#NewFaceOfIlliam

The air in Milan was different. Warm, rich, almost sweet with the smell of roasted coffee and perfume. As soon as Jay stepped out of the terminal, heads turned.

He barely noticed at first — too used to attention from missions and briefings — but this was different.

Girls whispered behind their hands, a few even giggling. A group of young men by the glass railing stopped talking mid-sentence. Jay adjusted his sunglasses, jaw sharp, expression cool. The wind pushed through his black hair, making him look like he’d just stepped off a runway.

A man in a sleek gray suit waved from near a red Ferrari. “Mr. Jay?”

Jay nodded and walked over, suitcase rolling behind him.

“We’ve been expecting you,” the man said with a faint Italian accent, opening the door with a polite smile. “I’m Marco, from Illiam Entertainment. Our company collaborates with your agency in Korea.”

Jay got in the back seat, his gaze flicking around the luxurious interior. The city blurred outside the window — cobblestone streets, white buildings, sunlight glinting off marble.

After a while, Marco glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “May I ask something personal, Mr. Jay?”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Depends on the question.”

Marco chuckled nervously. “Are you… an Alpha or a Beta?”

Jay smirked faintly, eyes still on the passing streets. “Neither. I’m an Omega. A dominant one.”

Marco blinked, caught off guard. “Ah. I see,” he said with an awkward laugh, eyes darting away. The rest of the drive passed in silence, though Jay could feel the man’s curiosity lingering like static in the air.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a towering white building with tall glass windows and a golden sign: ILLIAM ENTERTAINMENT. People rushed in and out of the entrance — stylists, photographers, assistants carrying garment bags.

Jay stepped out, straightening his jacket. He followed Marco inside. Everything smelled faintly of perfume and fresh coffee. The walls were covered with framed magazine covers — international models, luxury campaigns.

Inside the main office, a woman in a cream-colored suit stood up from her desk. Her posture was confident, voice smooth. “You must be Jay.”

Jay extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Chiara, chairwoman of Illiam,” she said, shaking his hand. Her tone was warm but sharp — the kind that could cut if she wanted it to. “Please, sit.”

Jay took a seat, placing his file neatly on the desk.

“I’ve reviewed your documents,” Chiara said, tapping the folder lightly. “So… you’ve read your mission brief?”

“Yes,” Jay said evenly.

Chiara walked to the door and locked it quietly. “Then you understand the importance. Rafe Bianchi isn’t just another name on a list. He’s powerful, dangerous, and untouchable — unless someone gets close enough.”

Jay’s eyes lifted slightly. “Close enough to make him talk.”

“Exactly,” she said, smiling faintly. “He prefers his models young, beautiful, confident. You fit that image perfectly. You’ll be working under our agency, posing as a high-end model. That gives you direct access to his inner circle.”

Jay exhaled slowly. “So I have to play the pretty face.”

Chiara smiled. “You’ll do more than that. You’ll become someone he can’t ignore.”

She walked around the desk, eyeing him like she was measuring his presence — the calm in his expression, the power behind his silence. “Stand up, please.”

Jay frowned but did as she asked.

She circled once, nodding approvingly. “You photograph well, but let’s make sure Milan sees what Rafe will see.”

Jay gave her a small smirk. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Chiara laughed softly. “A little. It’s been a while since someone from the agency looked this composed.”

A knock interrupted them. Marco peeked in. “Chairwoman, the studio is ready.”

“Perfect,” Chiara said. She turned back to Jay. “Let’s get your first photo shoot done. The faster your name trends, the faster Rafe will notice.”

The studio was huge, filled with soft lighting and chatter. Makeup artists swarmed him immediately. Brushes, powders, quick touches to his jawline, the stylist fixing his tie just so.

Jay sat still, expression calm, eyes half-lidded as the team worked. One of the artists — a young woman with pink nails — paused, looking at his skin. “What’s your skincare routine?”

Jay blinked. “I don’t have one.”

She gasped. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Another stylist leaned in, examining his jaw. “Unbelievable. Your skin looks like glass.”

Chiara’s voice cut across the room. “Don’t crowd him. He’s not used to the attention.”

The stylists quickly stepped back, giggling. Jay gave her a small nod of thanks.

When the shoot began, Jay slipped into character easily — the cold, confident model with sharp eyes and a faint, unreadable smile. Cameras flashed. He moved like he’d done it his whole life.

Chiara stood by the monitor, watching in quiet awe. If he weren’t an agent, she thought, I’d have signed him for life.

By the end of the shoot, Jay changed back into his own suit. The images were already being sent to social media accounts, trending under hashtags like #JayModelMilan and #NewFaceOfIlliam.

Chiara approached him with a magazine mock-up and smiled. “They love you already. After the mission…” She hesitated. “Would you ever consider staying in this field?”

Jay’s lips curved faintly. “Sorry, but I already have a job.”

Chiara chuckled softly. “A shame. You’d be perfect for this world.”

She handed him an envelope. “Here — your hotel key and documents. Your luggage was sent ahead. Rest for now. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about how to get you into Rafe’s next private event.”

Jay took the keycard, slipping it into his jacket. “Thank you.”

As he walked out of the building, the city lights of Milan glimmered ahead of him — rich, golden, dangerous. He knew somewhere in that glow, Rafael Bianchi was watching, even if he didn’t know it yet.