Veil System: Running a Model, High-End Escort and Marriage Agency
Chapter 89: Al-Faisal Estate, Titan Holdings

Chapter 89: Al-Faisal Estate, Titan Holdings

Justin disconnected the call with a sharp exhale, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. Adam was a lost cause. A fucking menace.

He gripped the wheel and floored the gas, the G-Wagon’s deep growl vibrating through the cabin.

Vegas mornings were weird—a mix of joggers, early risers, and drunk rich assholes stumbling home like they survived a war. Neon signs still flickered, and traffic was light enough for Justin to weave through like he owned the roads.

By the time he pulled up to Sapphire’s VVIP entrance, the place looked exactly like what you’d expect from the most exclusive strip club in Vegas—blacked-out windows, gold-accented doors, and security so stiff they could’ve been Secret Service rejects.

The parking lot was a fucking flex. Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, tricked-out Lambos—one obnoxiously pink Bentley that screamed ’some influencer bitch is inside.’

Justin cut the engine, drummed his fingers against the wheel, then grabbed his phone. He wasn’t even surprised Adam had picked this place. The man was predictable as hell.

He hit dial.

"Yo, I’m outside."

Justin tapped his fingers against the wheel as he waited, glancing at the time again. Adam was late. No surprise there. The dude had a talent for moving at his own pace, like the world would wait for him no matter what.

When the double doors finally swung open, Adam strolled out like he’d just wrapped up a GQ cover shoot.

Casual rich kid look in full effect—designer jeans ripped in all the right places, a tight black tee hugging his gym-maintained torso, and a Rolex that probably cost the same as a mid-tier sports car. He was the poster child for "money talks, but I don’t need to say shit."

The second he reached the G-Wagon, he yanked the door open like he owned it. "What’s up, motherfucker?"

Justin smirked. The handshake was automatic—a rich-boy special.

Adam slid into the passenger seat, stretching his legs out like he was settling into his personal jet. "Damn, every time I get in this car, I feel like I’m betraying my own sister. Why do you want it?"

Justin rolled his eyes, pressing the ignition. The engine rumbled awake, smooth and powerful, like a beast stretching after a nap. "It’s elegant. Less flashy. Strong. I like strong cars."

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. You and your obsession with ’strong.’ But bro, my sister’s gift to you? Catching dust in your garage? She’s gonna be fucking offended."

Justin laughed, pulling a U-turn so effortlessly it was almost arrogant. "I love that car, really. It’s just... it’s a flex car. Strictly. But not for business deals."

Adam made a face. "Rich people problems."

Justin didn’t argue.

The city blurred past them, Vegas in the morning still looking half-drunk from the night before. Signs still flickering in the morning sun, streets a mix of early risers and people who never made it home.

Adam leaned back. "Alright, what’s the real deal? Why are we doing this? What’s the plan?"

Justin smirked but didn’t take his eyes off the road. "You’ll see."

Adam groaned. "Man, you’re so fucking dramatic. Anyway, school’s a goddamn mess without you. Everybody misses your ass."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

Adam snorted. "Bro, you wouldn’t believe. Some dumbass actually thought he could take your throne while you were gone."

Justin barked out a laugh. "How’d that work out for him?"

Adam’s grin was pure evil. "Exactly how you’d expect. The gang showed his ass real quick where he stood."

Justin smirked. "Sabine led the charge?"

Adam nodded. "Sabine and—get this—Colette."

Justin shot him a look. "Colette? You’re fucking kidding—don’t pull my feet Adam!"

Adam shook his head. "Dead serious. While you were gone, she joined the gang. Paid two million fucking dollars just for membership."

Justin let out a low whistle. "Stupid but ridiculous Colette. But when she wants something, she gets it."

Adam laughed. "Yeah, principal lost his shit. But let’s be real—when Colette decides to do something, who the fuck is stopping her?"

They both chuckled.

Justin switched lanes smoothly. "So, you make up with Maria yet?"

Adam groaned dramatically. "Bro, she friend-zoned me. It’s tragic."

Justin sighed like he already knew where this was going. "Let me guess. You told her you were sorry, but you can’t stop, and you love her the most?"

Adam clicked his tongue, grinning. "Damn right."

