Veil System: Running a Model, High-End Escort and Marriage Agency
Chapter 88: Justin’s Collection—Adam

Chapter 88: Justin’s Collection—Adam

Steam still clung to Justin’s skin as he stepped out of the bathroom, his hair slightly damp, the ends dripping onto his bathrobe. His god-tier physique was barely concealed by the plush fabric, muscles shifting effortlessly with every step. He ran a towel through his hair once more as he made his way into his walk-in closet, the space looking more like a private boutique than just a closet.

Rows of tailored suits, designer shirts, and luxury shoes lined the walls, each piece meticulously arranged.

Justin moved through the racks, barely sparing them a glance before his eyes landed on the fresh delivery placed inside his bedroom earlier—a sleek, black three-piece suit that screamed dominance.

He shrugged off the robe, not giving a damn about modesty, and slid into the crisp white dress shirt, the fabric hugging his toned torso.

Next came the vest, the tailored pants fitting like they were sculpted just for him. He reached for his wristwatch—a Patek Philippe, because, of course, he had standards. The cool metal locked around his wrist as he grabbed the final touch—his fragrance.

A few spritzes of an expensive cologne, a deep, woody scent that whispered wealth and power.

With his outfit complete, Justin stepped over to a sleek, black drawer. His fingers skimmed over an array of key fobs, each one a ticket to automotive perfection. He didn’t hesitate long—today, he was feeling the Mercedes. He plucked the fob, twirling it between his fingers before pocketing it.

Today wasn’t about board meetings or stock negotiations. Chloe would handle the in-house operations at the Black Veil. No, today was about power plays—the kind that left ripples in the world beyond Black Veil. With that in mind, he left the bedroom, moving down the hall.

As he passed Selena’s door, he barely glanced at it. She was already at the office, Chloe too. Sasha was probably at school. That meant the house was quiet, aside from the staff handling their business. The third floor was mostly private—his space, a study, and a few rooms reserved for only the most important personnel.

The second floor was where the guest rooms and top staff quarters were. And beneath it all? An underground garage and other hidden facilities he didn’t bother caring about.

Descending the stairs, Justin caught sight of the house staff bustling about, tidying up and preparing for whatever the day demanded. He nodded absently as they greeted him, barely slowing his stride, his mind already elsewhere —until he walked past the kitchen.

And saw Laurent.

God. Damn.

Unlike the usual crisp maid uniform she wore in the morning, today, she was dressed in something else—something that made Justin’s brain short-circuit for a second. Something that should be illegal in a house with an active man like Justin. A loose, almost too-thin dress that clung to her curves like it had been personally sewn by the devil himself. And short. Way too short. And what the fuck, why was it cut in a way that showed the sides of her massive tits? The heavy curves strained even against the lose fabric, her nipples looking like they were about to pierce straight through. His eyes trailed lower, and holy shit, the dress barely covered her thighs.

Justin swallowed hard.

He should’ve looked away. Should’ve kept walking like a sane man.

And then the universe decided to play its sick little game—to personal play with him.

Laurent, blissfully unaware of his presence, accidentally dropped the knife she was holding. And when she bent down to pick it up—

Jesus Christ.

The dress hiked up, and Justin got the full, uncensored view of a red thong stretched between the thickest, roundest ass he had ever seen. His throat went dry. His eyes widened. His brain shut down.

Red.

A red thong.

Justin’s breath caught as he got the full view—thick, round, perfect. Her ass practically swallowed the damn fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. And then, between her legs—

Something swelled between her legs.

NOPE.

"No don’t—it was too late.

He was hard. Painfully. Instantly.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, jaw clenching.

Justin spun on his heel and walked the fuck away. Immediately.

Straight to the underground garage. Leaning against the cold metal of the car door, he let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding. That was the first time he had ever seen Laurent like that.

That was his first time seeing Laurent like that.

And goddamn, he was not prepared. It going to be a problem.

The garage was a damn shrine to horsepower. A kingdom of metal, speed, and obscene luxury. Some of these cars weren’t even his—leftovers from his parents, gathering dust like relics from another era. Rolls-Royces, a Bentley or two, an old-school Aston Martin that probably hadn’t been touched since the last time his father gave a damn.

