My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 177

Chapter 177: 177/The Professor’s Gift

Chapter 177

Julie’s Point of View

I stepped into the memory-evoking halls of the university, struggling to strip Robert’s harsh words from my mind.

"He only pities me..." Of course he would. How could he not pity a girl he kicked out of his office this morning and refused to touch, only for her to return and embrace him, kissing his cheek? I had tried to seduce him with short clothes; I had even thought about dyeing my hair for him! I must certainly look pathetic in his eyes.

I tried to gather my shattered self, whispering, "Alright Julie, focus on your exam now." But suddenly, the bitter reality struck; I hadn’t studied for two months! I stopped in the middle of the hallway, clutching my head with both hands as terror seeped into my limbs.

"My God, I haven’t studied anything! How will I answer the questions?"

Even though I was always ahead of everyone, studying lessons before they were even presented in the hall, I now felt a paralyzing fear.

I hadn’t opened a book or attended a single lecture. I’ll fail... I’m bound to fail. I walked toward the exam hall with heavy steps, but I froze at the door; the nightmare of failure was hovering around me, preventing me from entering. I, who used to study daily how could I succeed like this?

Suddenly, I felt the touch of a warm hand on my shoulder. I spun around in a panic to find Professor Weston in his elegant suit, his medium-length brown hair, and his piercing blue eyes.

He smiled upon seeing me and said, "Oh, Julie! Thank thank God you came."

"Hello, Professor Weston..." I said, my voice raspy.

"It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you at the university," he said, scanning me intently. "But they informed me yesterday that you were in critical condition... Are you alright now?"

"Critical condition?" Is that what Robert told them? I swallowed hard and said, "Yes, I’m fine now."

"I’m glad to hear that," he said in a strange tone. "You look... different."

I knitted my brows. "How? I don’t understand."

He replied, looking at my classic black trousers and red shirt, "I’m not used to seeing you wear this kind of clothing... you look completely different."

"Oh, yes," I said with foolish fluster. "I changed my style... do you like it?"

My eyes widened in shock at what I had just said.

My God! Did I just ask my professor if he liked my clothes? He gave me a strange look that made my heart drop to my feet. He’s going to expel me... he’ll write a report! I didn’t mean it; I was just looking for a lie and blurted out this nonsense.

But he simply offered a calm smile. "It’s good."

I finally caught my breath; he didn’t find my words suspicious. He continued, "Well, come on, go inside."

"Professor... I’m scared," I said, my voice filled with despair. "I haven’t studied anything all this time."

He looked at me with his clear blue eyes and said with certainty, "I trust your abilities, Julie. I know you will succeed."

A strange sense of reassurance flowed through my body after his words. "Alright... I’ll go in," I said seriously. I stepped into the hall, and as soon as some girls I knew saw me, they stood up immediately, greeting me warmly and firing off a hundred consecutive questions. However, the Professor strictly ordered them back to their seats.

I headed toward a desk in the back row, as was my habit of escaping, but Professor Weston called out audibly, "Julie, sit here." He was pointing to a desk in the very first row. I sat down, my body trembling slightly. He approached my desk, leaned in a bit, and whispered in my ear, "Don’t be afraid... I am with you."

I nodded and smiled at him, but my mind began to wonder: "I am with you?" What does that mean? Does he mean he’ll support me academically or what? I didn’t fully understand his sentence, but I decided to ignore everything and focus only on the exam.

The proctors began distributing the exam papers with stern expressions, while Professor Weston settled into his chair at the front, watching the scene with an eerie calmness.

A proctor approached my desk, and I felt my body stiffen as I watched him place a blue booklet before me, along with five full pages of exam questions and case study papers.

But what made my heart leap out of its place was seeing my university ID carefully placed on the table. Where did they get my ID from? It didn’t stop there; he also laid out the specific pens and the specialized calculator used by economics students.

My eyes widened in amazement, a shiver running down my spine. Damn it, did Robert think of all these details? Did he even care about the type of calculator I need? Without realizing it, a sweet, warm smile crept onto my lips as I contemplated these small gestures that showed the extent of his hidden concern.

But I soon remembered his words about "pity." I clenched my fist so hard my nails dug into my skin, and I wiped the smile off my face instantly. I shook my head violently as if chasing his ghost from my imagination. Julie... remember, you won’t be impressed by this man again! I thought firmly.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, then gripped the pen and began reading the first paper, my eyes moving between the lines with focus, trying to retrieve everything my memory had stored before those stormy months.

As soon as I started reading the questions, something strange happened; I remembered every piece of information, every comma, and every equation as if I hadn’t stopped studying for a single day.

The silence was broken by Professor Weston’s calm voice: "You have exactly three hours... good luck." He turned toward me and gave a warm smile, and I reciprocated as my body began to gradually relax.

I started solving. The blue booklet took 45 minutes of intense focus; I watched the clock hands move in a steady rhythm. Then I moved to the other questions, which devoured another 60 minutes.

I was left with an hour and 15 minutes to face the "Case Study": a failing company on the brink of collapse, and I was required to provide a comprehensive rescue plan.

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