Breaking Free from the Mafia Boss

"Open up." Julian's voice was soft, coaxing. "Have some candy. It'll stop the pain."

Madison pouted, leaning into him, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness. "Julian, you're so good to me. And this cup... it's wonderful. It keeps the water so warm."

He turned. Spotted me in the doorway.

His expression hardened instantly, brows knitting together in annoyance.

"Penelope? What's with that look? Madison has low blood sugar. What's the big deal about borrowing your cup? Don't be so stingy."

I strode across the room.

Snatched the mug from Madison's hands.

Didn't look back.

Brown sugar water sloshed out, splashing her hand.

"Ah! It's hot!" Madison shrieked, tears instantly welling in her eyes.

I ignored her.

With a surge of cold fury, I hurled the mug—along with the remaining liquid—into the metal trash can.

*Clang.*

The sound echoed through the hall.

Julian froze for a split second. Then his face darkened. He shoved me. Hard.

"Penelope Norris! What the hell is wrong with you? It's just a damn cup! You scalded Madison! How can a woman be so vicious?"

The force sent me stumbling back. My shoulder slammed into the wall, and a fresh spike of agony shot through my bandaged head wound.

I didn't cry out.

I just stared at the trash can.

My silence seemed to unnerve him. He assumed I was guilty.

"Report!"

A communications soldier jogged in, breathless.

"Team Leader Henson! Comrade Penelope Norris! Urgent notice from headquarters!" The soldier glanced at the tension in the room—thick enough to cut with a knife—and flinched. "Tonight... there's a morale-boosting performance. High-ranking leaders will be in attendance. The scheduled solo dance, 'The White-Haired Girl'... the lead remains Comrade Penelope Norris."

Julian's hand, raised to point an accusing finger at me, froze mid-air.

Slowly, he lowered it.

He looked at Madison, dabbing at her tears. Then at me.

As soon as the soldier left, Julian grabbed my arm and dragged me into the corner.

"Penelope. Give tonight's solo to Madison."

A dry, disbelief-filled laugh escaped me. "Excuse me?"

"Madison's family is struggling." His voice dropped, low and urgent. "She's a temporary worker. She needs this performance to get regularized. You're different. Your parents are cadres, and you're already the star. You'll have plenty of chances. You don't need this one. Besides, look at you—you have a head injury. You'll make the troupe lose face."

"I won't give it up." My voice was steady. "I earned this role with my own sweat and blood. If she wants to be regularized, she can put in the work in the practice room. Shortcuts aren't my problem."

Julian's expression turned to ice. "Penelope, how can you be so selfish? This is Madison's only shot. Are you trying to ruin her?"

"Think what you want."

I wrenched my arm from his grip and turned to leave.

Behind me, Madison's voice wavered, thick with performative sobbing. "Julian, forget it. It's just my bad luck... I won't fight for it. As long as Penelope isn't angry..."

"Don't cry." Julian's voice was full of heartache. "I'm here. That lead role will be yours."

I hadn't eaten since morning. Between the blood loss and the stress, my stomach was a hollow pit.

Julian had mentioned earlier that the cafeteria had braised pork for lunch. That he'd save a portion for me. After all, despite everything, we were about to be married.

I thought, perhaps foolishly, that he still cared.

If he was willing to talk rationally, maybe Madison's situation could be discussed.

I walked into the cafeteria kitchen and found the stage design group's dedicated lunch box.

Empty.

"Wow, Penelope," a kitchen worker remarked, shaking his head. "Captain Henson didn't even rinse the bowl for you? That braised pork smelled amazing, too. He said you weren't eating and dumped the whole portion onto Madison Barnes's plate."

My stomach churned.

But not from hunger.

Backstage was a chaotic flurry before the evening performance.

I was *Xi'er*. I was the lead.

No one could take that from me.

I changed into my costume and sat before the vanity, picking up my red dance shoes.

Slid my foot in.

*Crunch.*

A sharp, piercing pain shot straight up from my sole, drilling into the bone.

"Hiss—"

I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and ripped the shoe off.