My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 31: 31/The ABCs of Revenge

Chapter Thirty-One:

Julie’s Point of View

I emerged from the bathroom, feeling the water cleanse my skin, though it could not wash away the boiling rage within my heart.

I headed toward the bags Robert had brought, and with sharp, mechanical movements, I picked out black trousers and a blue shirt and put them on.

I felt the fabric against my body like a shield I was forging anew to protect myself from the world.

I took the watch out of the bag; it was still there, cold and shining. I looked at its hands it was eleven at night.

How deathly slow time passes here! Those hours I spent naked and violated on that bed felt like long centuries of torment, centuries in which my soul aged a thousand years.

I placed the watch on the dressing table with a sharp tap, then picked up the hairdryer and began drying my wet strands.

The hot air lashing my face and neck reminded me of Robert’s disgusting breath hitting my skin, and anger flared in my veins like fire in dry hay.

With every gust of air, my resolve for revenge grew stronger and firmer; revenge was no longer just an idea it had become the fuel that granted me the ability to breathe and survive in this hell.

I will shatter his arrogance, just as he tried to shatter my dignity.

After drying my hair, I lay on the bed that cursed bed that, only hours ago, had witnessed my most hideous moments of weakness and brokenness.

The texture of the sheets beneath me wasn’t soft this time, nor did the bed embrace me with a warmth that calmed my fear. Instead, I felt it like a forest of sharp thorns pricking my skin again, as if every thread in its fabric was conspiring with the memory of the examination to wound me.

The coldness inhabiting the room had seeped into the bed, and even though I was fully dressed, I felt as if I were still exposed upon it.

I closed my eyes, clutching the pillow tightly, trying to convert every ”sting” and thorn into a force of malice to feed my coming revenge.

In the morning, the usual scenario repeated with all its tedious details. The nurse entered alone first, and as usual, began blaming me in a cold tone for the bandage I had ripped off, then finished and left.

Minutes later, the cook entered, wheeling in the food trolley to place the meal and leave in silence.

The rituals proceeded with a military precision that drove me mad.

I watched them come and go, feeling as if I were living in a vicious, endless cycle the same faces, the same words, the same scenes repeated every day with a nauseating accuracy.

It was as if time had stopped for me at this point, as if my destiny had become a mere repetition of scenes from a wretched play, where nothing was new except that each time the scene replayed, an additional part of me died, and the fire of revenge in my chest grew hotter behind this silent endurance.

I could no longer stay on this bed for a single extra second; whenever I surrendered to its touch, I felt my weakness and fragility seeping into my bones, as if this mattress were absorbing my will.

I realized then that I couldn’t be weak all the time, nor strong all the time; my state was like the exchange of night and day. If the sun of my strength rose, it must set at the end of the day to make room for the darkness of my brokenness, and if the moon of my weakness appeared, it would inevitably vanish with every new sunrise that repeated each day.

I shook off the shroud of lethargy and stood with a sturdiness I hadn’t known before. If Robert’s dictionary ”doesn’t know the meaning of loss,” then my dictionary written with my tears and pain ”doesn’t know the meaning of surrender.”

I would face today’s sun with a warrior’s spirit, and I would not allow this vicious cycle to grind down my pride anymore.

The room was cluttered with bags and boxes scattered in every corner, and disorder had always provoked my nerves and sparked my desire for control.

I walked toward the remote control with confident steps and turned on the television.

It was connected to the internet but ”neutered” like everything else here, sufficing to display channels while blocking access to any social or chat sites, keeping my isolation absolute.

I searched through the menus until I found my favorite upbeat song, ”I Feel Good.” As the loud melodies filled the corners of my luxurious cell, I began organizing the clothes inside the closet with quick, rhythmic movements.

It wasn’t just an act of tidying; it was an attempt to restore order to my collapsed world.

The clothes, despite their simplicity, spoke of luxury; the texture of the fabric beneath my fingers clearly signaled high quality and exorbitant prices.

I felt the coldness of the international brands printed on the labels and began classifying each piece in the closet carefully: various shirts, trousers of different cuts, skirts of varying lengths, down to delicate dresses, comfortable flat shoes, and pajamas that felt as soft as silk.

There was a strange sense of satisfaction as I arranged these pieces; they were real clothes that could be worn in daily life, garments that gave me a sense of cover and privacy, vastly different from those showy outfits that filled the place initially, which aimed only to turn the body into a scene for display.

With every piece I placed, I felt I was rebuilding my small world within this room, clinging to any detail that restored my sense of self.

After finishing with the closet, I turned to the massive boxes sitting in the corner. Upon opening them, I froze in place from shock.

Books were stacked there in an abundance I hadn’t expected massive numbers of paper volumes smelling of ink and knowledge.

I began inspecting their titles in awe, running my hand over their colorful covers.

The collection was incredibly interesting; it wasn’t just shelf-filler, but intelligent choices including major scientific works, world-class fantasy novels, complex philosophical treatises, fine English literature, and historical books narrating the stories of vanished nations.

Every field was strongly represented, as if these boxes were a window suddenly opened to the outside world.

I paused at a philosophical book discussing the ’Will to Power,’ and I felt the bitter irony of fate.

Did Robert think that stuffing my mind with knowledge would make me a better slave? Or was he feeding a monster he didn’t realize would one day turn against him? I began to imagine myself absorbing every word in these volumes, transforming them into intellectual daggers to stab at his pride.

This room was no longer just a prison; it had become my war school.

I paused for a moment, wonder filling my head. Who chose these treasures? The refined taste and cultural sense reflected in these titles did not belong to this ugly place, nor did they resemble the dark souls inhabiting it.

I felt as if these books were my new ”allies”; between their pages, I would find the hideout where I would take shelter until the time for reckoning arrived.

Suddenly, and without permission, the room’s calm was shattered by the screech of the door being thrown open.

Before he uttered a single word, I knew it was him.

The scent of expensive tobacco that always preceded him was enough to tense the muscles in my back.

The creak of his Italian leather shoes on the marble floor had a funereal rhythm, signaling the end of the small music party I had thrown for myself.

I felt him watching me, scanning the room with a gaze that didn’t miss a single crack in the wall, as if he were inspecting his property to ensure it hadn’t been damaged.

His silence before speaking was heavier than mountains a tool he used to test my patience, trying to lure my fear back to the surface.

That jerk entered my world again. He walked in as if the very air I breathed belonged to him, as if the room’s walls narrowed at the mere presence of his heavy shadow.

My hand stopped touching the book covers, and my gaze stiffened at the doorway.

His sudden entrance was enough to cut my train of thought and dissipate the musical notes that had filled the air, allowing that suffocating tension to seize the atmosphere once more.

I looked at him with a coldness I tried hard to make into a shield, hiding behind it the volcano of rage that began to boil in my chest the moment I saw him.

The spoiler had returned to invade my solitude, ruining the only moment of peace I had tried to snatch from the fangs of this place.

He looked at me with his piercing gaze and said:

”Good morning, my little virgin.”