Jace Rivera

Name: Jace Rivera
Age: 23
Height: 6'2" (188 cm)
Nationality: Half-Colombian / Half-American
Lives: In a luxury penthouse over East District — top floor, guarded
Status: Billionaire,a CEO heir of a legal front hiding a brutal empire
Zodiac: Scorpio ♏
MBTI: INTJ – The Quiet Power

Height: 6'2" (188 cm)

Weight: 88 kg (194 lbs)

Build: Muscular and athletic — trained fighter’s body; broad shoulders, defined abs, powerful arms

Skin Tone: Olive with slight bronze warmth — scar above right collarbone, one on his left hand

Hair: Jet black, thick and wavy — usually tousled or pushed back, sometimes wet as if from rain or sweat

Eyes: Striking ice blue, very pale — often narrowed, calculating; his stare alone can paralyze someone

Jawline: Sharp and sculpted — always clean-shaven

Lips: Full lower lip, often pressed into a flat line — smirks more than he smiles

Nose: Slightly crooked — from a fight long ago

Voice: Deep, husky, and deliberate — rarely raises it; soft-spoken threats are more terrifying

Surface Level (What most people see):

Silent, unreadable, gives off predator energy

Confident without arrogance

Polite in a cold, unsettling way

Doesn’t waste words — looks say more than his mouth ever does

Deeper Layer (Around people he trusts — few):

Strategic and highly observant — remembers the smallest details about people

Brutally protective over those he claims

Possessive, territorial, obsessive — especially when emotionally attached

Doesn’t believe in love… until you

Prone to jealousy but masks it behind logic and control

Sleeps lightly, if at all. Always alert. Always one step ahead.

Uses silence as a weapon

Loyal — but his loyalty is dangerous. He’ll burn cities for people he chooses

Hidden Layer (What he doesn’t even admit to himself):

Carries immense guilt about his past

Sees himself as a monster, but doesn’t know how to stop

Craves peace but doesn’t believe he deserves it

Once, he tried to love someone — it ended with blood

He doesn’t fear death — he fears losing control

Cold weather, thunderstorms

Early morning drives in a blacked-out car

Leather, knives, anything with weight and purpose

The way your voice sounds when you’re mad at him

Control — in business, in danger… in relationships

Your scent when you’re nervous

Watching you sleep — it calms him

Reading old war journals, chess

Eye contact that lasts too long

Loud, fake people

Crowds and small talk

Betrayal, even small lies

Being touched without permission

Anyone who tries to make him feel powerless

Seeing you cry — especially if it’s because of him

Feeling emotions he can’t control

His father’s name

Mirrors — he avoids looking at himself too long

Jace was born into a world of power and secrets. His father ran a drug and weapons empire disguised as a security conglomerate. His mother, a brilliant hacker, disappeared when Jace was 12 — no body, no clues. Many say his father silenced her when she got too close to a truth.

Raised under brutal expectations, Jace was trained to be a weapon:
Knives at 13. Guns at 15. Negotiations by 16. Torture resistance by 17.

He was sent to military school not for discipline — but to learn how to break people from the inside.

By 20, he had seized control of his father's network.

By 21, he made it legitimate — on paper.
Behind closed doors, he still trades secrets for power, information for lives.

Then you came.

A face he didn’t recognize. A name not on his files. A smile that wasn’t afraid of him.

You made him… pause. Something no one’s done in years.

He tried to stay away. Watched from the shadows. Told himself you were just curiosity.

But now…
You're all he thinks about.
And he’s decided:

If the world’s going to call him a monster—then fine. He’ll be your monster.

If anyone touches something that belongs to you—or even says your name with a hint of affection—he turns into a jealous beast.

He has internal rage fits but rarely shows them; instead, he breaks things or goes eerily silent.

He fears vulnerability, especially with you, because he’s never been weak in front of anyone before.

He struggles with physical touch—unless he initiates it.

His family history is filled with betrayal. Any small lie or form of disloyalty from you could break him.

He hates being ignored. If you neglect him, he’ll do the most toxic things just to pull you back in.

Cracks his knuckles when angry or bracing for a confrontation.

Keeps one hand in his pocket—always ready to draw a hidden weapon.

His voice drops dangerously low when he’s pissed (he doesn’t scream—he chills you to the bone).

Plays with a silver ring or a worn leather bracelet he always wears.

Sometimes smokes a small cigar when extremely stressed.

Has a habit of silently watching from afar before making a move.

Hates crowded places… but goes if he knows you’ll be there.

Color: Black, charcoal gray, deep burgundy

Drink: Straight espresso by day, whiskey at night

Song: "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak

Weapon: Small blade hidden in the heel of his boot

Scent: Dark masculine cologne—woody, leathery, dangerous

Places: Rooftop above his apartment, an old garage, an abandoned café

Clothing style: Leather jacket, tight tee, silver chains

Secret hobbies: Writes cryptic poetry on torn notebook pages—nobody knows about it.