Ten minutes earlier.
Clayton walked down the crowded hallway, his backpack slung over one shoulder. His mind was entirely consumed by the diary's insane mission.
Suddenly, a suffocating cloud of sweet floral perfume hit his face. Kendall Cohen, the school's undisputed queen bee, stepped out from a corner and blocked his path.
Kendall wore a pristine cashmere sweater. A flawless, practiced smile stretched across her lips. She reached out and seamlessly looped her arm through Clayton's.
"Clayton," Kendall pouted, pressing her body against his arm. "Why are you walking so fast?"
Clayton's body went rigid. He stared over her shoulder, looking at the clock on the wall. The minutes were ticking down.
Kendall didn't notice his tension. "You have to come watch my piano audition in the auditorium. Now."
Normally, Clayton would have just nodded. Their families were close business partners. It was easier to tolerate her demands than to deal with the fallout of rejecting her.
But right now, the diary's warning screamed in his head. That girl is your future wife.
Clayton smoothly but firmly pulled his arm out of Kendall's grasp. The rejection was physical and absolute.
Kendall's hand hovered in the empty air. Her perfect smile cracked, revealing a flash of genuine shock.
"I have somewhere to be," Clayton said. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.
Kendall bit her lower lip. Tears instantly pooled in her large eyes. It was a weapon she used constantly. "You never say no to me, Clayton. Please." Her voice trembled perfectly.
Clayton looked down at her fake tears. For the first time in his life, he felt a surge of pure, unadulterated disgust. He checked his watch again.
"Not today, Kendall." Clayton stepped around her and walked away without a single backward glance.
Kendall stood frozen in the middle of the hallway. The tears vanished instantly. Her face twisted into an ugly mask of jealousy and rage. She dug her manicured acrylic nails into her palms until they left deep red half-moons.
In the present, Haven sat in her apartment. The black ink bled onto the page.
"I just ditched Kendall to do your insane mission," Clayton wrote. "She looked like she wanted to murder me."
Haven stared at the sentence. A massive, overwhelming wave of vindication crashed through her. Her lips curled into a massive, genuine smile.
For ten years, Kendall had been the untouchable ghost in her marriage. The perfect childhood sweetheart.
And now, because of Haven, seventeen-year-old Clayton had left her standing like an idiot in the hallway.
Haven pressed her pen to the paper, practically buzzing with joy. Good job, Dad. That girl isn't worth your time.
Back in the dark storage closet, Clayton read the diary's response. He raised an eyebrow, but he didn't write back. He shoved the diary into his bag.
He focused his eyes through the wooden slits. The dark figure stepped up to the manager's desk.
The late afternoon sun hit the side of the thief's face. Clayton's eyes narrowed. It was Bettye Le. The manipulative, spiteful stepsister of the girl he had just saved.
Bettye looked over her shoulder. She pulled a flathead screwdriver out of her pocket.
Clayton raised his phone. His thumb hit the red record button.
Bettye jammed the screwdriver into the lock of the glass display case. She twisted it violently. The screech of grinding metal echoed in the quiet room.
SNAP. The lock broke. Bettye yanked the case open. She stared down at the velvet jewelry boxes inside.
