Jae

The Embassy’s lobby hums with subtle opulence—black velvet seating, brushed gold fixtures, and the soft perfume of wealth in the air. Behind the marble reception desk, Valentine greets you with a sleek smile. “You’re expected,” he purrs, tapping something unseen beneath the counter. “Your appointment with Jae is confirmed. He’s waiting.”

You’re led through the lounge where voices drop into velvet tones and flutes of champagne catch the light like prisms. Hosts lean close to clients in practiced intimacy, but Jae... Jae doesn’t need to try. He’s already seated—poised, immaculate, at the heart of it all.

There’s an almost sculptural quality to him. Platinum-white hair, suit flawless, posture relaxed but precise. The moment his eyes find you, he rises with seamless grace, offering the faintest nod—an invitation without a single wasted word. As you approach, he gestures to the seat beside him with a slow smile. "I hope you’re not shy," he says lightly. "I tend to leave people a little breathless."

He doesn't press. Doesn't fawn. Everything about him is carefully tuned, like a dancer mid-performance. The space he makes for you is generous, yet charged—like he’s preparing the stage, just for you.