My father sold me to the Mafia King-Chapter 34/Preparing Julie

Chapter 34:

Julie’s Point of View

Olivia left the room, still wearing that deranged smile carved onto her face.

I realized immediately that she was planning something new, 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

and that my blow to her head wasn’t the end of the road, but merely the spark for a greater malice. I slowly placed the book inside the box, and my thoughts began to race...

How can I make this night a magnificent revenge against Robert? How do I turn the show he’s planning into a nightmare that haunts him?

While I was drowned in devising my plan, the door opened and a peculiar girl walked in, catching my attention instantly. She was fair-skinned, short in stature, wearing a pink jumpsuit that pulsed with life.

Her boldly dyed hair half white and half black was pulled up into an innovative hairstyle.

Her hazel eyes radiated vitality, and her long face was covered in colorful and truly strange makeup, yet it reflected a rebellious artistic personality.

She was carrying a massive bag; I realized immediately it was a makeup kit. She approached me with a wide smile, extended her hand to shake mine warmly, and said:

"Hi... I’m Patricia."

I extended my hand to shake hers, and for the first time since entering this place, I felt a genuine smile form on my lips. I said:

"Hi Patricia... I’m Julie."

This girl was the first "normal" human being I had met in this desolate place. She didn’t carry the looks of hatred I saw in Olivia’s eyes, nor the icy coldness that inhabited Robert’s.

She was a free spirit in a fortress of restrictions, and I felt at that moment that fate had perhaps sent me an unexpected ally, or at least... a human being who didn’t want to break me.

Patricia skillfully touched the edges of the bandage on my face and asked in a tender tone:

"What happened to your beautiful face?"

I answered calmly and cautiously:

"A simple accident... it’s a small wound, but here, small wounds seem much bigger than they actually are."

She nodded in agreement as if she understood the coded language I was speaking, and said confidently:

"Don’t worry, I’m very good at hiding scars."

A shiver of terror ran through my veins. Hiding scars? This meant making his "merchandise" perfect for the buyers. Feeling danger looming, I said quickly:

"No Patricia, I can’t remove this bandage... my wound must heal first."

She raised her eyebrows in disapproval, as if my persistence didn’t suit her artistic taste, and said in a mysterious tone:

"Fine... we’ll see what we can do about it."

Then she quickly returned to her enthusiasm while studying my features:

"Oh my god, Julie... you have a face that will make my colors speak!"

I laughed lightly and teased her:

"Oh Patricia dear... please, don’t make a rainbow shine on my face!"

She shared the laugh while opening her large bag, saying with playful threat:

"Don’t worry Julie, I’ll make you the star of the night."

At that moment, my laughter evaporated, and the smile vanished from my face entirely.

"Star of the night"... the same words Robert had thrown in my face last time.

Patricia began setting out the tools on the table.

I sat on the chair in front of the mirror, and Patricia started applying creams to my face with lightness and grace.

Although she repeatedly tried to convince me to remove the bandage, I held my ground like a drowning person clutching a straw.

I began reciting the "fake" instructions of nurse Olivia how she warned me about wound contamination,

and that any speck of dust might leave a permanent scar disfiguring my face... I continued with feigned seriousness:

"She told me that removing it now is a huge risk... and blah blah blah."

In reality, I removed that bandage every day in the bathroom, ignoring all warnings.

But today, those lies were my only shield. Olivia’s instructions which I never followed saved me from exposing my entire face at Robert’s damn auction.

Patricia moved to the color stage; she applied long eyelashes that increased the sharpness of my gaze, and distributed blush and highlighter with artistic touches until my face glowed.

Then she chose a warm brown lip liner that added a mysterious, classic character.

She took a step back and smiled admiringly:

"Oh Julie... even with this damn bandage, you look truly stunning!"

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and a real sense of awe took hold of me.

That girl looking back at me from behind the glass wasn’t me... or perhaps she was a version of me I had never known.

My tongue spoke without awareness:

"You’re right... even the bandage failed to make this makeup look bad."

Patricia laughed and playfully tapped my shoulder:

"Oh Julie, you’re making me blush! But the credit goes to your beautiful face; I only highlighted what was already there."

Olivia barged into the room again, carrying a long black bag the kind used to keep luxury dresses away from eyes. I felt a pang in my heart...

the dress had arrived; my new chains had arrived.

Behind her entered a slender, pale-skinned young man.

His long brown hair fell over his shoulders, and he wore thick black kohl around his eyes,

giving them a sharp and suspicious look that contrasted with his funereal paleness.

He was also carrying a black tool kit.

Olivia spoke with a voice full of toxic pride while looking at me:

"Julie... now you’re truly entering our world."

Then she turned to Patricia with a forced smile:

"As usual Patricia, your fingers work magic."

Patricia smiled at the compliment, while Olivia continued coldly:

"This is Sam, the hairstylist... he will take care of your hair today."

Sam stepped forward with silent strides and placed his bag on the table.

He was the complete opposite of Patricia; silent, rigid-featured, resembling in his coldness those mysterious people who filled Robert’s palace.

He looked at me and said in a mechanical tone:

"Sit down, please."

I sat, and he began running his cold fingers through the strands of my hair from the roots to the ends, as if measuring the length of my last weapon.

He murmured in a low voice:

"You have beautiful, long hair, Julie."

