My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 35

Chapter 35: 35/The emerald dress

Chapter 35

Julie’s Point of View

Sam finished gathering his tools, took one last look at my perfectly pinned hair, and said with a faint smile,

"Good luck, Julie."

I gave him a mysterious smile and thought to myself:

’That is exactly what I need luck... to stand by my side so that this night passes as I have planned, not as your master did’

The moment he closed the door behind him, I felt the weight of the scissors in my trouser pocket; they were calling to me.

I reached out to take them out, wanting to feel their cold texture, but I returned them to their place with the speed of light when I heard the doorknob move again.

Olivia entered, her gaze scanning me with insolence, walking around me as if inspecting a flaw in expensive merchandise.

She said in a tone dripping with venom,

"Despite the brilliance of Patricia and Sam, you still look like a wild sow."

At that moment, I felt the pulse of the scissors in my pocket tempting my hand to move; my imagination was painting a bloody scene where I plunged them into her neck to silence that damned tongue forever.

But I took a deep breath and controlled my nerves; my dignity tonight would not be reclaimed with blood, but with intelligence.

I replied to her with a provocative calmness and a cold smile,

"Yes, Olivia... I was going to say that you suffer from vision problems, perhaps because you received a powerful blow to your head that blurred your insight."

Then I let out a short, mocking laugh and continued,

"But I remembered... you actually did receive a powerful blow to your head, didn’t you?"

I saw her face flush crimson, and the veins in her neck bulge with rage. She realized I was insulting her by mentioning the "incident" that had diminished her prestige before me.

Olivia approached me with threatening steps, her eyes burning with deep-seated malice, and said in a low voice carrying a tone of real threat,

"You will pay dearly for that blow, Julie... but make sure you are able to afford its cost."

I looked at her with a solid coldness she didn’t expect and said briefly,

"Don’t worry about me."

She extended her hand toward me; she was holding something shining under the light a golden mask studded with small, delicate jewels, designed strangely to cover the upper part of the face. She said commandingly,

"Wear this mask."

Confusion seized me, and I asked with disapproval,

"Why?"

She looked at me with scorn, pointed her finger toward the bandage on my face, and said,

"Do you really expect Mr. Robert to let you climb his stage with a disfigured face?"

I squeezed my hand so hard that my nails dug into my palm; my face is not disfigured, and this wound has only increased my determination.

Then she added with unparalleled insolence,

"The little monster must hide its face."

I couldn’t bear her words; I felt a volcano exploding in my chest. I struck her hand violently, causing the golden mask to fall to the floor with a sharp ring, and I screamed in her face,

"I am not a monster!"

She smiled coldly, enjoying the breakdown of my nerves, and said with spite,

"Don’t lose your temper, little one, for you have a party tonight."

She turned to leave the room, but stopped at the door and threw her final words like bullets:

"Put the dress on now, there isn’t much time left... and don’t forget the mask."

The door closed behind her, leaving the echo of her words ringing in the empty room.

I looked at the golden mask lying on the floor, then at the backless emerald dress on the bed, and finally felt the scissors residing in my pocket.

"Monster?"

I whispered to myself, anger turning into a cold, calculating energy.

"I’ll show you who the real monster is, Olivia... and I’ll show you, Robert, how this ’monster’ can tear your perfect show to shreds."

I rushed toward the bed and grabbed the dress. The zero hour had struck, and I had only a few minutes before they returned to collect me.

I caught sight of an elegant perfume bottle placed on the vanity perhaps Olivia had brought it and I hadn’t noticed in the heat of my preoccupation with the scissors.

I grabbed it and sprayed it on my neck; the strong yet calming scent of lavender wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of tension that inhabited the room.

The door opened, and I stood with total dignity. Olivia looked at me strangely; her eyes scanned my makeup and the mask, but she hadn’t yet noticed the "creativity" I had fashioned behind my back, for the dress from the front still retained its emerald solemnity and mysterious charm.

She said sharply,

"Come on, Julie... hurry up!"

I stepped out of the room, walking behind her in the hallway with confident strides, even though my heart was drumming against my chest.

We climbed the wide stairs leading to the main wing, and there, at the top of the staircase, he stood like a statue of embodied arrogance. Robert.

He was wearing a luxurious black suit that reflected his extreme wealth, and his hairstyle this time was completely different swept back entirely without leaving a single strand touching his forehead, making his sharp features appear even more cruel and cold, as if he had stripped away any trace of softness from his face.

I stopped directly in front of him, and a deathly silence fell between us.

Robert didn’t look at my face first; instead, he immediately lowered his gaze toward the floor, toward my feet.

The blood froze in my veins; yes, it was Robert! The man who misses nothing, large or small.

He noticed instantly that the long train of the dress, which he had carefully chosen to drag behind me like silken shackles, had disappeared.

I wondered in silent terror: Did he choose the dress himself to know its details with such precision?

At that moment, Olivia moved to pass me and stood behind me. Her terrified gasp echoed through the hallway, and she said in a voice filled with shock and dread:

"What have you done to the dress?!"

Robert raised his eyes very slowly from the bottom, climbing up my stature, until his gaze met mine behind the golden mask.

His looks were mysterious, carrying a searing mixture of suppressed rage and silent astonishment.

He took a single step toward me, and I felt his cold breath approaching my face, while Olivia continued to scream behind me like someone who had discovered a murder:

"Sir... she tore the dress! She covered her back with the fabric of the train!"

His eyes remained fixed on me, as if he were trying to pierce through the golden mask to see what was happening in the depths of my mind, while I stood with a steadfastness I had never known in myself before.

I challenged his tyranny with my own gaze, which I fixed back on him, indifferent to the consequences... for that was the first battle I had won against him behind closed doors.