~Arlo Frantz~

I sat by the villa’s porch, waiting.

I repeatedly tell myself that I hate unfinished things as I scan the field for that familiar blonde girl. That no one hurts the ‘Frantz’ without facing the consequences.

So no, I am not looking for her because I want to see her again. I am reclaiming something.

That girl will pay for what she did to my face.

“Ugh.” a groan escaped my lips as I readjusted the ice pack on my cheeks.

Throughout the nineteen years of my life, women around me knew how to behave themselves. They lower their voices when speaking to me, bow their heads, avoid...