My father sold me to the Mafia King Chapter 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 mont he closed the door behind him, I felt the weight of the scissors in my trouser pocket; they were calling to .

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 with insolence, walking around as if inspecting a flaw in expensive rchandise.

She said in a tone dripping with venom,

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

At that mont, 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 reclaid 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 rembered... 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 ntioning the "incident" that had diminished her prestige before .

Olivia approached 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 ."

She extended her hand toward ; she was holding sothing 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 , and I asked with disapproval,

"Why?"

She looked at 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 scread 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 ti 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 erald 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 .

I began cutting the long train that dragged behind the dress with arrogance, turning it with precise snips of the scissors into a symtrical rectangular piece that perfectly fit the width of my back.

Never in my life had I touched sewing scissors, but I discovered at that mont that necessity is the mother of invention, and that I am truly skilled!

I looked at the dress; it still looked magnificent, as if the hand of a professional designer had tampered with it, not a girl locked in her room.

I said to myself with pride,

"Oh, Julie... you must add sewing to your long list of skills."

I couldn’t suppress a mocking laugh that ca from deep within my chest despite all the tension.

"I wonder... if Robert knew of this talent of mine, would he force to sew his luxury suits as well?"

It was an idea as funny as it was painful, but laughing in the face of tyranny was my strongest weapon.

With a skill derived from my burning desire for revenge, I made small, invisible holes at the side edges of the dress and cut thin strips from the remnants of the fabric.

I threaded the strips through the holes and tied them firmly, extending around my body from the front and disappearing cleverly under the chest design, to secure the new piece of silk on my back as if it were an original part of the design.

When I put the dress on, I felt the shiver of victory; the transformation was stunning! The strips vanished completely, and the back that Robert wanted "exploited" and exposed to gazes was now covered by a fortress of erald silk.

I leaned down and picked up the golden mask from the floor; it was heavy and cold in my hand.

When I put it on, I noticed with wonder that its design was extrely precise; it covered only the part where the bandage on my face was, as if it were sculpted specifically to hide the trace of the "accident" caused by the guard, while leaving the rest of my features clearly prominent behind the glow of the gold.

I secured the mask and felt a sudden pang in my heart. This mask is not just an ornant, and its design, which "covers" the wound specifically, sparked an indescribable suspicion in my soul.

Is it just a way to hide the "flaw" in Robert’s rchandise? Or does this mask represent sothing else? A mystery or a symbol whose secret I do not yet know?

I looked at myself in the mirror for the last ti: an erald dress with a back covered in silk, hair carefully pinned up, and a face half gold and half soft skin.

I looked like a mysterious queen from an ancient era, but behind this mask resided the Julie that no one knew... the Julie who hides scissors sowhere, and hides enough anger to burn this club and everyone in it.

"Whatever happens, happens..."

I whispered to myself.

"I will wear your mask, Robert, and I will wear your dress, but I will sing my words."

At that mont, I heard loud knocks on the door, and Olivia’s sharp voice calling,

"Julie! Ti’s up, co out now!"

louder, I hurried to put on the high golden heels; I felt the solid wood lifting off the ground, as if every centiter added to my height granted extra strength to face this desolate world.

I caught sight of an elegant perfu 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 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 erald solemnity and mysterious charm.

She said sharply,

"Co 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 extre wealth, and his hairstyle this ti 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 imdiately 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 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 mont, Olivia moved to pass and stood behind . 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 t mine behind the golden mask.

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

He took a single step toward , and I felt his cold breath approaching my face, while Olivia continued to scream behind like soone 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 , 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.