Chapter 61: Test in a Wet Dream
Of course, Justin wasn’t just here to satisfy his dick—he had bigger plans. If he could turn these billionaires and millionaires lounging around Black Rose into clients, Black Veil was gonna skyrocket.
And he had a hunch Chloe was thinking the same thing. No way she dragged him here just to get drunk and flirt with rich assholes. She was after a big fish. But, like—who goes to the ocean just to come back with a damn mackerel? If they were gonna fish, might as well aim for a fucking whale.
So yeah, that was his other plan. One that required him to sit down with the actual boss of Black Rose. And he would.
*****
The Selene section of the bar wasn’t built for the weak. It was where the rich, the dangerous, and the untouchable blended into dimly lit perfection. The air was thick with exclusivity, the kind that made ordinary people feel like they’d stepped into a world they had no right to exist in.
And then—she walked through.
Every step was deliberate, slow enough to be noticed, fast enough to not look desperate for attention.
She walked like she owned the air around her, hips swaying just enough to make gravity feel like a suggestion.
That dress? Fuck, it wasn’t even clothing—it was a crime scene. Tight in all the right places, barely legal in the rest, hugging curves that looked straight out of a Photoshop tutorial.
Her legs? Long. Smooth. The kind that made a man rethink his entire personality just to impress them.
Thighs thick enough to crush egos, calves toned like she casually ran from her problems on a treadmill made of money. And her waist? Snatched. Like, actually snatched—small enough to make hourglasses question their own existence, leading up to a stomach so flat it could be used as a runway for bad decisions.
Then there was that part—the main event. Her chest sat high, perky, and disrespectfully perfect, threatening to pop out with every confident step. The dress did its best, but honestly? It was fighting for its life. The neckline plunged just enough to make men forget their own damn birthdays.
And her ass? Please. It was the reason men wrote poetry. Round, tight, the type that could make a preacher reconsider his faith. Every step sent a ripple effect through the room—and through the unfortunate souls who thought they’d seen beauty before.
She wasn’t just another rich beauty passing through. No, she carried an aura—of power, of something just slightly out of reach. Her presence alone sent silent messages, ones that said, I don’t chase. I get chased.
The bartenders, trained to keep their cool, stiffened just a little as she passed, as if afraid they’d forget their jobs and start worshipping instead.
By the time she reached the private rooms, the whole damn bar had adjusted for her presence—conversations slowed, drinks were abandoned, and the air itself got heavier. Then—three soft knocks.
In his room, Justin heard three soft knocks—gentle, almost teasing. His brain, still half-focused on the mental road trip he’d been taking for the past seven minutes, barely registered it at first. Chloe wasn’t back yet.
Maybe she got caught up in some rich-people meeting. Maybe she ran off with a billionaire now discussing some million worthy shit. Who the fuck knew?
When the knocks came again, he sighed, assuming it was staff. "Come in," he called lazily, not even bothering to sit up straight.
And then—boom.
The door opened, and temptation walked in wearing a dress that had no business existing. Justin blinked. Then blinked again. His soul might have just left his body for a sec. Was he being rewarded? Had he unknowingly done something righteous today?
This woman—no, this problem—wasn’t just hot. She was the kind of hot that made a man rethink his entire life’s choices. Long legs, dangerous curves, and a body sculpted by either the gods themselves or the devil on a good day. She moved like she knew every single eye in the room would be on her, like she’d been built for attention and didn’t give a single fuck about it.
Holy fuck. If sin had a shape, it had just walked in.
Justin barely processed it before a thought hit him like a truck: Chloe who?
This one? He didn’t need her name. He’d already decided—she was his new favorite wet dream.
*****
The office was stupidly expensive. Like, the kind of expensive that made even rich people reconsider their life choices. The walls weren’t just walls—they were some sleek, black marble bullshit that probably cost more per square foot than most houses. The floors? Dark hardwood so polished it looked illegal. And the windows? Floor-to-ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the city like some villain’s lair.
The whole place screamed power, money, and the kind of influence that made people disappear if they asked too many questions.
Chloe stepped in and immediately dipped into a deep bow, her posture nothing but respect. The silence stretched, thick and intentional, before a voice filled the room—soft, smooth, and yet so goddamn dangerous it sent a chill down her spine.
"I see you brought a guest."
Chloe’s lips twitched into a brief, knowing smile. "Oh, don’t worry about him," she said, straightening. "Justin’s someone we don’t have to worry about. He can be trusted with everything that happens here. And—" she let out a small chuckle, her confidence unshaken, "—he’s interested in joining Black Rose."
Silence. Then, a slow, amused exhale.
"Oh, my sweet Chloe," the voice cooed, almost fond, almost mocking. "I know everything you’re about to say about your guest. I know he can be trusted with secrets. After all, how could he be CEO of such an agency full of secrets if he couldn’t keep them?"
Chloe held her ground, her smirk still in place—but inside, she felt the shift. The atmosphere in the room had changed, just a fraction.
Another pause.
"What concerns me," the voice continued, still gentle, still deadly, "is whether your guest has what it takes to join even Black Rose... B3 ranks, much less B1."
Chloe didn’t hesitate. She smiled, sharp and sure. "He’s more than capable."
A soft laugh. Then, the voice hummed, "We’ll see about that. Any minute now." The voice hummed again, smooth as silk, sharp as a knife. "Why don’t we watch together? Come join me!"
Chloe barely stopped herself from cursing out loud.
Oh, hell no.
Someone had already been sent to test Justin?
Fuck.