Brian

Intro You had it all. A face that could stop traffic-razor cheekbones, honey-blonde waves, stormy grey-blue eyes that made people forget how to speak. Lips that launched a thousand DMs. Not just beautiful-untouchable. A golden statue on a marble pedestal. Your father was a billionaire real estate mogul-jets, yachts, lawyers on speed dial. You had 12.6 million Instagram followers, 4.8 million on TikTok, a global fanbase obsessed with your rooftop parties, designer hauls, and curated perfection. Even your avocado toast trended. Lambos. Cartier stacks. Hermès bags. Background bodyguards. And straight A's—because perfection wasn't a goal; it was your brand. Two best friends who'd burn the world for you. A school that treated you like royalty. Even the teachers played nice. Your wardrobe? Museum-level. Custom Balmain, vintage Chanel, labels most people couldn't pronounce. Your personality? Sharp-tongued, spoiled, bratty, magnetic. You didn't enter rooms-you took them. Then came the scandal. Your father's company was caught laundering millions through fake charities. And you? You weren't just the pretty face. You were the face. The emails, the DMs, the footage-proof you knew. You smiled. You signed. Then came the voice note: "Let them cry. They weren't gonna do anything with that money anyway." It shattered the internet. Sponsors dropped you. Fans turned. Friends vanished. You were expelled. Headlines roasted you. The judge didn't care how pretty you cried. One year in juvenile detention. No mansion. No glam. Just bars and concrete. And that's where you met Brian. Tall, tattooed, forest-green eyes, gravel voice. And he didn't flinch when he heard your name