Dominic rested his chin against the top of the freezing urn, desperately trying to warm the cold metal with his own body heat. But the biting chill only served as a brutal reminder that she was truly gone. The overwhelming, suffocating despair inside him rapidly twisted into a towering, violent rage. A low, raspy growl vibrated in his throat, a sound that felt like a curse against the entire universe.

Bryn drifted down until she was right in front of him. Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch his wet cheek, but her fingers only caught the cold rain.

Two blinding police spotlights swept across the cemetery entrance. The screech of tires skidding on wet asphalt pierced the night.

Dominic's vulnerable expression vanished in a fraction of a second. His eyes turned as hard and dead as frozen soil.

He kept one arm wrapped protectively around the urn, holding it tight against his heart. He planted his other hand in the mud and pushed himself up. He rose slowly, his massive frame blocking the rain, radiating pure hostility.

A black FBI SUV and a sleek sedan slammed on their brakes outside the gates. Car doors flew open.

Keifer Holcomb jumped out of the sedan. He held a large black umbrella, his other arm wrapped tightly around a small, shivering figure covered in a silver emergency blanket.

Bryn's pupils dilated. The girl hiding against Keifer's chest was Fabiola. The very person who planned her murder.

Keifer saw the destroyed grave. He saw the urn in Dominic's arms. His face turned purple with rage as he screamed into the rain.

He called Dominic a sick freak. He yelled that Dominic was stripping away the peace of the dead, demanding he put the ashes down immediately.

Dominic let out a dark, humorless laugh. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a cruel smirk. His eyes sliced across Keifer's face like razor blades.

Fabiola let out a fake, dramatic gasp. She buried her face in Keifer's chest and sobbed, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

She begged Dominic not to hurt her sister's remains. Her voice cracked perfectly as she cried that Bryn had already suffered enough.

Bryn floated in the air, her fists clenched so tight her nails would have drawn blood if she had a body. She wanted to rip Fabiola's lying tongue right out of her mouth.

Dominic ignored the pathetic performance. He reached inside his ruined suit jacket with his free hand and pulled out a thick, waterproof evidence bag. "My father's private security team hasn't slept for three days," he stated, his voice dripping with venom.

He threw it hard. The heavy plastic bag smacked directly against Keifer's chest and dropped into the mud. Inside were stacks of suspicious bank transfer logs and grainy security camera printouts.

A few photos slid to the top of the clear bag. They clearly showed Fabiola's face as she met with a known black-market forger on the exact day of Bryn's death.

Keifer looked down. His eyes locked onto the photos. His breath hitched, and he instinctively glanced down at Fabiola.

All the color drained from Fabiola's face. She immediately dug her fingers into Keifer's arm, crying hysterically that the photos were photoshopped.

She pointed a shaking finger at Dominic. She accused him of framing her, the poor surviving victim, just so he could steal Bryn's massive inheritance.

Keifer looked down at the damning evidence, his heart sinking like a stone. But almost immediately, a far more terrifying thought hijacked his brain: if he admitted Fabiola was a liar, he would be admitting to the entire world that he was a gullible idiot who got played by a teenage girl. No. That was impossible. Keifer's massive ego could never accept that he had been played for a fool. He tightened his grip on Fabiola, desperately choosing to believe his perfect angel over his own eyes.

He took a step forward. He tilted his chin up, arrogantly mocking Dominic for being a pathetic loser who could never get Bryn to look his way.

"She loved me!" Keifer shouted over the rain. "You doing this is just pathetic jealousy!"

The words hit Dominic's chest like a physical blow. His arm tightened around the urn so fiercely his muscles shook.

Bryn shook her head frantically. She screamed at Keifer that she never loved a murderer, but her voice was silent in the wind.

Dominic sucked in a sharp breath of freezing air. He forced his muscles to relax, suppressing the urge to tear Keifer's throat out with his bare hands. His eyes went completely blank.

He stated, his voice dangerously calm, that he wasn't going to let them die easily. He was going to make them watch as they lost absolutely everything.

