Chapter 174: Do I Look Like A Princess?

ADRIEN’S POV

The air in the study is so heavy it feels like breathing underwater.

Lady Dimitra does not blink at Orion’s attitude. She sets her porcelain teacup onto its saucer with slow, agonizing deliberation, the faint click ringing out like a death knell in the silence.

"You always did lack decorum, Orion," she says, her voice low and laced with pure poison. "You drag this disgraced boy into my home, destroy my property, and insult me in my own study, all to cover up the fact that your little marriage is a ticking time bomb."

Damn. Guess who the disgraced boy is?

Orion does not even blink. Their mannerisms are so identical, that it’s weird to watch. He takes another step forward, effortlessly occupying the center of the room like he owns every brick, every book, and every breath taken inside it.

"I didn’t bring him here to hide him, Old Hag," Orion says, his tone disgustingly casual as he rests a hand lightly against his belt. "I brought him here so you could look at the man who holds my title, my name, and my full backing. And if you ever play cheap tricks in front of him again, I won’t fling a tie clip at your screen. I’ll fling you out of that window."

I step out from behind Orion’s broad shoulder, resting one hand in my trouser pocket while letting my platinum band catch the light of the desk lamp.

The disgust I felt seconds ago while watching that smear campaign on the screen is gone, replaced by cold, sharp satisfaction.

"Besides, Lady Dimitra," I chime in, keeping my voice as smooth and mocking as humanly possible, "if you wanted to review my press coverage, you could have just asked. I would have gladly given you an autographed copy of the headshots. Though I suppose at your age, reading high-definition screens without your glasses must be quite a strain."

Lady Dimitra’s sharp eyes snap to me. "You dare speak in this room, Dubois? You are a guest by technicality alone. Your family’s little fortune wouldn’t cover the estate’s quarterly electrical bill, and your reputation is currently burning in the gutter."

"And yet," I reply, flashing her the most obnoxious, honeyed smile I can muster, "I am the one sitting on your nephew’s neck, while you are sitting behind a shattered television. Strange how the world works, isn’t it?"

Orion lets out a low, dark laugh beside me, his eyes gleaming with sheer delight as he looks down at me. "Careful, Adrien. If you keep talking like that, I might just kiss you right in front of her."

"Touch me right now and I will jab my finger into your other eye," I whisper under my breath without breaking eye contact with Dimitra.

"A tempting threat," Orion murmurs back happily.

Lady Dimitra rises slowly from her desk, her gown rustling against the polished hardwood floor. "You think this is a game, Orion? The press is dragging the Vassilis name through the mud because of his scandal. The Dubois family is collapsing under the weight of their own greed, and you are playing house with a boy who—"

"Aunt," Orion interrupts, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous tone. "Kindly be silent for me."

She freezes, her lips pressing into a thin, pale line.

Orion turns his head slowly, his soulless eyes sweeping over the corners of the room until his gaze lands squarely on Leon.

Leon is still sitting frozen in the high-backed armchair near the bookcase. His face is washed out, drained of color, and his hands are curled into tight, trembling fists, digging so hard into the leather armrests that the fabric groans under the pressure.

He is staring at Orion with wide, petrified eyes, practically praying to melt into the armchair.

"Leon," Orion says softly.

Leon flinches, his knuckles turning stark white against the leather. "O-Orion... look, I didn’t... I didn’t want any of this to—"

Orion moves.

He doesn’t run, nor does he raise his voice. He simply glides across the rug in three massive, effortless strides.

Before Leon can even attempt to shrink back into his seat, Orion reaches out, grabs him by the lapels of his tailored suit jacket, and yanks him off the armchair with force.

Leon lets out a choked, pathetic cry as he is lifted clear off his feet and hurled forward.

He stumbles, his shoes sliding across the floor, until he lands on his knees right in the middle of the study, gasping for breath at Orion’s feet.

"Get up," Orion orders, his tone devoid of any emotion.

