Julia knew that scene by heart; it was etched into her memory forever.
There was no fond remembrance, no sense of reunion, just a surge of hatred that filled her heart.
The first time, it was Walter's goons who dragged her there. She was bound and helpless, tied to an old, rusty bed.
Ignored by everyone, those men left her there, alone on that cold bed, drowning in a sea of despair.
How ironic.
Back then, Julia knew nothing, still naively hoping Walt would come to her rescue.
Eventually, Walt did show up… but not to save her. He was the one who sent her tumbling into a new kind of hell.
A hell far worse than that rusty bed.
Julia's steps were deliberate, slow, as if she was measuring the warehouse with her feet.
She stopped only when she reached a narrow iron door.
Julia's lips twisted into a wicked grin as she pictured the scene inside. She could not believe Evangeline's turn of fate.
She fought back a snicker, put her shoulder into it, and shoved the door open.
The room was a blast from the past, just like when she was the one in ropes. The same rickety metal bed stood there, looking even more worn than before, if that was possible.
However, there was one major change.
This time, it was not Julia tied to the bed—it was Evangeline.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Foster family's darling princess. It's been a while..."
Julia, heels clicking, moved toward Evangeline step by step.
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