Veil System: Running a Model, High-End Escort and Marriage Agency
Chapter 32: Mr. Perfect, Mr. Problem, A Demon in a Suit

Chapter 32: Mr. Perfect, Mr. Problem, A Demon in a Suit

The sunlight hit just right.

Golden streaks cut through the tall glass windows, sliding over the jet-black fabric of his custom suit, catching the crisp angles of his jawline sharp enough to ruin marriages. It was almost offensive how good he looked—like some teenage girl’s delusional billionaire boyfriend fantasy come to life, except he wasn’t here to love-bomb anyone.

Justin Black didn’t walk.

Nah, this was a goddamn power move.

Slow. Unrushed. Measured. Every footstep hit the floor with the kind of rhythm that made people listen. He didn’t need to announce his arrival—his presence did that for him.

Behind him, precisely two steps away, came the distinct click-clack of heels.

One side—Selena. The kind of woman who could kill with a pen and still look good in court after.

The other—Adams. Recently conquered, newly devoted, walking with the eerie calm of someone who knew exactly what she’d signed up for.

And ahead?

The doors loomed, massive and heavy, polished to a mirror sheen. Two guards stood on either side, dressed in tailored security uniforms, their postures rigid, their expressions carved from stone. They weren’t just here for decoration—they were meant to intimidate.

But the second Justin reached them—

They bowed— a fluid, automatic motion—pure, unquestioned submission. The moment stretched, silent yet deafening, before they moved in perfect synchrony, pulling the heavy doors open with reverence.

Inside?

It was packed.

The air buzzed, thick with anticipation. Employees, executives, board members—all gathered, all waiting. The hum of quiet conversation died the second he stepped through. The weight of the room shifted.

Justin didn’t stop.

He didn’t glance around, didn’t break stride.

He moved through the stunned silence with the confidence of a king entering his throne room—like he belonged, like he owned every breath in this damn building.

And the room?

Reacted.

First, the women.

A sharp inhale. A choked breath. A subtle tightening of fingers around phones and pens. Some sat straighter, some bit their lips, others exchanged quick, wide-eyed glances.

Because Justin Black?

That was a problem.

A dangerous problem.

An Aphrodite’s Favor, was like a custom-coded, world-ending type of problem.

It started with a gasp—one woman, clutching her pearls like she’d just seen an actual deity descend from the heavens. Then another, gripping her coworker’s arm with both hands, shaking her like she was in the middle of a full-blown existential crisis.

"Wait... is that even real? Is he even real?!" Her voice pitched up three octaves, eyes darting between Justin and the ceiling like she was waiting for someone to confirm this wasn’t some shared hallucination.

"I— I think I just got pregnant looking at him," another wheezed, pressing a trembling hand to her stomach. "Like. Immaculate conception. Right here. Right now."

"This is illegal. This has to be illegal," a third whispered, gripping the desk for support. "How are men allowed to look like that?!"

"Unfair. UNFAIR. I demand a refund on my entire existence," someone else cried out, actually throwing her pen across the table like that would fix anything.

A woman in the back, normally unbothered by such things, suddenly had a change of heart. "Unnie, I don’t even like men, but for him?" She exhaled dramatically, flipping her hair back like a tragic K-drama lead. "I’d reconsider my whole life."

And then, the final blow.

"I would literally throw my degree away for him," one of the interns declared with her whole chest. No hesitation. No regret. Just pure, unfiltered conviction. "Right now. Just toss it out the window." She mimed the action with a flourish, while the women around her nodded in solemn agreement.

Meanwhile, in the background, absolute carnage.

Somebody spilled their coffee. Another person was hyperventilating into a folder. A woman literally had to sit down before her knees gave out.

The men?

Yeah, they weren’t as thrilled.

A few scoffs. A tightened jaw here, a furrowed brow there. A couple of guys whispered something to each other, but it had that classic "bro, he’s not even all that" energy—forced, bitter.

Except—deep down, they knew.

They could see it.

Feel it.

And the worst part?

They couldn’t refute it.

This teenager was out of the fucking world.

But the board members?

They weren’t like the rest of the room.

They weren’t fixated on the dangerously handsome young CEO, with the face of a god and the charm of a devil. They were looking at something else. Because they had seen it firsthand. The terrifying mind underneath that perfect exterior.

The predator behind the charm.

This wasn’t just some millionaire’s son.

This was a demon in disguise.

Justin ascended the platform with an unshakable presence, each step measured, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and not a single person in this room could rush him.

By the time he reached the center, he didn’t have to clear his throat, didn’t have to raise a hand—hell, he didn’t even have to speak.

He just stood there.

Watching. Taking in the room. The hundreds of people seated before him, the weight of their attention pressing in, the anticipation thick enough to choke.

And yet, Justin?

Unbothered.

He had the aura of someone who had been here before—even though they all knew damn well he hadn’t. The whispers, the hushed giggles from the women, the occasional scoffs from the men—every single sound in the room faded.

Not because he commanded it.

But because his presence did.

Someone coughed into their fist. A few people shifted uncomfortably. More than one person suddenly had the urge to check their posture, straighten their back, readjust their tie. It wasn’t just the drastic shift in power, the overnight transformation from an outsider to the head of the table.

It was how effortless it all seemed to him.

And Chloe?

She wasn’t far from the platform, and she could feel it too—the sheer gravity of his presence.

Her fingers tapped lightly against the table’s polished surface, her lips pressing together as she took in the boy who now stood at the helm of Black Veil.

This was different. Before, he had been calculating, unpredictable, and sharp. A force to be wary of.

But now?

Now, there was something undeniable about him. Something that demanded attention, demanded submission. It was like watching the moment a king took his throne. And when he finally spoke, his voice smooth, calmly ruthless, it didn’t feel like a teenager addressing a room full of powerful executives.

It felt like a ruler speaking to his court.

"Let’s keep this short." His voice cut through the silence, each word precise, controlled, and completely sure of itself.

"I’m Justin Black. Your new CEO. And I don’t care how things were done before. I don’t care about tradition, about comfort, or about whatever old-school nonsense was holding this company back. I care about results."

He scanned the room, his gaze lingering just long enough to make people wonder if he was looking directly at them.

"Black Veil is changing." A pause. A shift. Some nodded. Some held their breath. "Adapt. Or get out of the way."

The weight of the statement pressed into the room, settling into every chair, every stiffened spine, every quiet, unreadable stare.

And in that moment, it was clear.

Justin Black wasn’t just standing at the front of the room.

He owned it.

****

Hehehe ~~ was I too much anywhere? I am just into cliché shit these days.