Veil System: Running a Model, High-End Escort and Marriage Agency
Chapter 60: Five Star Shows Up

Chapter 60: Five Star Shows Up

Justin sat back, letting the couch swallow him whole, fingers lazily drumming against his glass.

The room? Opulent as fuck. Not just "rich" but the kind of expensive that whispered, If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. Plush seating, soft ambient lighting, a minibar stocked with bottles that probably had security clearance, and a bedroom behind sleek glass doors that just screamed bad decisions were made here.

And yeah, the drinks? The kind that could make your soul feel expensive.

But Justin wasn’t here for the vibe.

He played along, letting Chloe give him the full tour like he was fresh off the boat. Even when she explained something he already knew—how certain whiskey brands were aged in barrels older than some countries, or how a particular cocktail had a fucking waiting list—he acted brand new.

Dropped his guard, soaked all information in, like he was an eager little sponge in a billionaire’s bathtub.

Because here? Knowledge was currency.

Chloe had taken him through the real elite spaces—the ones where the air felt heavier with money and names held more weight than actual gold. The billionaire-only zones. No-walk-in spots. The kind of places where even a three-star couldn’t stroll in uninvited.

But Chloe? A two-star!

She had walked through them casually, like she belonged. Leaning in, voice low, she whispered names that made entire industries shake. That guy? Owns half the shipping ports in Asia. That woman? Sits on five defense contracts. And Justin? Saved every. Single. One.

The Black Veil app quietly logged faces, names, every detail Chloe spilled. His personal mission tab filling up like a hit list. He didn’t have enough points to dig into these people yet, but that was fine. He wasn’t here to sightsee or sip on free rich-people liquor.

He had two missions.

And mission one? Going smooth as hell.

Now, after an hour of playing intrigued guest, they were finally seated—private setting, private bar, enough luxury around them to make a Saudi prince feel humble.

Outside, the club was a beast. Loud, pulse-pounding music zones for the wild ones, serene, low-lit corners for the zen billionaires. Ballrooms, high-stakes gambling, private game spaces—each section a world of its own, like invisible barriers kept them from bleeding into each other.

No place overpowered another. Just perfect balance.

And of course—bars. Everywhere.

Justin swirled his drink, watching Chloe as she leaned back, unbothered as fuck. Not just comfortable here—in her element. The way staff looked at her? Like she had some unspoken authority.

He smirked, tilting his glass. "So... you gonna tell me how you’re a two-star? And judging by how the staff’s been eyeing you like you run this place, I’m starting to think you’re what? Second in command? Or one of the top two-stars? If there even are others like you, that is."

Chloe didn’t answer right away. She took a slow sip, leg crossed over the other, swirling her drink like she was contemplating bullshit vs. actual effort. A small, knowing smirk tugged at her lips.

Finally, she glanced at him, amusement flickering in her eyes. "If I told you everything upfront, where’s the fun in that?"

Justin was just about to fire back some slick-ass response when—

Knock. Knock.

A soft but firm tap on the door.

Chloe exhaled, clearing her throat, posture straightening like she already knew who it was. Justin didn’t miss the shift in her body language—like she had just gotten a text without a phone. Without looking at him, she called out, "Come in."

The door swung open, and in walked a woman who looked like she belonged in a fucking movie scene.

Now, most of the staff here were already walking designer mannequins—suited up, polished, name tags pinned to pristine uniforms that probably cost more than an average college tuition. The kind of professionalism that made you question your entire life choices.

But this woman? Different.

Same uniform type, sure, but not the same style or color—while the other staff wore sleek black with gold accents, hers was a deep wine red, form-fitted like it was tailored straight onto her damn skin. High slit on the skirt. Blouse a little tighter. A little lower. Like the uniform itself had decided, fuck it, let’s be seductive today.

And then there was the name tag. Five stars.

Justin barely stopped himself from whistling.

Because that shit meant something here.

A five-star wasn’t your everyday staff. Hell, they had more power in this place than—fuck, insert any big-name artist here. Like, imagine telling Drake he had to wait outside and he actually listened. That was the level a five-star played at.

And yet... here she was. A five-star running errands.

For a two-star.

Justin saw it instantly—the way Chloe’s expression didn’t even flicker. She already knew why the woman was here. And just like that, she was up on her feet, adjusting her dress like this was nothing.

"I’ll be back soon."

Justin barely had time to respond before the two women walked out, heels clicking against the expensive flooring.

The door shut. Silence.

Then, under his breath—"One star."

Because yeah. Only one thing made sense here.

A five-star playing messenger? A two-star responding immediately, no questions asked? And moving fast?

Yeah. One-star influence was all over this.

And in this world inside Black Rose? Even a five-star had more pull than—fuck, Adam Sandler at a Gucci store. Like, imagine him walking in, all comfy in his XXL basketball shorts, and the staff just hit him with a, "Sir, the rich people section is that way." And he actually moved. Yeah, that’s the level we were talking about.

Justin just shrugged, rolling his shoulders before leaning back into the couch.

Fine. Let them handle their little secret business.

He grabbed his drink, letting the ice clink as he took a sip. Because honestly? He’d already hit the jackpot tonight.

The names he had now? The faces Chloe had pointed out? If he played this right—made the right moves—Justin wouldn’t just be stacking millions. He’d be in the fucking billions within two months.

His original goal had been a nice, clean $200 million by the end of tonight. Cute number. But now? That number felt like pocket change.

He tilted his glass, watching the liquid swirl.

"But I still got my focus on the target for tonight."

Because yeah, sure, he was greedy. Insatiable, even. That was his second name.

Whoever Chloe had lined up for him to meet? He was meeting them. No delays. No excuses.

And if they turned out hot? Even better.

Hopefully, they were as fine as Chloe. Or better. That’d be a real win.

But hey. Even if she wasn’t, Justin wasn’t one to be wasteful. He’d still part the Red Sea and lead that expedition straight to Pleasure Land.