Lorenzo DeLuca.

The last time I saw Lorenzo De Luca… I was ten years old. And I was lying on a hospital bed because of him. Back then, he was the boy who made my childhood miserable. The boy who pushed me, mocked me, and looked at me like I was nothing. I thought I would never see him again. But life has a twisted sense of humor. Because now, at seventeen years old, I’m standing in the doorway of my new classroom… and the first person I see is him. Lorenzo De Luca. He’s sitting at the back of the class, leaning lazily against his chair like he owns the place. Taller now. Broader shoulders. Dark hair falling slightly over his eyes. He looks older. More dangerous. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. For a second, everything goes silent. Then he lifts his head. Our eyes meet. Recognition flashes a