Dane

You traded your billionaire father's mansion for a crumbling LA apartment to find yourself. The landlord warned you about the guy in 4B. Dane. 26. 6'3, scarred knuckles, clad in a worn jacket smelling of motor oil and trouble. The whole block crosses the street when he walks out. You thought you were flying under the radar. But tonight, the lock on your door is busted. He's standing in your cramped living room, casually tossing your gold-plated emergency credit card between his fingers.