But Justin’s selection? That was different. Streamlined. Personal. His.

Front and center was a green Bugatti, a gift from Adam’s sister just last month. He still didn’t know what her game was, but hell, he wasn’t about to turn down a Bugatti. Right next to it sat his Mercedes-Benz AMG GT 63, black as sin, built for speed and intimidation. And then, his daily beast—a white G-Wagon, the kind of SUV that made sure no one questioned who the fuck was in charge when it rolled up.

He clicked the key fob.

The G-Wagon came alive, its headlights flashing, engine humming like a caged animal waiting to be let loose. Justin smirked, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "Alright, big guy. Let’s wake up the world."

Striding over, he swung the door open and climbed in. Instantly, he was wrapped in the scent of premium leather and money. Everything inside screamed power—from the stitched seats to the glowing dashboard. He leaned back, fingers drumming against the steering wheel before flipping the start button.

The engine roared to life, a deep, guttural growl that echoed through the garage. "Damn, you sound like you’re pissed off this morning," he muttered, a small grin tugging at his lips. He revved it once, just to feel that power vibrate through his body. This was how a man was supposed to start his day.

Sliding it into drive, he eased forward, rolling through the underground exit. Then, like a beast breaking free from its chains, the G-Wagon erupted onto the compound.

The morning sun hit the white paint, making it gleam like something holy. Like a war chariot, freshly blessed and ready to fuck up anyone in its path.

Justin let out a slow breath, resting one hand on the wheel, the other tapping idly against the leather. "Alright," he muttered to himself. "Time to get to work."

The G-Wagon tore through the streets of Las Vegas, the morning sun bouncing off its pristine white paint. Traffic was light—too early for the real chaos to start, but late enough for the city to still feel alive.

Justin leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily gripping the wheel as he tapped the call button on his dashboard. The line rang twice before a voice picked up.

"Yo, where the fuck are you?" Justin asked, already knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

A groggy but smug voice came through the speakers. "Outside Summerlin. Sapphire."

Justin rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his brain. "Of course. Why the fuck am I not surprised? Bro, it’s like, what? Nine in the morning? And you’re in a goddamn strip club?"

Adam’s laugh boomed through the speakers, unbothered as ever.

"Listen, listen—today’s important, right? And since I know you’re about to drag my ass into some bullshit mission, I figured I’d squeeze in some quality time with a few bitches before we get to whatever the fuck you’re planning."

Then, as if to justify his degeneracy, he added, "And bro, it’s Sapphire’s VVIP lounge. Alright? This ain’t no regular strip club. I just saw Drake walk in like five minutes ago. I swear, this man got a whole lineup of dancers waiting for him. Shit looks like a casting call."

Justin shook his head, fighting a laugh. "You’re fucking ridiculous. You’re gonna be the death of your parents, man."

Adam snorted. "They’re the reason I’m like this!"

Justin didn’t respond to that. Adam hadn’t always been like this. Before their parents’ messy fallout, the dude had been a good kid—the type to say "yes, sir" and "no, ma’am" like he was raised in a damn military camp. But after all the drama? Yeah. He found his peace in two things: women and drinking.

At least he wasn’t a drunk. Just insatiable.

Like mother, like son.

Justin’s jaw tightened at the thought. His mother had sought her own comfort after separating from his father, in ways Justin didn’t wanna think about right now. Their whole family was fucked. Only Sydney was sane.

Even the fucking maids were a little crazy, thanks to Adam.

"Whatever, man," Justin sighed. "Did you do what I asked you to do?"

Silence.

Justin’s grip on the wheel tightened. "Adam."

Still nothing.

His eyes narrowed. "Bro, answer me before I come over there and drag you out by your dick."

A heavy sigh came through the speakers. "Yeah... yeah, I did it."

"You sure?"

"I swear," Adam said quickly. "If I’m lying, I’ll give up video games, drinking, and women for a week."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"Yep."

"For a whole week?"

"Hand to God."

A beat of silence.

"Okay, okay—not the women."

Justin immediately groaned. "You lying sack of shit. You didn’t do shit, did you?"