Justin burst out laughing. "Of fucking course you did."

This was Adam. A man of bad habits, zero regrets, and an unlimited supply of bullshit. Well, he was dumped but Justin knew it went deeper than just Adam.

The city lights shifted as they left the main roads, heading toward their destination. Justin didn’t say much after that, just let the conversation flow while he drove. Vegas was alive as always, but he had bigger things on his mind. And Adam? He was just here for the ride.

The road stretched ahead, smooth as silk, cutting through a secluded, ultra-rich neighborhood that felt like its own world. The kind of place where privacy wasn’t just a perk—it was a fucking requirement.

The estates lining the private road weren’t just big. They were insane. Mansions that looked like they belonged in movies, each one more extravagant than the last. And the best part? None of them belonged to Americans. These were playgrounds for the world’s richest kids—royals, heirs, and trust fund demons who needed a fancy-ass school in Vegas but didn’t want to mix too much with the locals.

Justin smirked as they passed a particularly massive estate, practically dripping in gold accents.

The Al-Faisal estate stood like a monument to obscene wealth. The entrance gates were a work of art—tall as hell, forged from black iron with intricate gold inlays, and flanked by two massive lion statues, their eyes glinting like real jewels. Arabic calligraphy ran elegantly along the marble pillars, verses carved so precisely that they almost seemed to glow under the Vegas sun.

Beyond the gates, the driveway stretched forever, winding through a manicured paradise of palm trees, fountains, and imported white peacocks strolling like they owned the place. At the end of the drive stood the main mansion—a three-story palace of cream-colored stone, arched windows framed in gold, and balconies big enough to host full-blown parties.

And the cars? Fucking ridiculous.

A lineup of Bugattis, Rolls-Royces, and McLarens sat in front like a damn showroom display.

A gold-plated Lamborghini Revuelto gleamed in the center, looking more like a statement than a car. Behind it, a few custom G-Wagons stood in a neat row, blacked-out windows hiding whichever royal or bodyguard was inside.

They drove past, leaving behind the Al-Faisal estate’s absurd display of power and heading toward their real destination.

"The Al-Faisal estate, huh?" Justin mused, slowing the car slightly. "Think Prince Rami finally paid that fine?"

Adam snorted. "Colette made sure of it." Apparently, the prince got a little too brave, tried to flex in the gang, and ended up paying a ’sit-your-ass-down’ fee.

Justin chuckled. "Damn. He really couldn’t afford to be kicked out, huh?"

"Bro, do you know what would happen if his royal cousins found out he got his ass humbled? The whole Saudi bloodline would clown him for life."

Justin shook his head. The gang was no joke, even for actual royalty. Rami had money, sure, but influence? That was earned, not bought. And Colette had made sure the prince learned that lesson the expensive way.

Justin smirked. "If I ever start acting like Rami, put me down."

Adam laughed. "Man, if you ever flex this hard, I’ll be the one cleaning your Bugatti."

They rolled past the Al-Faisal estate and continued down the road, getting closer to their real destination. Just three estates away from the school, and this was where the real business started.

The building they pulled up to was nothing short of a modern fortress of wealth.

The black mirrored skyscraper of Titan Holdings loomed over them, sharp and polished like a damn monolith of power. The company’s name gleamed in sleek silver letters at the very top, a constant reminder of who really owned the land they were standing on.

Justin pulled into a private lot, cutting the engine as they both stepped out. The air here felt different—quiet, controlled. Not the chaos of the strip, not the mindless luxury of their school’s district. This was where serious money played.

Justin let out a low whistle. "Still intimidating as fuck."

Adam groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. "I don’t even wanna be here, man. I don’t know what you’re planning, but this better be worth it."

Justin shot him a grin. "Since when has my business not been worth it?"

Adam deadpanned. "Oh, I don’t know... maybe the time you convinced me to bet against my uncle in poker? Or that one time I had to pretend to be your chauffeur to sneak you into that auction? My bank account still cries at night."

Justin only smirked, stepping on the gas as they passed through tall, security-heavy gates. The guards barely glanced at the car before letting them in. They already knew who Adam was.

This wasn’t some random meeting. This was the real deal.

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