Viona's POV
Her dangling ankle swung with the precise rhythm of a clock's tick. Vivian's hand held a passport—mine, I was certain.
I sighed heavily, knowing this face-to-face confrontation was inevitable. I placed my bag and scarf on the sofa, then deliberately sat opposite her.
Only our faces looked alike. But inside, we were vastly different. We were a total mystery to each other.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
She chuckled. "The normal response should be How did I know your password. Your engagement day? Really? Do you like that day so much, sister? The day I was gone."
I clenched my jaw, biting back the foolishness I regretted. Should I slap her? Will that make me feel better?
I snatched the sofa cushion beside me, and with full force, I hurled it directly into Vivian's head, scattering her hair. She looked surprised, then glared back at me.
