoming sharp and vicious, cutting through the warm air of the hallway like a knife.

”You really are just a stray dog without an owner, aren’t you?” she sneers, turning her head to watch him walk away. ”That’s why you’re constantly panting after my boyfriend like a little bitch in heat. Did you really think someone like Orion Vassilis would ever look at a useless piece of trash like you?”

Adrien stops dead in his tracks.

The hallway suddenly feels suffocatingly hot. His heart hammers against his ribs, a wild rhythm that threatens to choke him. A sudden, violent urge rises in his chest, a burning desire to spin around and throw her own words back in her face.

He’s tempted to tell her the truth.

He’s tempted to laugh in her face and tell her that the one doing the panting isn’t him. He wants to tell her that her ”glorious” fiancé is the one who cornered him in a dark, dusty closet, pinning him against the shelves and begging him for a touch.

He wants to tell her that Orion kissed him with a desperate, bruising hunger that he has clearly never shown to her in all the years they have been set up together.

But he restrains himself. He swallows the words, forcing them back down his throat until they feel like hot coals in his stomach.

He cannot say it. If he ever dares to let those words slip past his lips, he’ll die.

Either his own family will end him to protect their precious merger with the Vassilis family, or... Orion will. Who knows what that lunatic would do if the secret got out?

Adrien is not foolish enough to believe that just because Orion hasn’t physically hurt him yet, he wouldn’t do it later. Orion is a lunatic who operates on whims and violence.

He’s the same person who constantly threatens to cut him open, to pull his heart out, and to embalm his organs just to keep him in a glass box.

Adrien can’t trust him. He can’t trust anyone in this glittering hell.

So, he keeps his mouth shut. He ignores Louise’s mocking laughter echoing behind him and continues walking down the hallway. He doesn’t look back, keeping his eyes fixed on the heavy mahogany double doors at the very end of the corridor.

The entrance to his father’s study.

He stops in front of the doors. He doesn’t raise his hand to knock. He doesn’t wait for a polite invitation, and he doesn’t call out.

In his own small, silent act of rebellion, Adrien simply grabs the heavy brass handle, pushes the door open, and walks straight into the room.

The moment he steps over the threshold, he is hit by a wave of thick, cloying air. The nauseating, heavy scent of Alice’s expensive perfume fills his nose, making his stomach instantly turn.

His skin goes pale, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. His hands begin to shake uncontrollably, and he has to bury them deep inside his pockets to hide the tremors.

The study is vast, lined with towering bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes that nobody in this house ever reads. A grand fire crackles in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the expensive Persian rug.

Sitting behind the massive, dark oak desk is his father, Henri Dubois. He’s holding a glass of amber whiskey, his face flushed and his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl.

And standing right beside him, leaning gracefully against the edge of the desk, is Alice. She is dressed in a dark silk gown, her sharp, cold eyes instantly locking onto Adrien the moment he enters.

Her perfect, manicured fingers toy with a gold pen, her expression neutral but dripping with an underlying cruelty.

Henri’s head snaps up, his eyes widening in immediate, explosive anger when he realizes Adrien didn’t knock.

”How dare you?” Henri roars, slamming his glass down onto the desk. The whiskey sloshes over the rim, staining the polished wood, but he doesn’t care. ”Who gave you permission to enter my room without knocking? Have you completely forgotten your manners, you worthless brat? I should beat some actual sense into you right now!”

He starts to rise from his chair, his large frame towering over the desk, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage.

Adrien’s breath hitches. He instinctively takes a half-step back, his heart stopping as his bruised ribs scream in anticipation of another blow.

But before Henri can step out from behind the desk, Alice raises a hand, her voice cutting through the tension like a cool breeze.

”Now, now, Henri,” she says smoothly, a small smile playing on her lips. ”Calm down. There is no need to ruin your expensive rugs with more of his dirty blood.”