World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 158: Marina del Rey — Tide Lounge

The week flew by uneventfully, and finally, it was Wednesday — the day of the yacht party.

James stood in front of the large wall mirror in his bathroom, taking one final look at himself.

Dressed in a crisp white tailored linen shirt — the top two buttons casually left open — slim-fit navy chinos that framed his build perfectly, and a pair of dark blue boat shoes, he looked effortlessly sharp.

His wrist bore the Patek Philippe Complications White Gold 5172G-001, and he had a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked into his collar. The sunglasses were more for style than function.

Satisfied, James smiled faintly, adjusted the cuffs of his shirt once more, and turned away from the mirror.

He walked into his room, grabbed his phone and the key fob to his Porsche Panamera, and headed downstairs.

In the living room, Patty and Leslie sat chatting and watching TV. They looked up as he passed.

James waved lightly when he saw them looking at him.

"Heading out?" Patty asked curiously.

"Yeah. I’ll be back late," James smiled.

Patty smiled warmly, and Leslie gave him a mock stern look.

"Behave," she teased.

James chuckled under his breath and made his way to the garage.

The smell of clean concrete and the line of luxury vehicles greeted him. But tonight, his attention was already locked on the Porsche Panamera.

He walked toward it, thumb pressing the unlock button on the key fob.

The lights blinked awake and James smiled to himself, as he opened the driver’s door and slid into the car.

The leather was cool against his palm as he gripped the wheel. And James savoured the tactile sensation.

This was the first time he was driving the Panamera since buying it nearly two weeks ago.

"Let’s see what a baddie like you can do," James smiled, and pressed the ignition.

The engine rumbled to life, with a refined, yet raw and deep, throaty growl. It was like a big cat stretching its muscles quietly before pouncing.

James nodded in satisfaction, as he shifted into drive, rolled smoothly down the driveway, and pulled onto the evening streets of Bel-Air.

***

As James cruised down the winding streets, the Porsche Panamera responded to every touch of the accelerator with crisp precision.

The Porsche Panamera was fast — very fast. And the adaptive suspension soaked up the imperfections in the road, turning every bump into nothing more than a suggestion.

The cabin was whisper-quiet, save for the subtle growl of the engine when he pushed a little harder on the pedal.

The dashboard screens glowed faintly with soft blue lights, the custom interface designed for performance without distraction.

James smiled slightly to himself as he pressed a little deeper on the gas, feeling the torque surge through the steering wheel.

The car accelerated effortlessly, pinning him back into the plush leather seat as the speedometer climbed.

This is the beauty of luxury sport cars.

Talking about luxury sport cars, James couldn’t help but think briefly about the Koenigsegg Gemera.

The Gemera was a beast — a true hypercar in disguise. A 4-seater that could blast from 0 to 60 mph in under two seconds.

It was brutal, violent even, in the best possible way. Like strapping yourself to a rocket and daring physics to stop you. Though James has never tried accelerating that fast.

To compare the two cars, where the Panamera was a gentleman — polished, composed — the Gemera was a warlord wearing a three-piece suit.

***

The drive from Bel-Air to Marina Del Rey was smooth and enjoyable.

As James glided through stretches of coastal highways, the sun dipped toward the Pacific, casting everything in molten gold.

Traffic was light, and the breeze coming through the half-open windows carried the salty tang of the ocean.

The closer he got to Marina Del Rey, the more yachts he saw dotting the marinas, with their sleek silhouettes bobbing lazily against the sparkling water.

James finally eased off the highway and navigated down the charming streets toward the private docks.

He passed elegant seafood restaurants, boutique stores, and luxury condos.

Finally, he pulled into the designated private parking area near the marina, where a valet dressed in white and navy approached with a respectful nod.

James killed the engine, stepped out smoothly, and tossed the key fob lightly to the valet, who caught it smoothly.

"Enjoy the evening, sir," the valet said.

"Oh, I will," he said, with a smile.

Without another word, James slid his sunglasses back onto his face, smiled faintly, and started walking toward The Tides Lounge, where the pre-boarding cocktail was being held.

The marina stretched out before him and he could see the polished yachts swaying gently on the sapphire water.

The evening sunlight bounced off the decks and railings, creating scattered bursts of gold across the harbor.

The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the faint smell of polished wood and fuel. The view was just beautiful.

James took his time walking along the paved pathway, hands in his pockets, sunglasses catching the last low rays of the sun.

His steps were unhurried, composed — as if he had all the time in the world. He wasn’t putting on a performance; it was simply who he was.

After spending almost two weeks with the elites, it’s impossible for his mannerism and some things about him not to change.

Ahead, the sleek, glass-walled building of The Tides Lounge rose against the waterline.

The establishment had a minimalist, modern, yet warm design, coupled with its wood-paneled accents, soft white lighting, and an open-air terrace that overlooked the private docks.

When James got to the entrance, a valet at the door greeted him with a polite nod, pulling the glass entrance open.

James smiled and stepped inside.

The interior of The Tides Lounge was every bit as refined as the marina promised.

White leather couches and low, polished teak tables were arranged artfully in clusters.

Soft jazz played in the background, blending effortlessly with the muted sounds of laughter and the clink of crystal glasses.

Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the marina-facing wall, offering an unobstructed view of the yachts bobbing gently under the setting sun.

Uniformed servers moved smoothly between groups, offering trays of artisanal cocktails, champagne flutes, and delicate hors d’oeuvres.

The air carried the faint scents of citrus, expensive cologne, and sun-warmed saltwater.

The crowd was as polished as the environment — young men in tailored shirts and linen jackets, women in designer sundresses and expensive sandals.

Even though they dressed casually, their wealth was unmistakably visible.

James let his gaze sweep the room, scanning smoothly for Logan’s group without making it obvious he was searching.

He found them near the windows, clustered casually around two small joined tables.

Logan was the first to spot him and immediately raised a hand in greeting, smiling widely.

James smiled and walked towards them.