Julio’s eyes were bloodshot, his fingers clenched, and he slammed his last fist against the glass.
Blood started flowing.
But he didn't feel any pain.
It seemed that only physical pain could make him feel better inside.
The door to the room was opened.
Julio turned around.
Magda stood in the doorway.
When she fell off the rooftop, she already had her men on standby and they saved her.
She had just taken a shower.
Changed into a clean suit, still highly luxurious and customized. Even at night, she still had her makeup on and her hair re-styled. It looked delicate and elegant, graceful and elegant.
It was the usual image of his mother in Julio’s eyes.
At all times, his mother was as noble, elegant and subdued as the bright moon in the sky.
If tonight, he hadn't seen the scene on the rooftop, he wouldn’t have believed that she was evil.
Magda’s hand held a small delicate porcelain cup.
“I don’t think you’ve eaten tonight, I had someone stew your favorite porridge."