Justin leaned back in the leather seat of his mercedes SUV, the city's neon glow flickering through the tinted windows. The hum of Vegas nightlife buzzed outside—honking cars, distant music, drunk tourists shouting in the streets. But inside the car, it was all silence except for the soft taps of Selena's manic typing on her tablet.
She sat in the front passenger seat, eyebrows furrowed, scrolling through numbers like she was decoding the damn Matrix. With a quick glance at the chauffeur, she ordered, "Home."
The car smoothly pulled away from the chaos of downtown, leaving behind the Black Veil office—a towering glass structure nestled in the heart of the city's business district.
As they drove off, the Strip's neon signs faded into the distance, replaced by the quiet luxury of Summerlin, Las Vegas's most exclusive neighborhood. This wasn't some overpriced high-rise or fake rich McMansion suburb. No, this was where the real money lived.