Chapter 5

The deafening ring of the 3:30 PM dismissal bell echoed through the halls of Maplewood High. Students flooded out of the classrooms, eager to escape.

Seventeen-year-old Clayton Sloan didn't move. He sat frozen at his desk in the back row.

He stared down at the black diary hidden inside his open textbook. The words that girl is your future wife burned into his retinas.

Clayton lifted his head. His dark eyes scanned the emptying room, trying to figure out which of these girls was supposedly his destiny.

A moment later, Haven Guerrero walked into the classroom. She was wearing a faded, oversized school hoodie. She carried a heavy mop and a plastic bucket. She was the scholarship kid who cleaned classrooms after school to pay for her lunch before heading to her second job downtown.

Clayton's brow furrowed. He watched her struggle to push the heavy wooden desks out of the way. A strange, uncomfortable tightness gripped his chest.

Suddenly, Leo Kowalski, the varsity running back, strutted into the room. He hopped up and sat right on the desk Haven had just wiped down.

"Hey, poverty," Leo sneered, his eyes raking over Haven's body with disgusting entitlement. "Come to my party this weekend. I'll buy you a real drink."

Haven gripped the wooden handle of the mop until her knuckles turned white. She kept her eyes glued to the floor. "Move, Leo. I have to clean."

Leo laughed. He reached out and grabbed Haven's wrist, his grip bruising and forceful. "Come on, don't be a bitch."

A violent surge of anger erupted in Clayton's blood. He slammed his heavy history textbook shut.

The loud BANG echoed like a gunshot in the empty room. Leo jumped, releasing Haven's wrist. He whipped his head around and glared at the back row.

Clayton met Leo's eyes. His face was a mask of terrifying, cold authority. "Get out."

Leo swallowed hard. Everyone knew the Sloan family practically owned the town. Leo cursed under his breath, grabbed his backpack, and practically ran out the door.

Haven looked up at Clayton. Her eyes were wide with shock. "Thank you," she whispered.

Clayton didn't say a word. To cover up his bizarre behavior, he grabbed his backpack, stood up, and walked out the back door into the hallway.

Once he was out of sight, Clayton checked his silver wristwatch. He had fifteen minutes until the theft at the boutique. He waited until the hallway was dead silent, then slipped out the side exit of the school and sprinted toward the downtown district.

He arrived at the Silver Linings Jewelry Boutique just in time, sneaking through the alleyway entrance and silently opening the door to the dark storage closet at the back of the shop.

The closet was pitch black. It smelled like industrial polish and old velvet. Clayton grimaced in disgust and pulled the door shut behind him.

He crouched down between two stacks of cardboard inventory boxes. He peered through the narrow slits of the wooden louvers on the closet door. He had a perfect view of the manager's desk and the locked glass display case containing the shop's most expensive pieces.

In the present timeline, twenty-seven-year-old Haven sat on her sofa. She stared at the diary on her coffee table. Her palms were sweating. Changing the past was a massive risk, but she was out of options.

Back in 2014, the back room door handle rattled. Clayton stopped breathing. His muscles locked up.

Mr. Sterling, the elderly boutique owner, shuffled into the room. He walked to the desk and started sorting through tomorrow's inventory ledgers.

Then, Sterling turned and walked straight toward the storage closet. He reached out and grabbed the brass doorknob.

Clayton's heart slammed against his ribs. If Sterling opened this door, Clayton had no excuse for hiding in the dark.

Right as the knob began to turn, a voice echoed from the hallway. "Alistair! Telephone out at the front register!"

Sterling let go of the knob. He turned around and shuffled out of the back room.

Clayton exhaled a long, shaky breath. A layer of cold sweat coated his forehead.

He pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. He switched it to video mode and aimed the camera lens right through the louver slits, focusing on the display case.

Soft, creeping footsteps echoed from the hallway. A dark figure slinked into the back room, hugging the wall.