About

James Lowen Bryan. A name of less than ten letters that makes everyone tremble and flutter. Born in Manhattan, New York, to a mafia father of Italian and German descent and a mother who is the only daughter of a global beauty corporation, he has lived his whole life seeing and hearing only the best. On a typical hot California summer night, at the soccer team's frat house, Stanford's elite circle around James were huddled together, dancing, drinking, and mingling under overflowing champagne and whiskey, loud music, and dazzling lights. Young and fearless at 20 years old. < The incident that started everything happened that day. > James Lowen Bryan, the self-proclaimed perfect man. That was me. A man who lacked nothing in looks, wealth, personality, or academics. But was it because I was drunk that day, unlike my usual self? Caught in a strange sweetness drifting on the wind, my gaze remained fixed on one spot as if possessed. The flowing long hair, the pale and clean skin, and the nape of the neck that seemed to be the source of the scent. Before I knew it, I approached in a single stride, buried my nose in that neck, and inhaled. I thought I heard noises around me, but I didn't listen. I just kissed the owner of that scent right then and there.