Chapter 4

Haven ducked into a quiet corner café. She slid into a booth in the back, shielding herself from view. She ripped the diary out of her bag and flipped it open.

The blank page was covered in frantic, messy black handwriting.

Who are you? ! The quarterback went down exactly in the third minute! The score was exactly 14 to 7!

Haven's lips curled upward. She uncapped her blue pen and wrote: I told you. I'm your daughter. Do you believe me now?

The black ink hesitated. It took a long time for the next sentence to bleed through the paper. In the future... am I happy?

Haven stared at the question. The image of Clayton sneering at her last night burned in her chest. She pressed the pen down hard: You become a highly successful lawyer. But your temper is garbage.

An annoyed ellipsis... appeared in black ink.

Haven closed the book. She needed to focus. She had a job interview at 2:00 PM with the Maplewood Chronicle, the most prestigious investigative paper in the city.

At exactly 2:00 PM, Haven sat in the editor-in-chief's office. Arthur Penhaligon was a legend in journalism. He smiled warmly as he flipped through her portfolio.

"Your investigative work is phenomenal, Haven," Arthur said, nodding approvingly. "We'd be lucky to have you."

Haven's tight chest finally relaxed. She was going to get the job.

A sharp ping echoed from Arthur's computer. He clicked open a new email.

Instantly, the warmth vanished from Arthur's face. His brow furrowed. He looked up at Haven, his eyes cold and judgmental.

Arthur closed her portfolio and pushed it back across the desk. "This interview is over, Ms. Guerrero. We cannot hire someone with a severe integrity violation."

Haven felt the blood drain from her head. "Excuse me? What violation?"

Arthur frowned. "We just received your background check. Your former employer gave a terrible reference. They also flagged a police record from your high school days. Grand larceny. Stealing a diamond necklace from a jewelry store."

A high-pitched ringing filled Haven's ears. The stolen diamond necklace. It was a ten-year-old nightmare. Her own stepsister had framed her, but the stain never washed off.

Haven stumbled out of the newspaper building. She stood in the middle of the bustling center of Maplewood Square, the noise of the city drowning out her thoughts. She pulled out her phone and called her former coworker, Maya.

Maya answered, whispering frantically. "Haven! Bettye Le called your new boss. She's an administrative assistant at a rival paper now. She tipped them off about your high school record."

Haven's teeth ground together so hard her jaw popped. Bettye Le. Her vicious stepsister and the actual thief who had stolen the necklace and framed her ten years ago. She was still ruining her life.

Pure, unadulterated rage flooded her veins. Haven marched down the subway stairs. She found an empty bench on the platform and yanked the diary out.

She wrote furiously, the pen tearing into the paper: Dad. I need a massive favor. It involves my mother's future.

Teenage Clayton replied instantly: Your mother? Who is she? Do I know her?

Haven ignored the question. "This afternoon, at 4:00 PM, a diamond necklace will be stolen from a locked display case in the back room of the Silver Linings Jewelry Boutique downtown."

She issued the command: "You have to go to that boutique. Hide in the storage closet. Film the real thief taking the necklace."

Clayton pushed back: "Why the hell should I care about some stolen jewelry?"

Haven knew exactly how to manipulate him. She wrote: "Because the thief is my evil stepsister, Bettye Le. She is going to frame an innocent girl. And that girl is your future wife."

The black ink exploded onto the page, smearing wildly as if Clayton's hand was shaking.

Five agonizing minutes passed. Haven stared at the blank space, her heart pounding in her throat.

Finally, a single, heavy word appeared in black ink: Deal.

Haven let out a massive breath. She leaned her head back against the cold tile of the subway wall. Her eyes burned with the promise of revenge.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from Clayton.

Did you receive the annex for the divorce settlement.

Haven stared at the cold, sterile text message. She let out a dark laugh, locked the screen, and shoved the phone back into her bag.

"You want a divorce, Clayton?" she thought. "Fine. But you have no idea what's coming. Maybe... just maybe, the boy I used to know is still in there. And I'm going to find him."