Veil System: Running a Model, High-End Escort and Marriage Agency
Chapter 82: Veiler’s Body—Chloe’s POV

Chapter 82: Veiler’s Body—Chloe’s POV

[System Prompt Accepted: Veiler Complete Body Integration Initiating...]

Justin exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening into a fist. After this, he wasn’t just going to be different—he was going to be dangerous. The embodiment of seduction, dominance, greed, and manipulation. A strategist. A liar. A true fucking Veiler.

Most importantly? Wealth Snatch was about to be upgraded to 5X.

Millions? Billions? That shit was guaranteed.

He licked his lips.

"Alright, let’s do this."

[System: Accepting Veiler Body Reward...]

At first, nothing happened.

Silence.

Like the system was playing with him.

He rolled his shoulders, waiting—expecting some grand revelation. Some divine force to tear his body apart and rebuild it into something unstoppable.

Nothing.

A second passed. Then another.

"Bruh... did I just get scammed?"

And that’s when it hit.

A spike of agony drilled into his spine, twisting down like someone had just jammed a crowbar into his nervous system and started cranking.

"FUCK—!"

Justin collapsed, his knees slamming into the bathroom floor. His body convulsed so hard he nearly smacked his head on the sink. His skin burned, like his flesh was being peeled off and rearranged by invisible hands.

Then came the dark substance—inky, oily shit seeping out of his pores, staining the floor beneath him. It stank—like rotting greed, like every toxic desire he’d ever suppressed was being ripped out of his body and discarded.

His fingers scratched against the tiles, his breath turning into ragged gasps as the pain peaked, flooding his body in unbearable waves forcing himself to remain on his knees. His muscles twitched uncontrollably, his bones cracking as if they were reshaping themselves.

His mind split apart. Thoughts raced. Memories flickered. Greed. Lust. Control. Lies. Power. It was all there—sinking deeper into his very DNA.

This was who he was now.

A Veiler.

His chest rose and fell sharply, vision flickering, consciousness slipping—

And then—black.

Justin passed out. Worse part, his head hit something hard.

*****

The mansion was dead silent. Well, apart from the occasional sound of Sasha moving around, doing her thing.

Chloe sank into the plush couch like a woman who had been through some serious shit. And she had. Between meetings, reports, and trying to keep her head above water as CEO, she was exhausted. Not the cute, "I need a nap" kind of tired. Nah. This was the "If I die in my sleep, let me rest" kinda tired.

Sasha walked over, a glass in her hands, and handed it to Chloe with the kind of respect she probably didn’t deserve right now.

"Thanks," Chloe muttered, taking the drink and swallowing a sip.

Sasha gave a small nod before settling in across from her. Damn, she was always so poised. Chloe respected the hell outta that. Meanwhile, here she was, slumped like a sack of potatoes, feeling like her entire soul had been drained by capitalism.

This new CEO thing? Yeah, she’d handled power before, but Black Veil was a different beast. It wasn’t just business—it was Justin Black’s business.

And that? That was a whole other level of stress. Because she couldn’t afford to disappoint him after he’d trust him with everything.

She let out a long sigh, letting the tension melt just a little. She’d finally settled into the mansion, and lowkey? That was the most exciting part of her day.

Not the meetings.

Not the strategic planning.

Not the power plays.

Nope. Moving in.

Because let’s be real—the real challenge wasn’t being a CEO. The real challenge was living under the same damn roof as Justin Black.

The teenager who had flipped her world upside down. The man-child who had somehow stolen her heart in a single fucking day. How? She didn’t know. How the fuck was she supposed to know her soul had been snatched by Justin?

Chloe didn’t do love before Justin. She did power. Control. She built empires and crushed competitors. And yet... here she was. Living with him. Thinking about him. Falling for him.

She took another sip of her drink, ignoring the butterflies that had no damn business being in her stomach.

Chloe could feel Sasha’s burning stare drilling into her skull. That same stare could’ve probably reduced lesser beings to dust—cute, but Chloe? She was built different.

Still, it was unsettling.

She had watched Sasha grow up—this same little girl who used to trip over her own damn feet and cry about losing her dolls. And now? Now she was standing there looking like she had walked straight out of a fantasy. Laurent, the ever-tempting head maid, had given her daughter everything. And it showed.

Sasha had inherited every ounce of that woman’s dangerous allure, all wrapped up in a younger, fresher package.

If Sasha stepped outside, it was game over for anyone with a Y chromosome. Men would trip over themselves just to get a second glance. She had it all—the perfect figure, the kind of ass that made people reconsider their life choices (was it actually soft? Who the hell knew, but it looked soft), and a face that could cause international conflicts.

And the best kind of breasts a woman could ask for? Check.

What didn’t Sasha have? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was honestly a fucking miracle that Chloe had ever been once Justin’s wet dream when this was standing right here. Maybe it was because Sasha and Justin had grown up together, practically like siblings? Yeah, that had to be it. Otherwise, it just didn’t make sense.

Chloe sighed. "If you’ve got something to say, say it."

Sasha didn’t hesitate. "Justin trusts me. If you ever hurt him, I’ll hunt you."

And just like that, she turned and walked away, all dramatic and self-righteous.

Chloe blinked before a slow, amused smile stretched across her lips. Hunt me? That was adorable. What was she gonna do? Trip her with those long legs? Chase her down in six-inch heels? Cute. Real cute. Not that it mattered, anyway—hurting Justin wasn’t even an option—hell, at this point, she wasn’t even sure she had the guts to talk back if he gave an Absolute order.

Meanwhile, upstairs, locked inside a bathroom—Justin Black was bleeding out.

His blood seeped into the black goo spreading around him. And not a single person in the entire mansion, not Sasha, not Chloe, not a goddamn soul, had a fucking clue.