Ms. Chaos Meets Mr. Serious

Haven

I woke up with a massive grin on my face because, honestly, why wouldn't I? The sun was streaming through my window like a personal spotlight, and if the day was going to be this gorgeous, I had to make sure I looked even better. Being pretty is a full-time job, and I never take a day off.

I hopped out of bed, feeling the hum of the house. Downstairs, the smell of coffee and fried rice was already drifting up. It was one of those rare mornings where we could all actually sit down together before my dad headed out to the shops. He runs two small automotive supply stores—greasy, metallic places full of spare parts and engine oil. It’s honest work, even if some months are a total struggle.

I know how lucky I am to be at the university. My parents worked their fingers to the bone, secretly hoarding every cent for my tuition while I thought we were just barely scraping by. Between the business fluctuations and my little brother Xenon’s asthma, money is always tight. We keep Xenon inside most of the time—the city air is just too thick with exhaust for his lungs to handle.

I’ve offered to get a part-time job a dozen times, but Dad just gives me that look. He wants me focused. He wants that degree in my hand. So, for now, I carry the weight of their sacrifices with a smile and a lot of determination.

"Ate! Mom says breakfast is ready!"

Xenon’s voice through the door startled a laugh out of me. "Okay, okay! I’m coming down!"

I grabbed my bag, checked my lip gloss one last time, and headed for the kitchen. My mom was already fluttering around the table, and my dad, Oliver, was buried behind a newspaper, his coffee steaming beside him.

"Eat up, sweetheart," Mom said, sliding a plate in front of me.

"Morning, Dad," I chirped, kissing his cheek. He offered a warm, tired smile before turning back to the news.

"By the way, Oliver," Mom said, leaning against the counter. "I’m going to help Marie with her laundry today. She’s so far along in her pregnancy, and it’s just her and her husband in that house. She needs the hand."

Dad looked up, brow furrowed. "Are you sure? You’ve already got enough on your plate here."

Mom waved him off with a smirk. "Oh, please. It’s her first baby. Besides, I like the gossip."

A sharp knock at the door interrupted them.

"I’ll get it!" I jumped up and stood by the door, leaning my weight against it. "Password first!" I teased.

A muffled, playful voice came from the other side. "Estelle is the most beautiful girl in the world."

I laughed and swung the door open. "Close enough. Get in here, you brat."

Estelle slid inside, adjusting her glasses and grinning through her braces. We’ve been inseparable since kindergarten—literally. Teachers tried to split us up once by putting us in different sections, but we made such a fuss they gave up. People call her a nerd, but she’s the smartest person I know. And if anyone talks trash about her, they have to go through me. I’m nice until I’m not, and I’ve got a mean streak that keeps the bullies at bay.

"Good morning, Auntie! Morning, Uncle!" Estelle greeted my parents, settling into the chair next to mine.

"You're just in time," Mom said, but then her eyes widened as she looked at Xenon’s plate. "Oh! Xenon, wait! There’s shrimp in that. I forgot your allergy! That was supposed to be for Haven. Swap plates, you two."

I quickly traded my plate for my brother's. My mom always calls me "Ate," the older sister, even when she’s talking to me like a child. It’s sweet, in a chaotic sort of way.

Estelle didn't even wait for an invite. She reached over and snatched a shrimp right off my new plate.

"Hey! You have your own food!" I complained, swiping at her hand.

"What’s yours is mine, babe," she whispered, leaning in closer so my parents couldn't hear. Her tone shifted, becoming sharp and low. "So, are you going to tell them what happened yesterday? Or are we keeping that little disaster a secret?"

My heart stuttered for a second. I glanced at my dad, who was still hovering over his paper. "No way," I hissed back. "They’ll freak out. I can handle it myself."

"Handle what?"

We both froze. My dad had dropped the newspaper and was staring directly at us, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

I forced a bright, totally fake smile. Estelle beat me to the punch, her voice a little too loud.

"Oh, you know... just talking about Haven’s secret admirer! He sent her some... uh... very intense gifts yesterday. We were just Gossiping!"

I pinched Estelle’s arm under the table, hard enough to leave a mark. She let out a muffled squeak, her mouth full of rice.

"Is he still hiding in the shadows?" Mom asked, leaning in with a playful glint in her eyes. "I’m dying to meet this guy. He’s been sending you things for years, Haven. It’s clear he’s head over heels for you."

My heart did a little somersault. I tried to play it cool, but the heat was climbing up my neck. "Oh, stop it, Mom! You’re being ridiculous."

"Haven, watch your tone," Dad cautioned, though his eyes were kind.

"She’s been even more colorful lately, Uncle," Estelle chimed in, finally swallowing. "Yesterday she actually said—"

I didn't let her finish. I grabbed a large, peeled shrimp and shoved it straight into her mouth. "Eat your breakfast, Estelle."

Dad sighed, setting his coffee down. "A lady shouldn't have such a sharp tongue, Haven."

"She didn't get that from us, Oliver," Mom said softly, her voice losing its playfulness. "You can’t blame the girl for the habits she picked up from... before."

The air in the room shifted instantly. The mention of my biological father was like a cold draft under the door. We never talked about him—not at breakfast, not ever. He was the one who taught me my first curses. I remember being a little girl, accidentally letting a word slip during a game, and feeling the sting of Mom’s hand across my mouth.

