"I don't share," he growled right into my ear, his heavy breath hitting the base of my throat.
"I'm not yours." I hissed back.
He stepped closer, a smirk appearing on his face like all he was feeling at this moment was amusement. My patience was thi...
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"What is it that she has done to my family and me?" I demanded, my heart pounding in my throat.
The queasy feeling I had felt constantly over the last few days worsened the more they stared at me while my breakfast threatened to make an appearance. The more they continued to stare without clarification, the sicker I felt.
"Reva, I—"
I cut Jungkook off before he could muster an excuse or trip over his words. "Just tell me!"
Mrs. Jeon noticeably paled, her grip on the table's edge tightening. I'd never seen her so anxious, so visibly distressed. Normally composed, she now seemed to be overtaken by fear.
Jungkook didn't glance her way, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He slid a bookshelf aside, revealing a hidden safe. Though the sight of the safe itself wasn't surprising—my father had several—the contents within were clearly the source of their argument.
The beeping of the safe as Jungkook punched in four numbers was the only sound, yet all I could hear was my heart pounding. He pulled out two documents and stared at them for a few seconds before turning back to me.
"I found these when I was looking for the RV registration," he explained quietly, his eyes avoiding mine.
"What are they?" I asked, amazed that I could form any words at all. My voice sounded distant and foreign.
Mrs. Jeon gasped softly as Jungkook extended the papers toward me, an invisible rope seemingly pulling at him. Mrs. Jeon took a small step forward, as if trying to snatch the papers from his hand, silently pleading with him not to hand them over.
I stumbled toward Jungkook, snatching the papers from his grasp. A flicker of pity or regret passed through his eyes, but I ignored it as I scanned the documents. There were two passports and two papers that now felt like stones in my hand.
The first passport belonged to a woman named Ines Cardenas Montero. I had never seen her before and wondered why Mrs. Jeon possessed it. But when I opened the next passport, my heart sank. The image of a young woman, all too familiar, stared back at me, and in that moment, my world came crashing down.
Sofia Hernandez Cardenas read the name.
"Sophia?" My voice quivered as I scanned the page repeatedly with disbelieving eyes. I didn't want to believe it; I couldn't believe it.
The woman I had known all my life wasn't actually Sophia Hill. She was from Mexico, and her name was Sofia Hernandez Cardenas. Born in Tijuana in 1974.
"Where did you get this? Why do you have it?" I shouted, unable to endure the confusion any longer. Mrs. Jeon jumped, visibly startled. I had never raised my voice at her before.
