Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

ADRIEN’S POV

You can almost smell the giddy, unhinged delight coming off Orion as he steps out of the car and follows me through the amusement park’s entrance.

He is so happy it is almost nauseating. Well, it should feel nauseating, but as I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, a small, subtle smile touches my lips.

Truthfully, I was nervous before I walked out of that bedroom.

The last time I cross-dressed as a woman was all those months ago, right before this lunatic somehow found me.

Back then, it wasn’t some bold fashion statement or a game. The bar simply wasn’t hiring male servers for the floor positions I wanted.

Women made twice as much in tips, and I needed cash desperately just to buy cheap meals and pay for my rent.

Nobody looked closely at my ID or asked questions as long as I put on a dress, fixed a wig, and carried the trays.

When I looked in the mirror earlier today and saw how long my hair had grown, I made a sudden, impulsive choice. I didn’t want to sit in my room wallowing in self-hate and anxiety while the media tore my past to shreds.

I called back the maid who had brought me that warm slice of apple pie, asking her if she knew anything about cutting hair. She confessed she didn’t, but she quickly hurried out and brought back a second maid.

The first maid introduced herself as Clara, while the second introduced herself as Melissa. As they sat me down, trimmed my hair, and styled it into a sleek, neat bob, the two of them chattered away like excited songbirds.

I couldn’t catch everything they were whispering about, but one thing was abundantly clear— they were genuinely happy to help me. They liked me. In fact, that seems to be the general consensus among all the staff in Orion’s mansion.

While they cut my hair, they giggled softly, mentioning how clear my skin was, how sharp my jawline looked, how flattering my waist appeared whenever I wore tailored suits, and how my brown eyes were the prettiest thing they had ever seen.

By the time they finished styling the bob, my face was a brilliant, crimson shade of red. They just smiled fondly at me, packed up their tools, and chattered happily as they left the room.

I left the apple pie on the small table and walked straight into Orion’s master bedroom to do my makeup.

Don’t ask me why I went into his room instead of staying in my own. Even I don’t know.

There is just something about his scent— that heavy, rich scent of expensive cedar and rain— that seems to make something inside me firm up.

It lights a fire under my blood, driving away the cold fear that usually lingers in the back of my mind.

As I sat at his vanity, applying dark eyeliner and painting my lips with glossy red lipstick, a stray thought crossed my mind.

Wouldn’t Orion like to see me wiggling into a dress? What would that lunatic do if he actually got to watch the process of me cross-dressing right in front of him?

When I finished getting dressed, I stood up and found myself staring at the large painting mounted over his fireplace.

I looked at the canvas for a long, quiet minute.

I realized then that perhaps the only person in my entire life who has ever wanted me, searched for me, and thought about me— barring my dead mother —is this absolute madman whose room I’m standing in right now.

It is impossible to explain how it feels to stand beneath a realistic portrait of yourself. In the painting, I wasn’t smiling, nor was I glaring in anger.

I just was.

I was simply there. Yet, even in that neutral pose, you could see the subtle, careful brushstrokes Orion used to highlight every detail of my face. He made me look like something far more than I am.

I couldn’t help but wonder if this is truly how Orion sees me. Does he really see me as someone greater than a son my own father didn’t want?

Does he see me as someone more than a former street rat pretending to be a real human being?

I told myself right then that if this is how he sees me, I want to be that person for a day. I want to stand tall, the same way his presence effortlessly commands all the attention in a room.

I want to command his attention. I want it to be true.

So, I picked up the press-on nails Clara had left on the vanity before she exited. They were long, blood-red, and sharp as stiletto heels. I pressed them onto my fingertips one by one, liking the weight and dangerous edge they gave my hands.

Besides, what is the point of being an androgynous twink if I’m not going to dress up as a woman once in a while?

When the bedroom door opened and Orion walked in, I turned around. The moment I caught my reflection in his eyes, I realized Orion isn’t the only crazy person in this fucked-up relationship.

I saw the way he took me in, the way his dark pupils dilated until his eyes looked like pitch-black pools, absorbing every inch of my frame.

A wild rush of excitement hit my chest.

I commanded him. I dragged the heavy boxes of chocolates and the chaotic bouquet of flowers out of his hands.

Honestly, the bouquet was an absolute disaster to look at, a messy, violent clash of colors, but in its own strange way, it fit the chaos of Orion’s mind perfectly.

As for the chocolates, they will serve their purpose in fattening me up over the next week, because I intend to eat every single one of them.

I almost broke into a stupidly gay, breathless laugh right there in the bedroom. It’s the little things that make me genuinely happy.

But I held it back, forcing myself to maintain my composure because I was going to be strong, powerful Adrien today. Well, female Adrien.

And now, here we are, walking through the bright, noisy gates of the amusement park.

Music blasts from hidden speakers, neon lights flicker in brilliant shades of pink, yellow, and blue, and the scent of sweet popcorn fills the air.

I picked this specific park because it is miles away from the hustle and bustle of high society. People here don’t care about corporate scandals or national news.

It is a simple, vibrant place filled with young couples on dates, teenagers laughing in groups, and parents watching their small children run toward the rides.

Nobody recognizes us. Nobody gives us a second glance.

As we walk down the path, Orion stays glued to my side. He never lets his touch leave my body for more than a second.

His hand rests firmly against my shoulder, slides down to the small of my back, or gently wraps around my forearm, constantly crowding my space as if he is trying to shield me from the rest of the world.

He looks at me like I am the only living person in this entire park.

Usually, I would shove him away or tell him to back off, but today, I find myself accepting his touch without complaint.

”Look at that line,” I say, pointing toward a massive roller coaster that looms over the far side of the park. ”We’re going on that first.”

”Whatever you want, duckling,” Orion murmurs, his voice low and smooth.

We trek across the park, hitting every ride we pass. We board the dark, twisting indoor coasters, the spinning teacups, and the towering drop rides that send your stomach flying into your throat.

Through it all, Orion maintains his sinister, unhinged presence, though he tries his best to behave.

At one point, while we are standing in line near a kiddie carousel, Orion glances down at a group of small children eating cotton candy. He doesn’t even say anything, but he smiles at them— a wide, menacing, terrifying grin that sends two of the toddlers into instant, screaming tears.

Their mother quickly ushers them away, shooting us a horrified look.

I immediately smack Orion hard on the arm with my white handbag.

”Behave yourself, you lunatic,” I snap, though I have to fight the urge to smirk. ”You’re scaring the kids.”

Orion doesn’t even flinch at the hit. He just chuckles softly, adjusting his glasses as he looks down at me. ”I was merely sharing in their joy, Adrien.”

”Your smile looks like a villain preparing to execute someone,” I roll my eyes, stepping forward as the line moves. ”Keep your teeth to yourself.”

After the rides, I drag him over to the carnival game booths lined up along the central walkway. Bright plush animals hang from the wooden rafters, tempting passersby.

”Win me that giant white bear,” I command, pointing to a booth featuring a balloon-popping dart game.