I’ve tried to stop. Truly. But when I’m startled or angry, the words just slide out like they’re hardwired into my brain. He was a bad influence in every sense of the word. I still have flashes of memory—vivid, ugly scenes of him hurting Mom. The bruises he left on her skin were nothing compared to the ones he left on her spirit. Even without a drop of alcohol in him, he was a monster.

I hate him. I don’t care if we share the same blood; he isn't my father. My real dad is sitting right across from me, the man who took me in, spoiled me when he had an extra dollar, and told me I could be whoever I wanted to be.

...

The drive to campus was tense. I didn't want to commute today. My mind was stuck on the incident from yesterday—those men, the way they watched me. I didn't say a word to my parents because they already have enough to worry about. I can handle myself. I have to.

"Are you still thinking about that guy who wants to talk to you?" Estelle asked, breaking the silence. "The one you have no clue about?"

"I'm just curious," I lied, looking out the window. "And honestly? A little annoyed. This secret admirer thing has been going on for years. Is he ever going to show his face, or is he just going to keep playing mystery man until we’re eighty?"

I’ve never had a real crush. Not in elementary, not in high school. Estelle knows everything about me—we’ve shared secrets, clothes, and practically our entire lives. Even she’s stumped. Most guys stay away because I’m "difficult" or "moody." Mom says I got my attitude from my first father, but I like to think I just got her beauty and a spine made of steel.

When we pulled into the university lot, I didn't move.

"Why are you still in the car?" Estelle teased. "I thought you weren't afraid of anything."

I waited a few beats, scanning the crowd of students. "Are they out there?" I whispered.

"Wait, my shoe is untied," Estelle said, hopping out and kneeling by the door.

I took a deep breath and stepped out, walking toward the main building. I was so busy looking over my shoulder for thugs that I didn't see the person right in front of me.

Thump.

I slammed into a broad chest.

"Miss Haven Cross?"

The voice was smooth, like expensive bourbon. I didn't look up at first, my breath hitching in my throat.

"Yes...?" I managed to choke out.

"Can I have a minute of your time?"

I slowly lifted my gaze, and my heart stopped. He wasn't a student. He was older, wearing a sharp, tailored office suit that cost more than my tuition. He was breathtakingly handsome, but as my eyes moved past him, I saw the men standing behind him.

The same men from yesterday.

My blood turned to ice. "About what?" I asked, my voice trembling.

The man stepped closer, his scent—sandalwood and power—filling my senses.

"Wait! Please, just wait!"

The man took a step forward, his palms open in a gesture of peace. Up close, his skin was flawless, and he smelled like expensive laundry soap and power. "Don’t be scared. We aren't here to hurt you. I just need you to come with me. My boss is very insistent on meeting you. If you have classes now, we can wait. We’ll pick you up the moment you’re finished."

He was calm, almost soothing, but my heart was drumming a frantic beat against my ribs. I looked past his tailored shoulder at the two men standing behind him. They were built like brick walls, faces set in stone, looming like shadows in the morning sun.

"Look," I said, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to sound tough. "You’re handsome, and you seem polite, but no. Absolutely not. If your boss wants to talk to me so badly, he can show his face here. I’m not just getting into a car with strangers."

The man’s expression didn't flicker. "I understand your concern, Miss Cross, but my boss cannot meet you in public. I can’t explain why, but I give you my word that you will be safe."

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is he some kind of VIP? Too good to step onto a college campus? My gut is telling me this is a bad idea. I don't care how nice your suit is, the answer is no."

Estelle nudged me hard, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "Haven, look at him," she whispered, leaning into my ear. "He’s gorgeous. He’s professional. He smells like a literal angel. Maybe it’s fine?"

I pinched her arm, making her hiss. "Are you crazy? I don't care if he’s a supermodel. I don't know him. There are plenty of good-looking guys in the world who are still dangerous."

The man in the suit sighed, his gaze softening into something like a plea. He actually had puppy-dog eyes. It was devastating. "Miss Haven Cross, I am begging you. This is a matter of extreme importance. He needs you. We won't leave until you agree to come, and I’m afraid we won't stop following this lead until you do."

The persistence was starting to freak me out. "No! No, no, no! I said no! Do whatever you want, stay here all day if you like, but I'm not going anywhere with you!"

I grabbed Estelle’s hand and bolted toward the campus gates, my heels clicking rapidly on the pavement. I didn't dare look back.

"You almost folded back there," Estelle teased, breathless as we reached the safety of the main hall. "I saw your face. You were totally checking him out."

"Okay, fine, he was hot," I admitted, trying to shake off the chill running down my spine. "But something feels wrong. If this were just about a conversation, why the bodyguards? Why the secret location? It’s not exactly a great start to a friendship."

My mind was spinning at a hundred miles an hour. Who the hell is this boss? I’m a college student. I spend my time studying, hanging out with Estelle, and dodging my past. I haven't done anything illegal lately. Well, nothing serious enough to warrant a private security detail and a personal invitation from a mystery man.

I started to spiral. What if he’s part of a syndicate? What if my biological father owes someone money? Or worse, what if they’re going to kidnap me and my family will be left wondering where I went?

I’m smart, but I’m also an overthinker. The more I thought about that man’s calm, steady gaze, the more I felt like I was being hunted. If they think they can just show up with a pretty face and some muscle to buy my time, they have another thing coming.

I’m Haven Cross. If this "boss" wants me, he’s going to have to do a lot better than sending a messenger. He wants a piece of me? He better be ready for the fire that comes with it.