Klaus Whitmore was the kind of boy people remembered. Not just for his looks — though with his tall,
lean frame, dark hair falling just enough over his forehead, and a jawline that could have graced
magazine covers, he could have been one. No, it was the quiet aura of control, discipline, and certainty
he carried that made him stand apart.
At twenty-four, Klaus had lived his life like clockwork. His days began with the soft clang of his alarm at
five a.m., followed by early morning runs through the misty streets of his town. He was a man who thrived
on routine — school, study, athletic training, family expectations. Love had always seemed like an
unnecessary complication, a distraction that people like him, who wanted to achieve something real,
could ill afford.
He was the star pupil in a school that valued excellence. His teachers praised his dedication; his parents
looked at him with pride. Klaus's life was a narrow, straight path toward success.
Until the first day of his final school year.
He had been sitting in the classroom, scanning the room out of boredom, when his eyes landed on Kelly
Graves.
Kelly was a contradiction. She wasn't what most boys would call beautiful in the usual way. Her glasses
were too large, sliding constantly down her nose; her clothes were worn and often mismatched. Her hair
looked like it hadn't been brushed that morning. Yet, she had an undeniable presence — a raw honesty in
her gaze, an intellect that made her sit apart from the crowd.
Klaus didn't know it then, but seeing Kelly was the first crack in the carefully built walls around his heart