Black Veil—Showtime

Breakfast wasn't a long-drawn affair—Justin wasn't about dragging shit out when there was work to be done. He sipped his coffee while flipping through reports on his tablet, his face shifting from neutral to straight-up pissed. The audacity of some people. His parents hadn't even been in the ground for a full week, and already the vultures were circling, spreading rumors and trying to claw their way into his agency.

"Does Aunt Selena know about this?" he asked, not looking up from the screen.

The chauffeur came inside, a guy who could probably double as a model with how sharp his suit was, nodded. "Yes, sir. Madam Selena's been on it since last night."

Justin grunted in response. He knew his she wouldn't let things slide without locking herself on them, but damn if it didn't piss him off that this was even happening.

Selena eventually came downstairs, all business in a tailored black suit that hugged her in just the right way. She looked like she owned the damn world—and honestly, she practically did own the world in here next to him.

She strode over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Seems like some people think you're just a kid," she said, her tone smooth but with an edge of steel.

"Board members," Justin muttered. He didn't need her to spell it out; he'd figured it out the moment he'd read the reports.

"Exactly," she replied. "But they're about to learn that being a Black isn't just a name—it's a fucking legacy."

He smirked at that, the kind of smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. Yeah, people were going to learn real quick not to mess with him or what his family built.

Breakfast wrapped up quickly, and the chauffeur—or as Justin liked to think of him, "Mr. Too-Damn-Professional"—led them into the garage. And, of course, the garage wasn't just a garage. It was like stepping into a car showroom for billionaires. Sleek black sedans, a couple of sports cars that screamed "I'm faster than your entire existence," and even a few luxury SUVs.

The chauffeur pulled open the door of a matte-black Mercedes S-Class, and Justin slid into the backseat like he'd done this a hundred times—which, honestly, he had. Selena climbed in beside him, already scrolling through her phone.

As the car pulled out of the mansion, Justin stared out the tinted window, his mind buzzing. Today wasn't just another day—it was the first step in proving that the Black Veil Agency wasn't just alive but untouchable. And he was going to make damn sure everyone knew it.

Big words... What at the actions?

*****

The Mercedes S-Class eased out of the long driveway, the crunch of gravel beneath its tires fading as it hit the paved road. Justin leaned back in his seat, one hand casually resting on his lap while his eyes scanned the world outside. Las Vegas mornings were a mix of leftover chaos from the night and the quiet promise of a new hustle.

Neon signs flickered weakly in the daylight, remnants of last night's party energy, and early risers hit the sidewalks like they had something to prove.

"Vegas never sleeps, huh?" Selena said, not looking up from her phone, her voice smooth but laced with mild amusement.

"Yeah," Justin replied, his tone flat, but his gaze sharp. "But maybe it should. Some people out here don't know when to quit."

The car glided onto the main road, the city slowly morphing from residential calm to the glittering chaos of downtown. Buildings got taller, flashier, and there was that unique mix of tourists taking selfies and business types speed-walking to deals that might make or break them.

The Mercedes felt like a predator among prey, its sleek black frame a subtle but definite flex. People turned their heads as it rolled by, trying to guess which celebrity or billionaire might be inside.

Selena glanced over at Justin, catching the hard set of his jaw. "You ready for this?"

"Always." His answer was quick, confident, but the flicker of tension in his hand betrayed the weight of the day ahead.

The car pulled up in front of a towering glass-and-steel structure, sleek and modern, easily one of the most imposing buildings on the strip. The Black Veil Agency's headquarters. The logo—a sharp black 'V' with silver accents—gleamed above the entrance like a warning sign: Don't mess with us.

The chauffeur stepped out first, moving like clockwork as he opened Selena's door. She stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement as she adjusted her blazer, radiating effortless power.

Justin followed, as Selena opened the door open as he stepped out. His perfectly tailored suit caught the sunlight, every inch of him screaming I run this shit. He adjusted his cufflinks, then tugged his suit jacket into place with a precision that felt almost like a battle prep.

The sleek glass doors slid open with a soft whirr, the kind of sound you almost didn't notice unless the silence around it was thick. Justin stepped forward first, his polished black Oxfords clicking against the glossy marble floor. The air-conditioned breeze from inside swept over him, cool and sharp, like the building itself was welcoming him in its own subtle way.

Selena followed, her sharp heels echoing right behind him, the two of them moving in sync like they owned the damn place—which, well, they kinda did.

The rolling glass doors eased shut behind them, sealing off the outside world. Inside, everything felt pristine and controlled. The reception area was modern, almost sterile, with sleek black furniture and a high-tech feel that screamed money.

The staff was already lined up, waiting. Rows of men and women stood with stiff postures and polite smiles, but Justin could see the curiosity—and maybe a little fear and disapproval—in their eyes.

As he walked past them, he felt the subtle sparks in the air. It wasn't just respect; it was the kind of tension that came when people didn't know what to expect from the young guy in charge.

One of the senior managers, a wiry man with slicked-back hair, stepped forward, clearing his throat like he was trying to gather his nerve.

"Welcome, Mr. Black. We're, uh, ready for you in the boardroom."

Justin nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. Let's not waste time."

All eyes turned toward them the moment they crossed the threshold, and for a second, it felt like the whole lobby was holding its breath. Each staff he passed would stand straighter.

Justin didn't say a word. He just kept walking, his presence cutting through the room like a blade, bstepping into a world that was ready to throw him out.

"Showtime," Selena murmured under her breath, the faintest smirk playing on her lips.

Justin smirked back, his confidence settling into place like a second skin. He didn't need to say anything. The sound of those sliding doors opening seconds before had already made the statement for him: The Blacks are here.

Selena placed a hand on his shoulder briefly, a silent signal that she was right there with him. Together, they moved toward the elevators, the weight of everyone's gaze following them.

The ride up felt like the calm before the storm. The boardroom was waiting, and Justin knew one thing for sure—by the time he walked out of there, nobody would dare question who was in charge.

Oh how wrong he was! Or maybe he wasn't?