Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

Chapter 127: The Appetizer Before The Main Dish

LOUISE’S POV

Louise reaches out and picks up the folder, flipping it open with her gloved fingers. Inside sits a collection of old photographs, typed documents, client logs, and a small, black video recording tape.

"It took much longer to find that than I expected," Eunice says, leaning back in her leather chair. "The person you asked about hasn’t been connected to this place for a long time."

Louise turns the first page, scanning the text quickly. "Is this really all you managed to get?"

"I told you the situation already," Eunice replies, resting her chin on her hand. "Those records are old. Most of the people involved back then have disappeared, moved away, or simply stopped talking. You’re lucky I managed to dig up even that much."

Eunice pauses, tapping her gold ring against the wooden desk.

"Besides," Eunice adds casually, "someone recently tried to erase or destroy some of those old records."

Louise’s hand pauses over the file. She looks up immediately, her interest piqued. "Who?"

"No idea," Eunice says with a slight shrug. "They were quiet about it. I just noticed a few missing records when I gathered all of it last week."

Louise studies the woman’s scarred face for a long second, trying to see if she is hiding something or holding out for more cash, but Eunice’s expression remains blank, giving away nothing useful.

Deciding not to press the issue right now, Louise reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a pre-signed cheque. She places it neatly on the edge of the desk.

The cheque is written for twelve million dollars.

Eunice looks down at the piece of paper. Her dark eyes widen slightly as she reads the number, her calm composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

"Twelve million," Eunice whistles, looking back up at Louise. "What are you planning to do with that folder anyway?"

Louise does not answer the question. "Take the money."

Eunice stares at her for another moment, then shrugs her heavy shoulders. "Suit yourself, rich girl."

She picks up the cheque, checks the signature once more to make sure it is real, and tucks it safely inside her desk drawer, locking it with a small gold key.

While Eunice is busy putting the cheque away, Louise turns her focus back to the folder in her hands, carefully flipping through the contents.

Inside are several clear, glossy photographs of Adrien. They were taken years ago, back when he was eighteen and legally an adult.

The images capture him during his time working in the sex trade. They are compromising, wrong, and deeply personal. There are photographs of Adrien standing alongside various adult clients in dimly lit rooms, as well as shots of him waiting around the back lounges with other adult workers from the establishment.

Underneath the pictures lie old intake records connected to Eunice’s business, detailed notes regarding wealthy clients who used to visit, and dates corresponding to private meetings.

Near the bottom of the stack rests a labeled videotape containing footage recorded in one of the private rooms.

Louise’s eyes scan every single page, taking in the weight of the evidence held in her hands.

This material is devastating. If any of these photographs or documents ever leaked to the public, it would tear Adrien’s reputation to pieces in an instant.

Everything he has built, every piece of respect he’s scraped together for himself, would crumble overnight.

Who knows if it’d ruin things with Orion permanently?

Slowly, a small smile touches the corners of Louise’s lips. This isn’t even the main course she’s prepared. This is going to be the appetizer, a dish delicious enough to keep Adrien occupied for a while.

Her smile is not a warm or gentle one. It is cold, calculating, and full of victory. She has finally found the exact weapon she needed, something powerful enough to bend things to her will.

Eunice notices the shift in Louise’s face. She watches the young woman’s cruel smile, a faint look of annoyance settling over her scarred features.

"If you have everything you came for," Eunice says, her tone turning flat, "you should leave."

Louise looks up from the folder, her smile fading into a condescending smirk. "Why are you suddenly acting uncomfortable? You just accepted twelve million dollars for that information."

Eunice pauses, her gaze dropping to the locked drawer for a second before meeting Louise’s eyes again.

"There’s just something unpleasant about watching young adults get dragged into this kind of life," Eunice says quietly, her voice dropping into a rare moment of honesty. "It isn’t pretty."

Louise lets out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoes off the office walls. She does not believe for a single second that a hardened brothel owner is suddenly developing a conscience.

"That’s funny coming from you," Louise says, pointing a gloved finger toward the closed office door. "I just walked past a dozen young adult workers downstairs. Are you suddenly worried about their well-being too?"

Eunice gives her a slow, sly smile, but her eyes remain blank and cold. She does not offer an answer.

Louise understands the silence. It is all about money and power, just as it always is.

Louise snaps the folder shut with a loud clap, tucking it securely under her arm.

"I won’t be coming back here," Louise says, stepping toward the door.

She stops with her hand on the brass knob, turning her head back to look at the older woman one last time.

"Destroy anything that connects me to this meeting," Louise warns, her voice dropping into an icy, dismissive tone that makes her status loud and clear. "No records, no security footage, no notes. It would be for your own good if my name never comes up in this building."

She does not wait for a response. She turns the knob, steps out into the hallway, and pulls the door shut behind her.

Inside the office, Eunice sits in silence for a long time, listening to the quiet sound of Louise’s boots clicking down the wooden staircase.

Once the building goes quiet again, Eunice slowly opens her desk drawer and pulls out the twelve-million-dollar cheque. She holds it up to the light, staring at the clean black ink of the signature.

A strange, uneasy thought crosses her mind.

She wonders briefly whether she should have mentioned one more detail to the rich girl before letting her walk out that door.

Over the past month, a quiet pattern has been developing in the city. Several of Adrien’s former wealthy clients from those old records—men whose names appear in that very folder—have been turning up dead.

Their deaths have been mysterious, unexplained, and kept very quiet by the authorities. Three different clients, all found dead in their homes within the last thirty days, with zero evidence left behind.

Eunice wonders if Louise knows anything about those deaths, or if she is walking blindly into something far more dangerous than a simple blackmail scheme.

Then Eunice lets out a short, quiet laugh, shaking her head.

It is not her concern. She does not care what happens to Louise, Adrien, or anyone else connected to those old files. Whatever violent storm is brewing next has nothing to do with her.

She folds the cheque neatly, tucking it inside her inner coat pocket.

She stands up from her leather chair, sweeps a small stack of American dollars off the desk, and turns off the desk lamp, leaving the office in darkness.

She walks out into the hallway, pulling the door locked behind her. She walks down the stairs, passing the two silent guards standing at the bottom. She glides right through the lounge, walking past the young adult workers who are finishing their preparations for the night.

She reaches the main entrance, pushes the heavy wooden door open, and steps out into the damp night air.

Eunice has already made her decision. She is done with this place.

She is leaving this dirty district tonight, and she is never coming back. She is sick of the foul smells, the broken streets, the dangerous men, and the grim business she spent years building in the mud.

The stack of dollars from the guards and the twelve million from the cheque give her more than enough wealth to start completely fresh somewhere far away.

She already knows her exact destination.

Ireland.

As she walks down the street, stepping around the puddle-filled cracks in the pavement, Eunice allows a soft smile to touch her lips for the first time in years. She can almost feel the clean ocean breeze and see the green hills waiting for her on the other side of the world.

A new country. A new name. A fresh beginning where no one knows her past or how she got her scar.

She turns the corner, leaving the dark, flickering lights of the district behind her for good, while a single, lingering thought echoes quietly in the back of her mind.

She wonders if those dead clients were truly just a coincidence, or if the ghost of Adrien’s past has already started hunting down everyone who ever touched him.