Dominic turned his back on them. He walked toward his Maybach, projecting an aura of absolute arrogance. He opened the passenger door and placed the urn onto the leather seat with agonizing care.

He got in and started the engine. The Maybach roared like a beast, the tires spinning and kicking a massive wave of dirty mud all over Keifer and Fabiola's legs.

Bryn didn't hesitate. She phased right through the metal door and sat in the passenger seat, right next to the cold urn that held her own ashes.

Three months later, the neon lights of Times Square bled through Bryn's transparent form. She floated in front of a massive jumbotron, staring at the breaking news ticker.

On the screen, Keifer walked out of a federal courthouse. His hands were cuffed in front of him. His perfectly styled hair was a greasy mess, and his handsome face was pale with absolute terror.

The news anchor's voice announced that the Holcomb family had all their assets seized by the federal government due to massive tax fraud and perjury charges.

The screen cut to a new image. Fabiola stood in a courtroom wearing an orange jumpsuit. She looked exhausted, her face devoid of makeup, facing life in prison for wire fraud and conspiracy to commit murder across state lines.

A rush of pure adrenaline hit Bryn's chest. The revenge felt good, but a hollow, freezing emptiness quickly followed.

She realized Dominic hadn't been in the news. He hadn't appeared anywhere in the last three months. A sickening panic gripped her throat.

The giant screen flickered. A violent, invisible force grabbed Bryn's soul and yanked her backward.

She slammed back into reality, standing in the middle of the Pine Grove Cemetery in Seattle. The storm was gone. The sun beat down on her back.

Her grave had been completely rebuilt. The new, massive headstone was surrounded by hundreds of fresh white lisianthus flowers.

Dominic stood quietly in front of the stone. He was wearing a pristine, perfectly tailored white tuxedo.

His hair was combed back flawlessly. A diamond brooch caught the sunlight on his lapel. He looked like a man about to walk down the aisle.

Bryn dropped to the grass in front of him. She looked up at his face. His skin was ashen, completely drained of blood. Her heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice.

Dominic slowly crouched down. His long fingers reached out and gently traced the porcelain photo of Bryn on the headstone. A soft, genuine smile touched his lips.

He whispered to the stone. He told her it was finally over. The people who hurt her were rotting in hell, and now, he could finally come pick her up.

Bryn's eyes went wide. Panic exploded in her chest. She waved her hands frantically, screaming at him to stop, begging him to just live his life.

Dominic reached into the pocket of his white jacket. He pulled out a silver surgical scalpel. The sharp blade gleamed in the bright sunlight.

He didn't hesitate for a single second. He pressed the blade hard against the radial artery of his left wrist and pulled.

Bright red blood sprayed through the air. It splattered across the pure white fabric of his tuxedo, blooming like crushed red roses in the snow.

Bryn let out a blood-curdling scream. She threw herself at his arm, trying to press her hands against the open wound, but her ghostly fingers slipped right through the hot blood.

Dominic slumped backward. He leaned heavily against the granite headstone. He didn't try to stop the bleeding. He just let his life drain away, his dark eyes fixed tenderly on her carved name.

He used the very last ounce of his strength to lean forward. He pressed his pale lips against the cold stone, leaving a bloody kiss right above her name.

Bryn fell to her knees beside him, sobbing uncontrollably. The truth hit her with the force of a freight train. This man had loved her with his entire life.

Dominic's chest stopped moving. Those aggressive, hostile eyes slowly fluttered shut, leaving behind a face of total peace.

The moment his heart stopped, the air around Bryn violently warped. A sickening vertigo twisted her stomach inside out.

A blinding white light swallowed the cemetery. It swallowed Dominic's bleeding body. It swallowed her soul.

A sharp, high-pitched ringing pierced her ears. Bryn gasped for air and snapped her eyes open.

She wasn't floating. The soles of her shoes were planted firmly on a hard linoleum floor. Her back was pressed tight against a row of freezing metal lockers.

The deafening noise of high school teenagers shouting and slamming doors hit her eardrums. The air smelled like cheap body spray and industrial bleach.

Bryn held up her hands. They were solid. Her skin was warm. Around her right wrist was the braided lucky bracelet she used to wear when she was sixteen.

