Keeley forgot a crucial detail in her plan to avoid Aaron Hale: their first encounter. She'd first seen him at a basketball game, their eyes meeting briefly before she blushed and fled to her friends. He was the most handsome—and coldest—person she'd ever seen. Their brief gaze felt like staring into a dark blue abyss.

She was intrigued by his eyes but didn't see him again until the seating chart was reorganized alphabetically. Entering the classroom, she froze. He sat casually at the desk next to hers. Aaron Hale. Keeley Hall. Their similar last names had been a source of teasing when they'd dated.

Keeley felt sick. She'd forgotten about the seating change! She'd been so focused on avoiding basketball games since her "awakening" that her memory was flawed. She'd thought this happened during her senior year's final quarter, not the third! She needed more time to formulate a plan. She wasn't ready to face him, not after his cold treatment before her traumatic death.

"Mr. Weisz," she reasoned, "aren't seating charts a bit childish for a prestigious institution of higher education?"

Private school teachers, she knew, were proud of their schools; public school teachers, not so much. Keeley wouldn't have attended the elite Westwind Academy without her great-great-grandfather's will, which stipulated that his Gold Rush fortune fund his descendants' education.

Her father held two master's degrees, fully funded by the trust. Her older cousins all had at least one graduate degree, many more than one, as the trust dictated. This is how the perfectly normal daughter of a civil engineer ended up at a high school filled with the children of diplomats and Fortune 500 CEOs.

"Seating charts maintain order, Miss Hall," the teacher retorted, seeing through her ploy. "Take your seat."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, defeated.

Refusing to slump or look at him, Keeley doodled stars with a purple glitter gel pen in her notes, pretending to be intensely focused.

"Taking notes before class?" a familiar icy voice whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Aren't you diligent?"

Aaron wasn't interested in Keeley; she'd done all the pursuing in her past life until he finally gave in. She couldn't understand why he'd bothered with her then, considering girls like Lacy Knighton, whose Wall Street father would have made a perfect match for him. Well, good! She didn't want him this time!

"They aren't notes," she said flatly.

He glanced at her paper, mumbling, "I forgot you used to do that."

The remark made Keeley look up. His slight smirk softened his usually icy demeanor. Her heart thudded; she remembered how much she'd loved that smirk. He rarely showed emotion, but it had signaled amusement or pleasure.

"I don't know you. How would you know I doodle?" she asked stiffly.

He shrugged, nonchalant as ever. "We've been in the same class all year. I sat behind you and saw it once."

A perfectly reasonable explanation. Her racing heart slowed. A younger, more naive Keeley would have been ecstatic knowing he'd noticed her before the basketball game. Now, it made her queasy.

"Don't you know it's rude to point things out? They're just random shapes. They're not hurting anyone."

"I never said they were," he said coolly. Class began, ending the conversation.

Keeley spent the literature class trying—and failing—to ignore him. Every pencil twitch, chair shift, and bored sigh registered. She was too close to her mortal enemy! How would she survive the next ten weeks?

The lunch bell couldn't ring fast enough. Avoiding Aaron outside of class would be easy; he ate in the high-end cafeteria with Lacy and his snobby friends. Since her father packed her lunch, she avoided the cafeteria, sitting with Jeffrey Rosenberg and Lydia Price in the student lounge.

"Keeley!" Jeffrey waved.

She smiled, pushing thoughts of Aaron aside. This time, she wouldn't let him get to her. She'd live her life, utilize the family trust, and pursue her PhD in genetics—a dream she'd sacrificed for her former life as Aaron Hale's wife, a life that left her with nothing.

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