Veil System: Running a Model, High-End Escort and Marriage Agency
Chapter 62: Test Dummy—Night Starts

Chapter 62: Test Dummy—Night Starts

She moved like sin draped in silk—slow, deliberate, and so goddamn suggestive it was almost a parody. Every step screamed, Look at me. And Justin? He didn’t complain.

Even if there was anywhere else to look, he’d still choose to look at her. Not because he was captivated. But because, honestly? It was kinda funny watching someone put on a performance like this.

She reached the couch, stopping right in front of him. A full-on blockade. His view? Gone. His personal space? Violated. But again, no complaints.

Then, her eyes lowered, locked onto his, heavy with intent.

Slowly—painfully slowly—she dipped her hands lower, gripping the hem of her dress. And then? She lifted it. Up. Up. Higher. Until—yeah. There it was. Thighs on display. Almost—almost—giving him access to the good stuff of her inner thighs.

Then, because subtlety was dead, she lifted one leg, stepping right into the couch like it was a goddamn stage, lowering herself down, her body invading every inch of his space.

Her hand found his chin, fingers tilting his face up like she was presenting something. And then she leaned in—closer, closer—her breath teasing against his skin before she whispered, voice dipped in honey and sin,

"It’s a pleasure to meet the new King of Black Veil~"

Then came the kicker. The pièce de résistance.

Her tongue. Slippery. Warm. Dragging along the shell of his ear like she was branding him with her presence.

And Justin?

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

She might as well have been an animatronic at some high-end seduction theme park, doing exactly what she’d been programmed to do. A scripted routine. First-meeting impression? Yeah, right. This wasn’t her desire. This was orders.

So, he just let her keep fooling herself.

Justin had expected something like this when Chloe got called away. A test. Of course.

What he didn’t expect? That they’d throw someone this beautiful at him. Someone that made him want to conquer her just for the hell of it.

Was this about patience? Self-control? Sex drive? What exactly were they testing here? Whatever it was, Justin decided right then—he’d play their little game. But his way, not theirs.

He exhaled, shaking his head like he was genuinely disappointed. "Unfortunately, we don’t share the same sentiment. I would’ve been pleased to meet a beauty like you—because, come on, who wouldn’t? Especially someone with the most honest body like myself..."

Then, smooth as hell, he placed a hand on her shoulder—and pushed her away.

Her body shifted back, her dress falling back down, thighs covered again.

Justin stood, towering over her now, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. She didn’t flinch. Not even a blink.

’Damn. Girl’s got self-control. I’ll give her that.’

By now, Justin knew—his Dark Charm, Aphrodite’s Favor, his own natural presence? They were all working on her. Testing her. Yet... nothing. No reaction. At least, not on the surface.

And then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a purr, she smirked.

"Big words for a nobody~"

Oh, she mocked him. With confidence.

Justin almost laughed. Of course she’d look down on him. Here, in this world, everyone—except the staff—was either a billionaire, a powerhouse, or a name that made people tremble.

And him?

Even as the owner of Black Veil, to her, he was just a dog.

A dog refusing the leash.

A low chuckle slipped from Justin’s lips—dark, slow, and dangerous.

And just like that, the air thickened.

Gone was the playful edge, the calculated seduction she had planned. What took its place was something far more potent—something heavy, slow, and suffocating in the best way. Like a storm rolling in, unbothered, unstoppable.

One stride.

That’s all it took.

One single fucking step, and suddenly, she was in his arms. His fingers curled around her waist, and—oh, fuck.

Thin. Slithering. Soft.

Like she was built to be touched, to be held, to be devoured.

And yet—

Second stride.

Before she could even register the shift, before her mind could catch up, he turned her body with a controlled ease that sent a shiver down her spine.

And just like that—

She was seated.

Right where he had been just seconds ago.

Smooth. Fast. Effortless.

Yet, for all that raw strength, he handled her with something far worse than roughness—he handled her with care.

With intent.

Like he knew exactly how to touch, exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly how to make a woman feel owned without feeling forced.

Her breath hitched.

Justin tilted his head, gaze locked on her like a predator assessing the level of fun he could have before he ended the game.

"I’m not just talking big," he murmured, voice dark silk laced with something far sharper. "I don’t play puppet. I don’t follow orders. I don’t give a single fuck who owns the place or how many billions they’ve poured into the ground I’m walking on."

He leaned in—so close, so fucking slow—until his breath fanned across her lips, warm and teasing.

"When it comes to my choices," he continued, voice dropping lower, "I’m the master of my own damn self. Nobody makes me move like a pawn while they play god and I play subject."

And then?

His hands moved.

Slow. Deliberate. Exploring.

Fingertips traced along the curve of her waist, down to the dip of her hip—light, teasing, dangerous. Not taking. Not claiming. Just testing.

Because if they wanted to see how he’d react—

Well.

Two could play this game.

*********

I had to say this!

Finesse is an art form—subtle yet profound, effortless yet deliberate. It is not merely about mastery but about the quiet dominance of understanding, the grace of control, and the depth of perception.

Those who cannot grasp its intricacies will dismiss it, not out of malice, but because true finesse is invisible to the untrained eye. It is not meant for the many, but for the few who can see beyond the obvious, who recognize power not in force, but in the elegance of precision.

This novel is not for everyone, nor should it be. It is for those who understand that the greatest strength lies not in what is shown, but in what is implied.

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