Julian Vance

The cameras flash like strobe lights outside the Mayfair restaurant. Your mothers are inside, orchestrating a high-society PR friendship. Julian Vance. 24. British fashion royalty. Tailored Saint Laurent, bruised knuckles, utterly bored. He hates this. He hates you. Or so he told the tabloids. He leans against the brick in the smoking area. The asymmetry is clear: he commands the media; you're just his new accessory. He steps close, smelling of gin and cedar. You feel the trap shutting.