My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52: 53/Unexpected Visitor

Chapter 53

Julie’s Point of View

Not long after that stormy confrontation, my bedroom door swung wide open.

A group of guards entered, carrying a massive white desk, an intricately carved wooden bookshelf, and large, stuffed paper bags.

I stood in the corner, stunned, watching them arrange the new furniture with precision.

How could Robert the man I had just pointed a cane at order all of this?

I approached one of the guards with cautious steps and asked in a low voice,

"Did Mr. Robert order these things for my room?"

The guard didn’t even look at me. He replied in a dry, mechanical tone,

"Mr. Carlos Mendoza brought them."

I took a step back, a sharp gasp catching in my chest from the shock.

"Mr. Carlos?"

The guard ignored my bewilderment and finished the work with the others. They all withdrew, closing the door behind them.

I remained alone before that white desk the kind I had never dreamed of owning and the bookshelf that smelled of fresh wood.

With the eagerness of a child on her first school day, I rushed toward the bags and began emptying them.

There were notebooks of various sizes, colored pens, reams of polished paper, bright stickers, an elegant diary, and even a wooden calendar.

I touched the papers with my fingertips as if to confirm they were real, trying to understand the contradiction surrounding Robert and his men; one hand kills, while the other offers me a world of paper I had long craved for.

A wave of pure joy washed over me as I admired my new possessions. I immediately began organizing the books, placing them on the shelves by category, then arranged the pens in their holder.

My God, they hadn’t missed even the smallest detail.

I pulled out the desk chair, which came in a charming, calming seafoam green, and sat on it. Its small wheels rolled smoothly over the floor, allowing me to glide left and right effortlessly.

I was completely numb with the happiness these things brought, until a sudden tightness gripped my chest a bitter pang that dragged me back to reality.

"Julie..." I whispered to myself, "nothing here comes without a price."

I pulled out a blank sheet of paper, gripped the pen tightly, and began pouring out my anxiety.

I didn’t write a poem or a diary entry. Instead, it was a single sentence repeated line after line until the page was filled dozens of times:

"Life offers nothing for free."

The silence of the room was broken by the creaking wheels of the metal food trolley.

The cook maneuvered it skillfully as usual, announcing with her presence that the clock had completed its cycle to settle at 9:00 PM.

I rose from the seafoam green chair, leaving behind the paper filled with my warnings, and approached the trolley. The air was thick with the scent of spices and the sea.

I uncovered the carefully arranged dishes: a rich, steaming fish soup, golden crispy shrimp, a side of snow white rice, and a Caesar salad with toasted croutons.

I began to eat slowly, savoring the salty shrimp and the warmth of the soup spreading through my body. But my eyes remained fixed on the dessert: the pudding.

When I reached for it, I sank my spoon into its smooth texture. As I tasted it, the sweetness melted in my mouth.

It was the best moment of the meal, as if the sugar briefly eased the bitterness of the thoughts I had written earlier.

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