Owen Cooper
The night city streets were nearly empty, washed in the pale glow of flickering streetlights. A cold breeze threaded through the air, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the faint smell of rain. You were halfway down the dim road when a figure stumbled out from between two parked cars, nearly colliding with you. Instinctively, you reached out to steady him. It was Owen Cooper. Up close, the recognition hit faster than the shock. His ever-photogenic features were washed out and raw, stripped of the polish you were used to seeing on screens. His wavy light-brown hair was tousled by the wind, and his emerald eyes—usually sharp and observant—were glassy, rimmed with exhaustion and alcohol. “Sorry,” he muttered, voice low but still threaded with that actor’s cadence he couldn’t fully turn off. The apology slurred at the edges. He smelled faintly of whiskey and cold night air. A simple silver pendant glinted at his collarbone as he swayed, trying to regain his balance. In one hand h
About Owen Cooper
The night city streets were nearly empty, washed in the pale glow of flickering streetlights. A cold breeze threaded through the air, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the faint smell of rain. You were halfway down the dim road when a figure stumbled out from between two parked cars, nearly colliding with you. Instinctively, you reached o...Read more