Chapter 84: A Road To The Past
FLASHBACK TO TEN YEARS AGO...ADRIEN’S POVHe must have been losing his mind. He must have been drugged, or possessed, or temporarily brain-dead.
There’s no other explanation for why he let that happen, why his own body betrayed him so completely to the person he is supposed to hate.
He forces himself to think of something else. He needs to redirect his mind before he drowns in the memory of Orion’s touch.
He wonders who is actually spreading those rumors at school. Because someone definitely is. There is a quiet, persistent whisper going around the hallways that Orion is only humoring Louise, that he is only keeping her around to stay close to his real interest, his current toy.
Him.
The rumor makes Adrien’s stomach twist into a tight, anxious knot. He wants to find the person who started that lie and rip their throat out. If he finds them, he will kill them himself, if only to make up for the brutal beating his father gave him because of it.
The memory of last night flashes behind his eyelids, vivid and terrifying.
He can still smell the expensive whiskey on his father’s breath, mixed with the heavy scent of his cologne. He remembers the loud, booming voice calling him disgusting gay slurs as his father’s heavy hand grabbed him by the collar, dragging him off his feet.
He remembers being slammed against the cold basement wall, the dizzying impact making his vision go black for a split second. He remembers sliding down to the floor, his body curling into a tight, protective ball as his father’s heavy leather shoes repeatedly kicked into his ribs, over and over, until he couldn’t even draw enough air to scream.
No one came to help him. No one ever does.
But as he stares blankly at the cracked ceiling, the ice pack long forgotten beside him on the mattress, a strange, confusing question pops into his mind.
If he is so easy to break, if his own father can throw him around like garbage and leave him bleeding on the floor without a second thought, why has Orion never laid a finger on him in anger?
Orion is powerful. He is dangerous. Everyone in their social circle knows that Orion is a loose cannon, a cold, unyielding bastard who does whatever he wants without consequence.
If Orion wanted to crush Adrien, he could do it with a single phone call. He could have him beaten, expelled, or locked away, and no one would lift a finger to help him.
Yet, the only physical thing Orion has ever done to him is corner him in a dark closet and kiss him until they were both breathless.
A bright, hot flush of red creeps up Adrien’s neck, burning all the way to his ears.
He hates him. He has to hate him. Orion is everything Adrien despises about high society. He is an untouchable existence, a person who looks down on everyone else like they are mere insects.
He treats people like playthings, ruining lives just because he is bored, just because he can.
He is exactly like his father, like Louise, and like his stepmother, Alice. They are all cut from the same rotten cloth.
But then, those annoying, confusing thoughts creep back into his mind, messing with his head.
If Orion is really that cruel, why hasn’t he ruined Adrien’s life yet? Why did he look at him with that strange, desperate hunger in the dark? Why did he let him go the moment Adrien pushed against his chest and told him to stop?
Orion didn’t have to stop. He is stronger, bigger, and obviously more powerful. He could have taken whatever he wanted, and Adrien’s own family would have probably packaged him up with a bow and delivered him to Orion’s doorstep just to secure a business deal.
If Orion killed him today, Henri Dubois wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t demand justice. He’d probably use Adrien’s death as an opportunity to cry fake tears on television, playing the grieving father to forge an even deeper, more profitable connection with the Vassilis family.
Adrien’s existence is completely unwanted in his own home. He is a ghost living in the basement, a shadow that everyone wishes would just fade away.
Orion must know that. He knows everything.
So why did he listen to him? Why did he back off when Adrien told him to?
Adrien lets out a frustrated sigh, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. He doesn’t understand Orion. Not even a little bit. But then again, trying to understand a well-known lunatic is a fool’s errand.
The guy operates on a completely different frequency than the rest of the world.
He needs to hold onto his anger. He needs to remember who the enemy is.
He thinks of Timothy. He thinks of how Timothy’s sister was humiliated, isolated, and driven out of the school because she dared to ask Orion to be her date to a dinner party. He thinks of how Timothy’s face darkens with pure, helpless fury whenever Louise and Orion walk past them in the courtyard.
That is who Orion is. A destroyer.
Holding onto Timothy’s hatred helps Adrien anchor himself. It keeps him grounded, reminding him that the weird, thrilling spark he felt in that closet was nothing but a trap, a dangerous illusion designed to break his spirit.
He is still lying there, lost in his chaotic thoughts, when the heavy wooden door of his basement room creaks open.
A young maid stands in the doorway, her head lowered, refusing to look at his bruised face.
"Young master," she says quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "Your father is calling for you. He wants to see you in the study immediately."
’Young master’, his ass. The words feel like a bucket of ice water poured down his back.
Adrien slowly sits up, his muscles aching, his ribs protesting every movement. He grips the edge of the bed, forcing himself to rise to his feet. He straightens his posture, putting his guard back up, preparing himself for whatever round two his father has waiting for him.
Just as his feet touch the cold floor, a sharp, loud crack echoes through the quiet room.
Adrien freezes, his eyes darting toward the small, dirty basement window near the ceiling.
A long, jagged fracture has appeared right across the center of the glass, spreading outward like a spiderweb.
He stares at it, a cold, heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help but feel that the breaking glass is a warning, an ill omen of what is to come.
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