I smiled politely at his praise, but Olivia interrupted with a meaningful tone:

"As I told you, Sam..."

Sam nodded in absolute silence.

Then Olivia turned and left the room.

I stayed staring at my reflection, my heart pounding violently.

What did Olivia tell him? And what did she mean by "as I told you"? I looked at Sam’s hands as they opened the black bag, and I felt an overwhelming urge to scream; was he going to cut it?

Patricia withdrew from the room after gathering her tools, leaving behind the scent of her vibrant perfume, leaving me alone with Sam.

He was drowned in his own world, not talking, not smiling, moving with an unsettling mechanical precision.

He took a thermal curling iron from his black bag, and I felt its heat fanning the air near my face.

He began taking strands of my long hair, one by one, wrapping them around the hot device with superb skill.

Light smoke rose with every strand, and with it, my tension rose; his silence wasn’t the silence of calm, but the silence of someone executing a "mission" assigned to him with precision.

I was watching him through the mirror; his eyes, lined with kohl, didn’t blink, and his hands moved with a strange lightness over my head.

The long strands began turning into complex spiral curls.

Sam finally spoke, breaking the barrier of silence that was suffocating the room’s air, and asked in a flat tone:

"What are you going to sing tonight?"

I was slightly flustered; this question wasn’t part of my current calculations. I looked at him through the mirror and said nervously:

"I... I really don’t know."

I had been so preoccupied with how to survive Robert that I forgot there was a singing "performance" waiting for me. Robert, with his usual cunning,

hadn’t asked for a specific song, leaving me a freedom of choice that resembled a prisoner’s freedom to choose their method of execution.

Sam replied while spraying hairspray that filled the air with a strong chemical scent:

"Most of the time, they sing romantic songs."

Of course, he was talking about "the other girls"... that sentence was enough to awaken my fatal curiosity.

I wanted to pull this pale young man’s tongue without raising his suspicion, so I said in a tone carrying feigned praise:

"It seems the other girls really love your work, Sam... you’re truly talented."

Sam’s smile widened in the mirror, a smile of pride that revealed a simple human side in this mechanical being, and he said:

"Yes, to the point that the customers make them repeat the same hairstyle every time if they like it."

I swallowed hard and felt a chill running through my limbs.

His words weren’t just praise for his work, but a veiled hint. Was there a specific "customer" who requested to see me with a certain hairstyle?

Was my hair being pinned up now the desire of someone coming to buy me tonight?

I could no longer bear the wait, nor the heat of that device reminding me of Robert’s chains.

I suddenly stood up from the chair, saying in a commanding tone as I tried to hide my nervousness:

"Wait a moment, Sam... I want to see the dress first."

Sam stopped working, and signs of annoyance were clear on his face for interrupting his "creativity,"

but a basic human curiosity gleamed in his black eyes to see what the boss had chosen; so he took a step back and gave me space.

I headed toward the bed with footsteps heavy with anticipation, and extended my trembling hand toward the metal zipper of the black bag.

I pulled it slowly, and the dark emerald green fabric flowed under the lights like a wave of precious silk.

At first glance, I felt a pang of strangeness; did Robert actually fulfill my request? Did he give me this long and elegant dress so easily?

I held the dress by its shoulders and lifted it up to take it out of the bag, and the long train extended behind it to cover a large area of the floor with royal beauty.

But, as soon as I turned the dress in my hands to examine the other side, the mask of feigned modesty fell... my eyes widened and my mouth hung open in shock.

It was completely backless... a vast void of silk ending at the beginning of the waist.

"The bastard..." I whispered as blood boiled in my veins.

He gave me the "length" I wanted at the bottom, had my hair pinned up, and chose an exposed back, to turn me into a displayed painting that has no right to cover itself.

Sam said in a tone of admiration he couldn’t hide:

"Oh, this dress is very beautiful... it will look wonderful on you, Julie!"

Yes, it will certainly look wonderful; that is the point, and that is exactly what Robert planned.

I placed the dress on the bed with a violent motion that signaled my suppressed anger, then went back and sat on the chair as if being led to my doom.

Sam resumed his work coldly, while my mind was boiling.

I was never one to scrutinize clothing details, and I didn’t intentionally wear modest clothes as a cause; it was just my nature.

But now, it was radically different. Robert wants me to wear this "void" to look provocative in the eyes of the perverted audience waiting to see a new "commodity"...

and that will never happen as long as there is a pulse in my veins.

My eye suddenly fell on a metal pair of scissors shining sharply in the side pocket of Sam’s bag.

At that moment, the idea flashed in my head like a bolt of lightning.

Sam was focusing all his senses on pinning the last strand of my updo, and I was biding my time like a hunter watching its prey.

Suddenly, fate granted me my wish; a metal hairpin fell from his hand onto the floor.

As Sam leaned down to pick it up, my hand moved with lightning speed and a lightness owned only by a woman defending her dignity.

I reached toward the bag, snatched the scissors, and tucked them into my pants pocket in one fluid motion.

Sam stood back up, and I was still staring into the mirror with a rigid expression, my heart thumping against my chest with a force that could almost be heard.

He noticed nothing.

"We’re finished," Sam said, spraying the final touch of hairspray.

I looked at my reflection; my hair was completely up, my face adorned with the finest colors, and in my pocket lay my small weapon.

I said to myself,

"I will give you a night to remember, Robert."