Chapter 3 - THE TORN JOURNAL
My front door was unlocked.
I stopped on the landing, the engine heat of my twelve-year-old Subaru still clinging to my legs. The wood frame near the deadbolt was splintered.
I pushed the door open.
My small, quiet life had been shredded. The cushions were sliced open. My greenhouse shelves were knocked over, shattered terracotta and dark potting soil covering the hardwood. They had searched everything.
They were looking for the metal case. The one my mother told me not to open until I was twenty-five.
I walked slowly through the wreckage, the hem of my expensive wedding gown dragging through the dirt. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Julian had mentioned they had already seen my mother’s documents. But I knew my mother. Clara Ross didn’t trust easily. If she left a box with instructions, she wouldn’t have left the real truth lying in a bank vault for a corrupt lawyer like Charles to find.
I walked into my bedroom. My mattress was overturned.
But they hadn’t looked up.
I pulled over a sturdy wooden chair, climbed onto it, and pushed aside the ceiling tile above my closet. I reached into the dark, dusty crawlspace. My fingers brushed cold metal.
I pulled out a small, heavy iron tin.
I sat on the floor amid the ruins of my room and opened it.
Inside wasn't a stack of legal papers or bank statements.
There were only three things.
A heavy silver pocket watch—the same one from the photograph.
A handwritten leather gardening journal, its pages thick with dried pressed ferns.
And a birth certificate.
I opened the certificate first. The edges were yellowed.
Name: Elena Clara Sterling. Mother: Clara Ross. Father: Jonathan Sterling.
I dropped the paper. I wasn’t a Ross. I was a Sterling.
I picked up the gardening journal. My mother had meticulously logged soil pH levels and bloom cycles. But as I flipped toward the back, the dates stopped matching the seasons.
October 14th. The soil is poisoned. Victoria knows about the trust. She forced Jonathan out. I have to hide the seed.
The seed. Me.
A heavy knock echoed from downstairs.
“Elena!”
It wasn’t Julian. It was a voice I didn’t recognize. Deep, sharp, and impatient.
I scrambled to my feet, shoving the journal, the watch, and the certificate into a duffel bag. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater, stripping out of the wedding dress. I left the white silk lying in the dirt of my ruined apartment.
I slipped down the fire escape just as the front door burst open.
I ran to my car, but a figure stepped out from the shadows of the alley, blocking my path.
He was tall, wearing a worn canvas jacket, his eyes as cold and sharp as cracked ice.
“You’re hard to keep alive, Elena,” he said.
May you like
I gripped my keys like a weapon. “Who are you?”
He looked at the duffel bag. “My name is Hayes. Jonathan Sterling was my mentor. And if you don’t get in my truck right now, Victoria Vance’s men are going to make sure you never read the rest of that journal.”
