My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83: 84/The Immunity of Shame

Chapter 84:

Olivia’s Point of View

Shock was etched on Julie’s features, and her facial muscles tightened as she replied in a tone she tried to keep firm:

"And why would I complain to him? I can defend myself on my own."

I lowered my eyelids slightly, a meaningful smile forming on my lips, and said to her with a stinging calmness:

"Good... because complaining to him would mean a tacit admission that you are his property."

I saw her jaw clench clearly, as if she were chewing on angry words she didn’t dare let out, then she muttered:

"What is this madness?"

I didn’t give her a chance to argue; I adjusted my posture, standing straight, and moved toward the door with confident steps, throwing the word over my shoulder:

"Follow me."

She froze in place and replied stubbornly:

"I won’t."

I stopped and turned to her with a defiant look, asking coldly:

"Are you afraid?"

She didn’t answer with words at first; instead, the veins in her neck bulged as she clenched her fists, then said:

"I am not."

She rose from the bed and walked behind me with wary steps.

We went out into the long corridor, and our silence was only broken by the echo of our shoes on the floor.

I stopped in front of a specific room door and reached into my pocket to pull out the key, but I froze in place when I heard her calm voice behind me:

"What are we doing at Sarah’s room?"

At that moment, I felt as if the blood had drained from my veins all at once.

A chill ran through my limbs; impossible! How does this girl know "Sarah"?

I turned toward her quickly, my body stiff, and asked in a sharp tone:

"How do you know her?"

She averted her gaze from me and said with utter coldness:

"I entered her room that day."

I swallowed hard; there were many questions crowding my head, and I wanted to hear the answers from both of them now.

I turned the key and opened the door, then gestured with my chin, saying:

"Go on... get in."

That damned Sarah was sitting inside, fully elegant and made up as if she were waiting for a royal visit—as if Robert knocks on her door every night, while the bitter truth is that he only passes by here once a week.

As soon as we entered, Sarah stood up slowly, glancing at us with a cautious look, and said:

"What is happening here?"

I fixed my burning gaze on Sarah’s eyes and said in a voice that came out like a snake’s hiss:

"I am the one who should ask that question, Sarah."

Sarah’s gaze shifted suspiciously between me and Julie, as if she were trying to read what was going on in my head, so I continued sharply:

"How do you know each other?"

Sarah slowly raised her hand to caress her blonde hair and replied with a provocative coldness:

"I don’t know her... she broke into my room one day, and I was surprised by her presence."

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