Urban System in America
Chapter 181 - 180: Strip

Chapter 181: Chapter 180: Strip

"I figured I’d let you know I’ve already arranged everything for your emergency fashion rehab," she said smoothly. "I pulled a few pieces I think will do justice to that tragically handsome face of yours. I even roped in my tailor early — he owes me a favor."

"Wow," Rex said, genuinely impressed. "You move fast."

"Honey," she said, voice dripping confidence, "fashion waits for no one. Especially not fame. I had to rearrange half the boutique’s priorities this morning, but... it’s worth it. I don’t let my clients walk into elite circles looking like discounted soap opera extras."

Rex laughed. "You wound me."

"Oh please. You’ll survive. Maybe even thrive, once you see what I’ve prepared."

He sipped his juice and leaned back. "So, what time should I drop by?"

"Eight O’ Clock sharp. No celebrity slouching, got it? I want to get your fittings done before the boutique opens. You’ll get the full VIP treatment."

"As if I expected anything less."

"You better not. And wear something easy to take off," she added with a mischievous lilt.

Rex choked slightly on his juice.

She laughed again, wicked and knowing. "Relax. I’m talking about the fitting process. What were you imagining, you pervert?"

He tried to recover. "I—nothing! I was just drinking!"

"Sure you were."

Before he could respond, she said, "Anyway, finish your breakfast. You’ll need the energy. It’s going to be a long day... but if we do this right, by tonight, you won’t just attend that Hollywood party."

"Oh?"

"You’ll be the centre of attention," she said simply.

Click.

She hung up without waiting for a goodbye, leaving Rex staring at his screen, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah," he murmured, getting up and heading toward the stairs. "This day’s going to be interesting."

...

By the time the clock struck 7:40 a.m., Rodeo Street was just beginning to wake. The sunlight filtered through glass-front displays, casting golden reflections off luxury brand signs and designer window pieces.

Most of the stores were still asleep behind their shuttered glass fronts, but one shop stood out—Luviton. This was a place that whispered wealth and screamed taste.

Tall, sweeping glass windows framed with black marble. Minimalist golden lettering etched across the entrance. It didn’t scream for attention—it whispered, "You can’t afford me."

A sleek black car pulled up in front of Luviton, an elite boutique known for crafting elegance with precision.

The cars’s door opened smoothly. Rex stepped out, dressed in comfortable but stylish loungewear: a cream hoodie, black drawstring trousers, and fresh white sneakers. Sunglasses rested on his nose, even though the weather was mellow.

Victor and Kaelan trailed behind discreetly, dressed in their usual casual suits, earpieces in place. They stopped at the entrance, their practiced eyes scanning the street before nodding at Rex.

He adjusted his sunglasses and approached. The storefront was still locked—but only for the world.

Click.

As he reached for the handle, the door opened smoothly. No security. No announcement.

Inside, the boutique was a different world. The floors gleamed like polished obsidian, reflecting rows of pristine mannequins dressed in high end designer pieces that looked like they belonged on magazine covers.

Velvet chaise lounges and a single, absurdly tall mirror dominated the middle of the room. Spotlights bathed everything in a soft glow. The air smelled of expensive perfume and old money.

And there she was.

Seraphina Marcella.

A vision in a backless crimson blouse, wide-legged white trousers, and heels that seemed to defy physics. Her black hair was swept up into a loose knot, a single silver streak falling deliberately down her temple. A tablet in one hand and a measuring tape in the other, she looked equal parts Manager and spellcaster.

"You’re punctual," she said, arms folded as she eyed him from head to toe. "Very sexy trait in a man." she said, lips curled in a half-smirk, her silhouette poised beneath the boutique’s warm lights.

Rex took off his sunglasses and smirked. "It’s called respect. For the lady who’s saving me from becoming a joke in the party."

"Charming." She turned, motioning him to follow. "Come. The fitting room is prepped.

Everything’s been curated. You’ll be trying on three looks, and you’re only allowed to leave once I’m satisfied."

Rex raised a brow. "Is this a fitting or a hostage negotiation?"

Seraphina glanced over her shoulder. "Yes."

The inner room was more private lounge than fitting space—mirror-paneled walls, plush armchairs, and racks of suits arranged with almost obsessive precision. A young assistant bowed silently and handed Rex a silk robe and a measuring tape.

"Strip," Seraphina said, casually opening her tablet. "Let’s see what we’re working with."

"Wow. Buy a man dinner first," Rex muttered, but complied, tossing off his hoodie and pulling the robe around him.

"Flirt later. Clothes now. Let’s see what I’m working with."

Rex rolled his eyes, slipping behind the dressing screen as she tapped her tablet. Meanwhile, Seraphina circled a display rack like a hawk, fingers flicking through hangers with elegant precision.

A few moments later, Rex emerged in fitted black slacks and a crisp undershirt. Seraphina narrowed her eyes, pulled the measuring tape taut, and immediately went to work.

"You’ve grown broader," she muttered, tapping his shoulder blades. "This back wasn’t here last time. You trying to turn into a Greek sculpture or something?"

"Healthy living," Rex said. "Supernatural grind."

Ignoring him, she continued. "You’ve got a nice frame for tailoring," she murmured. "Classic V-taper, long limbs. You’re the type of client that makes a designer cry... in a good way."

Rex smirked. "I’m a walking muse."

"Humph! Don’t become so cocky, we’ll have to see which one fit better."

She stepped back, snapped her fingers, and out came three garment bags from the back room—each wheeled in on golden racks by assistants Rex hadn’t even seen enter.

"Option one," she said, unzipping the first.

A classic midnight-black tuxedo, crisp white shirt, black bowtie, and satin lapels that shimmered subtly under the light. It was timeless. Commanding. James Bond would’ve wept.

"You wear this," she said, circling him as he slipped it on, "and they’ll assume you’re already a studio exec. Or a prince. Depends how you stand."

Rex adjusted the cuffs. "Feels like I’m about to sign someone’s career... or end it."

(End of Chapter)

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