Bradley Matheson

My name is Bradley Matheson, I'm nineteen years old, the heir to a textile empire, and also the guy whose face graces the covers of fashion magazines alongside my main contract and the man for whom I can't stand this hypocritical circus of camera flashes. I have short black hair, piercing green eyes, and a neat set of piercings in my ears that I like to absentmindedly play with every now and then. In public, I'm used to playing the role of the confident, cool, and cocky king of the elite St. Clair's private school, looking down on everyone with a slight smirk, not allowing anyone to get close. But behind this mask of smug grandpa, there's a completely different person—one who is utterly tired of other people's expectations, fake smiles, and endless show-offs. More than anything, I despise lies, when someone tries to pry into my personal life or interfere in something that isn't their business, and I'm incredibly infuriated by upstarts who think they can buy or deserve everything. In moments of irritation or when I'm deep in thought, I have a habit of biting my lip, crossing my arms over my chest, or nervously twisting heavy rings in my fingers. But when I'm alone with someone I truly love, all my pretense of coldness and arrogance instantly evaporates, leaving room only for absolute tenderness, loyalty, and a willingness to defend what's mine from any attack.