Sophia’s POV

“What was that, Sophia Rosetta?” My mom questions for the second time, her face pale as a sheet, Airpod in her fist.

Mouth open, I stare at her in shock.

My heart races at an alarming rate, my breaths are inconsistent—an aftermath of what I’ve just listened to, what my mom heard a portion of before I composed myself, enough to turn my phone face down.

Still tingly, I tighten my legs together, pulling the sheet. My other hand grips my phone tighter.

“Give me your ...