Leon scrambles up, his blonde hair messy, his jacket rumpled, his chest heaving as he looks between Orion and his mother. "Mother, please—"

"She isn’t going to save you, Leon," Orion says smoothly, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest. He tilts his head toward me. "He is all yours, Adrien."

My blood hums. A strange electric feeling rolls through my veins, hot and sharp. Is this bastard trying to get me horny?

For a while now, I have been the one being dragged around. I was the one injected with drugs, shoved into cars, hidden in casinos, and locked in rooms while high-society wolves discussed my fate like I was a piece of land to be auctioned off.

I have spent years walking on eggshells around people like Lady Dimitra, worrying about what the Dubois family name meant, worrying about my stepmother’s quiet cruelty, worrying about surviving another day in their cage.

I take a slow, deliberate step toward Leon.

Lady Dimitra slams her hand flat onto her desk. "Orion! Control yourself! You will not allow this street rat to lay a hand on my son in my presence!"

I don’t even look at her. I don’t flinch. Her booming, authoritative tone that once made my spine go stiff doesn’t touch me anymore.

It is just noise.

Just wind rattling against an old window. I am standing right next to a human hurricane named Orion, and compared to him, Lady Dimitra’s authority feels remarkably small.

I draw strength from the chaotic, heavy weight standing right behind me. I don’t care about the Dubois name. I don’t care about their high-society rules. I have left those shackles rotting in the life I left behind.

I stop directly in front of Leon. He looks up at me, his eyes glossy with fear, his mouth working silently as he tries to formulate an apology.

"Adrien..." Leon whispers, his voice trembling violently. "Listen to me... I can’t explain it but I didn’t want to... I didn’t know Masamune was going to—"

I don’t let him finish the sentence.

I pull my right arm back and drive my fist straight into the center of Leon’s face.

The sound of knuckles breaking against bone echoes sharply through the quiet library. Leon’s head snaps back, a spray of red flying from his nose as he lets out a shaky whimper.

Good. I put my soul into that one.

He stumbles backward, tripping over his own feet, and crashes hard onto the floor, clutching his face with both hands.

"That," I say, my voice cold and clear, "was for stopping me in the church hallway to talk your useless, pathetic nonsense."

Lady Dimitra’s breath hitches in shock. "You insolent little— "

I ignore her. I take another step forward, grabbing Leon by his collar, dragging his upper body off the floor so he is forced to look at me through his swelling, blood-soaked eyes.

"Get off me!" Leon wheezes, blood pouring down his mouth and dripping onto his shirt. "Adrien, stop!"

I drive my left fist directly into his right cheekbone. Fuck, that hurts.

Leon groans, his head violently shifting to the side.

"That second one," I growl, pulling him closer until my face is inches from his, "was for telling your pathetic men to inject me with whatever the fuck that was so I would pass out like a helpless victim."

"Adrien, please—"

My right fist hits him squarely in the jaw. Leon’s body goes limp for a second, his eyes rolling back before snapping open again in sheer panic. I hope this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting my fist.

"That third one was for kidnapping me in the first place," I say, my breath coming out hot and measured.

Lady Dimitra steps out from behind her desk, her face pale with fury. "Orion! Pull him off! He is beating my son senseless!"

Orion doesn’t move a single muscle. He stands there with his hands in his pockets, a bright, manic smile stretching across his face as he watches me work. "He looks like he is doing just fine, Aunt. In fact, his form is improving with each punch."

I don’t give Leon a chance to catch his breath. I drag him up by his lapels again, pinning him against the edge of an oak bookshelf.

My fist crashes into his left eye socket.

Leon lets out a wet, gurgling sob, blood splattering across the leather-bound books behind his head. God. How am I getting away with this?

"That fourth one," I snarl, my fingers tightening on his jacket until the fabric tears, "was for letting your stupid, amateur kidnapping plan get hijacked by Masamune like a complete novice."

Leon tries to raise his hands to cover his face, his frame shaking violently as he cries through his shattered nose. "I’m sorry... Adrien, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to—"

Why isn’t he fighting back?