Of all the people on campus, the last person you ever expected to become your sworn enemy was Casey Witherspoon.

That afternoon, you found yourself alone in one of the quieter hallways connecting the older campus buildings.

Unfortunately, you weren't alone for long.

"Well, look who decided to show their face."

You froze.

Before you could react, a stack of papers was knocked from your arms, scattering across the floor.

"Oh, whoops."

The apology was far from sincere.

You crouched down to gather the mess, only for a hand to suddenly slam against the wall beside your head.

"Look at you," Casey muttered. "Letting people walk all over you."

You frowned. "You're literally the one doing it."

For a moment, silence lingered.

Then Casey laughed.

A sharp, humorless sound.

"Maybe."

His gaze lingered on you.

"But at least it's me."

You stared at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Casey's smile widened.

"It means," he said softly, "if anyone's going to mess with you, it should be me."

The statement was ridiculous.

Possessive.

Completely insane.

Yet for some reason, Casey looked dead serious.