My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 271

Chapter 271: 271/The Morning of Denial

Chapter 271:

Julie’s POV

I literally froze in place. It felt as if the blood had stopped flowing in my veins just hearing that word. I didn’t show any reaction, as if the hands of the clock had suddenly stopped turning to make way for this confession to echo deep within me. For a moment, I thought perhaps I had drowned in a distant rosy dream, or that my exhausted mind had begun to hallucinate what I longed to hear... Was it possible, after all this imprisonment and humiliation, for his tongue to utter the words "I love you"?

In all those desolate nights I spent waiting for him to say it, he said it now in this moment when I expected nothing but more cruelty.

A sweeping wave of joy flooded my being, a joy mingled with a staggering disbelief that paralyzed my movement. I buried my face in his broad chest, inhaling his scent and trying to grasp the reality of what I had heard, while my limbs remained paralyzed partly from the sheer shock, and partly from the remnants of pleasure still coursing through my body like a hidden electric current.

Finally, after a silent struggle to pull myself together and overcome the impact of that word which left me speechless, I raised my head very slowly to look into his eyes, to see the love he had confessed... but I found he had fallen into a deep sleep. His steady breathing told me clearly that he had departed to the world of dreams.

I exhaled in frustration, saying with a slight resentment and disappointment I couldn’t suppress: "Asleep? Did he really fall asleep that fast?" I rested my head back on his chest, deciding within myself not to let anything spoil the radiance of that word. I hugged him tightly as if fearing he would evaporate, and surrendered to a deep sleep beside him, drowning in the illusion of happiness.

In the morning, I felt his movement as his massive frame rose from the bed. I opened my eyes with a delicious sleepiness, a smile automatically forming on my lips as I remembered last night. I looked at him infatuatedly and said in a tender voice: "Good morning."

But he didn’t turn to me. Instead, he walked toward the bathroom with heavy, cold steps, completely ignoring my existence as if I were a piece of furniture in the room. I rose behind him with a tired body that moaned from the exertion of the previous night, finding him leaning down to pick up his scattered, neglected clothes from the bathroom floor. A prickle of anxiety hit me, so I said again in a slightly higher tone, trying to catch his attention: "Robert... good morning."

No response came from him, and I felt a painful contraction in my heart. My God, what’s wrong with him? Why is he treating me with this lethal coldness after everything that happened between us last night? Was that "I love you" just the effect of the liquor? He put on his trousers and shirt with speed and irritation.

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