Amber stared at Karla's text, her hands shaking. What had she found in Rawls' desk? The folded photo Claire mentioned? Or something worse?
She needed time to think. The coffee shop had emptied after the morning rush, leaving her alone with her spinning thoughts. She ordered another latte and sank into a corner booth.
Before she could take her first sip, the chair across from her scraped against the floor. Simpson was back, a strange look on his face.
"Thought you left," Amber said coldly.
"I circled the block." Simpson leaned forward, his blue eyes—so like Rawls'—studying her face. "You're making a mistake, you know."
"Which mistake would that be? I've made so many lately."
Simpson's mouth twitched with a half-smile. "Falling for my brother. Thinking he'll choose you."
"I never said—"
"You don't have to. It's written all over your face." Simpson reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. Amber pulled back as if burned.
"What are you doing?"
"Showing you there are other options." Simpson's voice softened. "Someone closer to your age. Someone without all Rawls' baggage."
Amber's jaw dropped. "Are you seriously hitting on me right now?"
"Is it that shocking?" Simpson smiled, but something sharp lurked behind his eyes. "You're beautiful, smart. And clearly you have a thing for Benedict men."
"You tried to blackmail me!" Amber hissed, keeping her voice low despite her anger. "You broke into my apartment!"
"Water under the bridge." Simpson waved dismissively. "I'm offering you a clean start. No complications. No best friend whose heart you'll break."
Amber stood up, grabbing her purse. "You're unbelievable."
Simpson caught her wrist. "Think about it, Amber. Rawls is old enough to be your father. His ex-wife is moving back in. His daughter—your best friend—would never forgive you."
"Let go of me."
"You'd break Claire's heart for a man who's already rebuilding his family without you." Simpson's grip tightened. "Is that the kind of friend you are?"
Amber yanked her arm free. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know what you wrote in your journal. Such passionate feelings for a man who barely noticed you existed until a few weeks ago."
Heat rushed to Amber's face. "Stop."
"Ask yourself why he's suddenly interested. Is it you? Or is it because I am?" Simpson stood, towering over her. "Rawls always wanted whatever I had. Since we were kids."
"That's not true," Amber whispered, but doubt crept in. Why had Rawls never mentioned Karla moving back?
"Isn't it?" Simpson's voice dropped. "Did he tell you about Olivia yet?"
"Who is she?" Amber demanded.
Simpson's eyes darkened. "She was mine, until Rawls decided he wanted her too."
"What happened to her?"
"Ask your precious Rawls." Simpson stepped closer, his cologne wrapping around her like a trap. "But ask yourself this first: why keep it secret if he has nothing to hide?"
Amber pushed past him toward the door, but Simpson called after her.
"One more thing." His voice made her pause. "I won't show those journal pages to Claire. Not if you agree to stop seeing Rawls."
Amber turned, fury rising. "That's still blackmail."
"No." Simpson's face was strangely serious. "That's me trying to protect you both. You have no idea what you're walking into, Amber."
"I don't need your protection."
"Everyone needs protection from Rawls eventually." Simpson's words followed her out the door.
Outside, Amber gulped fresh air, trying to calm her racing heart. Her phone buzzed again—another text from Karla:
I'm waiting at Bella's Café. Come now if you want to know the truth.
Followed seconds later by one from Rawls:
Don't meet with Karla. She's trying to manipulate you. Please, trust me.
Trust. Did she trust Rawls? Or was Simpson right about him?
She flagged down a taxi and gave the driver an address. As the car pulled away, she caught sight of Doug watching from across the street, phone in hand. Another person tracking her moves.
The taxi stopped outside a small, elegant café with white awnings. Through the window, Amber could see Karla sitting alone, checking her watch.
Before she could decide whether to go in, her phone rang. Claire's name flashed on the screen.
"Claire?" Amber answered, relief flooding her voice.
"Did you know?" Claire's voice was thick with tears.
"Know what?"
"About Mom and Dad." Claire sniffed. "They're not getting back together. They were fighting all morning about you."
Amber sank back against the taxi seat. "Me? What did I do?"
"Mom found more than just that folded photo. She found letters."
"Letters?" Amber's mouth went dry. "What letters?"
"From someone named Olivia. To Dad." Claire's voice hardened. "Dad's hiding them now. Won't let Mom see them. Says it's none of her business."
Olivia. That name again.
"Claire, who is—"
"I have to go. Dad's coming." Claire's voice dropped to a whisper. "Just... be careful, Amber. Something weird is going on with everyone."
The line went dead. Amber stared at the phone, then at Karla through the café window. The elegant woman raised a hand, beckoning her inside.
Amber paid the taxi driver and made her decision. She needed answers, and maybe Karla had them. As she pushed open the café door, her phone buzzed with a text from Rawls:
Don't believe anything Karla says about Olivia. She wasn't what you think.
Wasn't? Past tense. A chill ran down Amber's spine as she approached Karla's table.
"Sit down, dear." Karla smiled, gesturing to the chair across from her. On the table lay a stack of yellowed envelopes tied with faded ribbon. "I think it's time you learned who Olivia Benedict really was—and what happened the night she died."