Chapter 32

Grace had not been expecting to come across Lily again so quickly.

Lily looked the same as when Grace had met her for the first time all those years ago.

She was tall and thin in the way only actresses could be. Her skin had a perfect glow. Meticulously applied makeup, haute couture clothes, expensive designer handbag…

She looked every bit the actress and fiancee to one of the richest men in the city.

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If not for either of those things, she was still the only daughter of the Atkinson family and a socialite in her own right.

Even then, when Lily permitted others to rip out her nails, she was still dressed exquisitely. Her expensive and branded clothes stood out in the dark prison.

She looked so radiant and glamorous, then. And now.

It was also this city socialite, highly esteemed by everyone else, who’d made it her goal to see Grace tortured and abused. There was a moment when Grace understood Lily’s plight. Jennifer, Lily’s sister, had died. But it was an accident!

close to Jennifer. They

Grace at every turn, even years later, it made

that wasn’t the case. She deeply regretted

“I was wondering who this is. Isn’t she the perpetrator who killed Jennifer? This sure is karma. I can’t believe she’s

head and continued to sweep up

is thick-skinned,” Annabelle said. “If it were me who had killed someone’s sister, I’m afraid I would cry bitterly as I knelt down and begged for forgiveness. I can’t believe that some people would see it as not a big deal,” Annabelle

looked at the two of them and said, “I’ve already paid the price.” She held the broom

around the building— it was a government building-bul government officials could be bought, as she’d learned in

three years over an unwarranted accusation

in jail and could only

Annabelle mocked. “You have a shit job. Big deal. You’re alive, aren’t you? While

you think that’s the price?” Lily asked coldly. “It should’ve been a life for

no family. No friendships. Everything I’ve worked for was taken from me. Did you come here to gloat? I can now say that

the top of Grace’s messy head to the bottom cuffs of her

woman’s originally dark and long hair had withered

could still recall the first time she had met Grace and had been surprised by her hands. They were smooth and fair, and

this pair of hands were currently not holding a high-quality fountain pen but a rough and dirty broom.

seems like your hands have not been completely

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