Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

ADRIEN’S POV

I hate this. I hate the way every single piece of my pain is reduced to political leverage on a board I never wanted to play on.

I hate that my trauma, my family’s dirtiness, and my half-sister’s hatred are all being used as fuel to unknowingly power a war between Orion and his aunt.

I hate that Louise is walking a path she doesn’t even know has been set out for her.

But more than anything, I hate the eerie certainty settling over me that I cannot stay clean in whatever is going on. The dirt is already on my hands. The stain has already spread.

The car slows down, turning into the underground parking garage beneath Orion’s office building. Once again, another ’office’ building. ℴ

The sudden transition from grey daylight to buzzing overhead lamps casts long, sharp shadows across the back seat, cutting across Orion’s face and obscuring his features in the dim light.

When the car stops, Niko opens the door from the outside, holding a wide umbrella over his head despite being under a concrete roof.

A mocking smirk rests on his face, but there is something restless and sharp in his amber eyes that only adds to the heavy atmosphere lingering in the air.

”Welcome to the war room, little puppy,” Niko says lightly, tapping his fingers against the top of the door frame. ”The phone lines have been ringing off the hook for hours. Half the board members think you are a walking liability, and the other half are waiting to see who the boss decides to destroy first.”

I ignore his tone, but the words sink straight into my ribs, cold and heavy. I step out of the car, gripping the tablet tightly against my coat, feeling the chill of the underground garage seep through my clothes.

”Are the reports tracing Louise’s finances ready?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay flat.

Niko blinks, his smile faltering for a second as he registers the lack of hesitation in my tone. ”Look at you, giving orders. Yes, the trace came through ten minutes ago. The money used to buy the press channels came from a blind account registered overseas.”

”Show me,” I say, stepping past him toward the private elevator.

I hear Orion step out of the vehicle behind me, his rhythmic footsteps echoing against the concrete floor as he follows close. He doesn’t stop me.

He doesn’t tell me to go sit in a room or wait until the ones with actual power have finished speaking. He simply watches me with that unreadable, heavy intensity, letting me walk ahead as we enter the secure floor of his intelligence center.

The private elevator rises in total silence. I stare at my blurred reflection in the polished steel walls, watching the way my heart beats against my collarbone.

Every second that passes heightens this bizarre, lingering sense of dread. I feel like a man walking into a room where the furniture has been rearranged under the cover of the night.

I know the shape of my life; I know the trauma that brought me here, but the boundaries are shifting. The rules I used to rely on— hide, endure, keep your head down, wait for the storm to pass— do not work here.

In Orion’s world, keeping your head down only makes your neck easier to cut.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing a wide, dimly lit intelligence operations center. The room is filled with the steady, quiet hum of high-powered computer servers and a dozen technicians sitting before glowing glass monitors.

Financial flowcharts, media tracking algorithms, and network maps fill the massive wall displays, bathing the room in a dull, ghostly blue light.

I walk up to the central glass table, tapping my tablet to sync it with the main display screen.

I refuse to sit back like a helpless victim whose only job is to wait for Orion to handle everything. If my life is being dissected by the public, if my past is being weaponized to tear down the people around me, then I am going to stand right here and look at every single piece of data myself.

But even as I lean over the glowing table, the frustration inside my chest feels like a physical knot, tight and painful.

”The money trail splits here,” I say, pointing to a red node on the main map. ”The overseas account funded three separate shell companies, which then issued payments to public relations brokers in New York and Paris. But look at the timestamps on these approvals.”

Niko leans over the glass table, his playful demeanor vanishing as his eyes scan the rows of codes. ”The transfers were set up two weeks before the press release. Before we even retrieved you from Masamune.”

”She planned this well in advance,” I say, my throat feeling dry and rough, like I have been swallowing grit. ”Louise waited until you were out of the country, until the security detail in charge of Orion’s privacy was lax.”

”She wanted maximum impact,” Orion says softly, stepping up right behind me. His presence is heavy and warm, wrapping around the space behind my shoulder like a shadow. ”She didn’t just want to hurt you, Adrien. She wanted to disrupt the logistics of everything I was working on. And it worked.”

He’s playing with me. He wants me to ask what he’s been working on. I won’t.

”Because they think you are distracted,” I whisper, looking at the financial loss estimates listed in the corner of the display.

”Because they think I am getting careless,” Orion corrects quietly, his voice hovering right near my ear. ”In our world, an emotional distraction is seen as a fatal flaw. They think you are my distraction.”

I bite the inside of my lip hard until I taste the sharp, metallic tang of blood.

The truth is an unbearable weight. My presence beside Orion is no longer just a private matter, a quiet battle fought behind closed doors in his estate. I am a public political target.

Every move I make, every piece of my past that gets exposed, ripples outward and affects hundreds of people who rely on Orion’s authority to keep their business safe.