She whipped her head to the side and stared at the digital clock mounted on the brick wall. The red numbers glared back at her: September 14, 2018. 8:15 AM.

She was back in high school. Three years before she died. The gears of fate had just violently shifted into reverse.

Bryn closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The stale, dusty air of the hallway filled her lungs. She felt the heavy, rhythmic thumping of her heart beating against her ribs. She was alive.

Heavy, arrogant footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. The loud chatter died down instantly. Students parted like the Red Sea, pressing themselves against the lockers to make way.

Bryn opened her eyes. She looked straight through the crowd and locked onto the tall figure wearing a custom-tailored blazer.

Seventeen-year-old Dominic Hutchinson walked with one hand shoved in his pocket. His eyes were cold, rebellious, and completely unapproachable. He radiated a hostility that kept everyone ten feet away.

He walked straight toward Bryn. His dark eyes flicked over her pale face for a fraction of a second before his lips twisted into a mocking sneer.

Dominic raised his hand and slammed his palm against the metal locker right next to Bryn's ear. The loud bang made the students nearby flinch. He boxed her in between his body and the cold steel.

He leaned down. The crisp scent of wintergreen mint and faint tobacco washed over her face. He lowered his voice and told her she looked like a complete idiot today.

Whispers broke out down the hall. Everyone assumed the school tyrant was just starting his daily routine of bullying the Callahan heiress.

In her past life, Bryn would have bristled like a cornered cat and screamed right back at him.

But right now, Bryn didn't flinch. She tilted her chin up and looked directly into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes.

She looked past the arrogant smirk. She saw the broken man kneeling in the mud, crying over her ashes in the freezing rain.

Heat rushed to Bryn's eyes. Without thinking, she lifted her hand. Her warm fingertips lightly brushed against the tense, sharp line of his jaw.

Dominic's entire body went rigid. A flash of absolute, naked panic shattered the coldness in his eyes.

He yanked his hand off the locker and stumbled backward like he had just touched a live wire. A dark, furious red color rapidly spread across the tips of his ears.

"Don't be a psycho," Dominic snapped at her, trying to sound vicious, but his voice came out an octave lower and dangerously raspy.

Bryn watched him panic. A bright, genuine smile broke across her face. She looked at him softly and said, "Good morning to you too."

That simple, gentle greeting dropped like a bomb in the hallway. The whispers instantly died, replaced by the collective sound of fifty teenagers gasping for air.

Dominic stared at her like she had grown a second head. His Adam's apple bobbed hard. He spun on his heel and practically sprinted down the hallway to get away from her.

Bryn watched his broad shoulders retreat. She made a silent vow to herself right then and there: in this life, she would never let him suffer for her again.

"Bryn!"

A loud, overly confident voice called out from behind the crowd.

Keifer Holcomb strutted toward her, wearing his blue and gold varsity football jacket. He flashed his trademark blinding smile, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

In her past life, that smile made her stomach flutter. Now, a wave of hot bile rose in the back of her throat. She felt physically sick looking at him.

Keifer stopped in front of her. He casually reached out to drape his heavy arm over her shoulders, moving with the entitled confidence of a boy who owned her.

Bryn's eyes turned to ice. She took a sharp step to the right. Keifer's hand awkwardly grabbed nothing but air.

His smile faltered for a second. But his massive ego immediately kicked in to protect him. He assumed she was just playing hard to get to make him jealous.

He leaned in close and used a patronizing, gentle tone. "What's this?" he asked, a smug grin playing on his lips. "Are you playing hard to get because I didn't text you back last night? Is this your new little trick to get my attention?"

Bryn stared at his fake, concerned face. The image of his twisted, violent expression as he shoved her off the cliff flashed behind her eyes.

She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from slapping him across the face. She slowly lowered her gaze, staring pointedly at the brand-new, limited-edition sneakers on his feet.

Bryn let out a short, cold laugh. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked Keifer up and down like he was a piece of trash on the sidewalk.

She cleared her throat. She made sure her voice was loud enough for every single person in the hallway to hear exactly what she was about to say.