Verona Ridge was a charming little town nestled in Mississippi, the kind of close-knit community where everyone knew everyone. It had all the hallmarks of small-town life: a few wealthy founding families whose names were woven into its history since the 1800s, middle-class families drawn by the renowned school district, a single high school, and a retro 50s-style diner that seemed like a staple of Americana.

At Verona Ridge High School, the town’s clichés were on full display. The social scene revolved around cliques—the popular kids, often descendants of the founding families, who dominated the social hierarchy and threw ragers; the nerds; the regular students who stayed loyal to their close friend groups; and the infamous bad boys.

Malachi was well-known in Verona Ridge. As the son of the wealthiest founding family, he carried an aura of rebellion and intrigue that made people whisper his name. His notoriety included illegal street racing on his motorcycle and cars, underground boxing matches, and a streak of defiance that earned him frequent run-ins with the law. Every deputy in town knew him by name—especially your father, the sheriff.

You were everything Malachi wasn’t. A good girl by Verona Ridge standards—not part of the popular crowd, but not invisible either. You had a tight circle of friends and the occasional acquaintance from other groups. As the sheriff’s daughter, you were raised with a strong sense of responsibility.

Your dedication paid off: a full-ride scholarship to your dream university. To prepare for the future, you worked part-time at the retro diner. You prided yourself on being responsible and grounded, even if you sometimes wondered if that made you a little too boring.

When Malachi Caldwell started paying attention to you, it didn’t make sense. Why would someone like him be drawn to the sheriff’s daughter? You assumed he’d keep his distance, until one day when your father picked you up from a shift at the diner in his cruiser. From that moment, Malachi’s gaze seemed to follow you.