Chapter Nine
Julie's point of view
Olivia did not leave the place; she remained standing there like a black shadow refusing to depart, watching me with gazes loaded with poison. She was panting silently, and her hand that had pulled my hair was still trembling slightly from the effect of the emotion.
She didn't want to grant me the pleasure of feeling alone or victorious; instead, she wanted to remain looming over my breath, waiting for the moment she would open the door of hell upon me with Mr. Robert's arrival.
That suffocating silence was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps of another guard, who emerged from around the corner and said in a mechanical, frozen tone:
"Madam Olivia... Mr. Robert wants you to bring Julie to his office... now."
I walked with steady steps and my head held high behind Olivia and the guard, trying to hide the tremor that had begun to invade my limbs.
My heart was beating the drums of terror, not out of fear of facing Olivia or her complaint, but from a single thought that froze the blood in my veins:
What if Robert found out what happened in the doctor's room? What if he realized that I am not that submissive 'merchandise', but that I dared and threatened his doctor with a sharp scalpel?
The way to his office felt like a path toward an execution platform, and every step brought me closer to revealing the truth.
We stood before that imposing wooden door; Olivia knocked on the door with a gentleness and servility that befit only an obedient servant, for his resonant and terrifying voice to come from inside with a single word:
"Enter."
At that exact moment, the memory of my entry upon him yesterday hit me like a hurricane... I compared that 'armed robbery' to my lowly stance now, and a mad desire to laugh overwhelmed me.
I couldn't suppress it, so a faint, sarcastic laugh escaped me, making Olivia turn to me in astonishment as if she had seen a demon.
Olivia opened the door while looking at me in bewilderment as if I had completely lost my mind. I entered the office trying to stifle the remains of 그 sarcastic laugh that had exploded inside me.
Robert was sitting behind his huge desk, smoke rising from his cigar.
Robert raised his head from his papers and looked at me with a terrifying calmness, then his gaze moved between my disheveled hair and the trace of the laugh that hadn't completely vanished from my eyes.
Robert placed his pen down very slowly, and his gaze carried an icy coldness as he contemplated my disheveled hair and the trace of agitation on my face.
He did not direct his speech to me; instead, he poured his calm anger on Olivia, saying in a tone dripping with contempt:
"What is this, Olivia? Do I pay you money to bring me my merchandise in this condition?!"
I saw Olivia's face turn pale and her strong features recede to turn into real terror; in Robert's dictionary, damaging the merchandise was an unforgivable sin.
Olivia replied in a trembling voice that almost vanished between the walls of the luxurious office, saying while trying to regain her balance:
"Mr. Robert... as you can see, this stubborn girl refuses to wear the clothes in the closet, and even said insolently that she doesn't see them as fitting for her!"
She was looking at me out of the corner of her eye, waiting for Robert's anger to pour over me because of my objection to his rules.
I immediately realized that Olivia was trying to throw the ball into my court to save her own skin, but I did not grant her the pleasure of a response or justification.
I ignored her presence completely, remained standing with rigidity and steadiness before Robert's desk, and busied myself with slowly raising my hand to rearrange my disheveled hair with steady fingers.
My silence was more eloquent than any defense, and that calm movement of mine was telling Robert that I, despite everything, was still in control of myself, while control had been completely lost from Olivia's hand.
Robert looked at me with his usual coldness, leaned his back against his luxurious leather chair while interlacing his fingers over his chest, then said in a tone calm but sharp as a knife:
"Why don't you see those clothes as fitting for you, Julie?"
He paused for a second to watch the effect of his words, then continued with a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes:
"Or did your father accustom you to wearing dirty clothes?"
I felt my blood boil; he wasn't asking out of a desire for knowledge, he was insulting me, trying to delude me into thinking that the filth I live in now is my only legacy.
I maintained my steadiness despite the fires ignited by his words about my father, and looked directly into his eyes with a complete calmness that made Olivia hold her breath. I said to him in a resonant and confident voice:
"Those are not clothes, Mr. Robert... you can call them what you want, and classify them as you please, but they are certainly not clothes."
Robert took a deep breath from his cigar, exhaled the smoke slowly while looking at me as if I were merely a technical obstacle in his project, then said with a decisive coldness:
"I don't care about your opinion... I want you to wear clothes befitting of this place."
He didn't wait for my response; instead, he shifted his gaze to Olivia and added in a tone carrying a hidden command:
"You can take her back to her room now... and don't forget to do your job."
I caught a terrifying glint in Olivia's eyes, as if his words were the green light she was waiting for to regain her authority over me, while I felt a coldness running through my veins; for what were they intending to do to me behind that closed door?
A feeling of contempt washed over me that I was no longer able to suppress; did he want his servant to strip me of my dignity by force? Before Olivia could move, I rushed toward his desk with steps that shook the ground beneath my feet, and struck its wooden surface with a force that created a boom in the room, and screamed in his face, my eyes sparking:
"I will not wear those whore's clothes even if you tear my skin from my bone... do you understand?!"
I didn't wait for a response from him; I turned and walked out like a storm, passed the guard who was stunned in his place, and went down the stairs with fast steps, blood boiling in my veins.
I entered that cursed room they call my room, and slammed the door behind me with all the strength I possessed, as if I were closing the whole filthy world behind my back.
I pounced on that closet like a wounded wolf, and began pulling the dresses one by one, tearing them with all the anger I possessed while screaming in a stifled voice:
"You will not make me a whore... you monsters!"
The silk and embroidered fabric slipped between my fingers, and I felt a sharp pain in my palm; damn these dresses! Even their luxurious fabric resists me, as if made of shackles that are not easily torn.
I exhausted my energy trying to turn those 'show costumes' into mere worn-out rags fit for nothing, while blood was boiling in my veins and my face wound throbbed with every violent movement.
I retreated backward until my back pressed against the smashed closet, while I clutched my chest with my hands trying to calm my heartbeats that almost dislodged my ribs from terror.
The room was drowned in chaos, and piles of torn silk surrounded me like victims of a losing battle.
I waited for a violent attack, I waited for Olivia's screaming or the muzzles of the guards' rifles, but none of that happened. Instead, the lock turned with a deadly quiet, and the door opened very slowly, as if the one entering did not want to frighten me... but rather wanted to lure me.