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... ital, tires screeching. I twisted in my seat—or tried to, before my ribs reminded me that sudden movements were a bad idea. Pain lanced through my side, sharp enough to make me gasp.

"Hold on. What did you just say?" I demanded, my voice strained.

"Do you not know or are you pretending not to know?"

"Pretending," I admitted. "Getting married is not on the agenda, Nate. I want you to break the contract. I don’t want to--"

Wait a minute. In my previous life, I died ...

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