World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 162: An Enemy And A Potential Ally [Golden Tickets Goal Bonus - ]

Chapter 162: An Enemy And A Potential Ally [Golden Tickets Goal Bonus Chapter]

The yacht party had begun to wind down.

Midnight crept in with a hush that seemed to blanket the ocean, and the soft thrum of bass-heavy music faded into something slower, more atmospheric.

The chatter, once loud and chaotic, had mellowed into the kind of murmurs that came only when exhaustion, alcohol, and half-spoken confessions began settling in.

The Horizon’s Edge was already docking. Its massive form swayed gently against the Marina Del Rey pier, soft creaks of mooring ropes and ocean lapping against hull the only sounds cutting through the post-party haze.

James stood near the railing for a moment, watching as the crew secured the yacht. The city lights glittered in the distance, casting faint reflections across the water. freewebnøvel.coɱ

Behind him, the party still lingered — laughter, clinking glasses, last-minute flirtations — but he was done. He had seen enough.

He turned, adjusted the collar of his linen shirt, and moved toward the boarding ramp. He moved calmly, as he always did — unhurried, unbothered — his steps light despite the weight of the night’s many revelations.

He didn’t look back.

As he stepped off the yacht and onto the dock, a familiar crispness greeted him — night air, tinged with sea salt and freedom.

His Porsche Panamera sat waiting in the private parking section, sleek and cool beneath a streetlamp.

James reached the car, pulled open the driver’s door, and was just about to slide into the seat when—

"James."

He turned.

Rachel stood behind him, just a few paces away. Her heels clicked softly on the pavement, the white sundress she wore now creased slightly and faintly wind-blown.

There was a forced smile on her face — polite, almost pretty — but her eyes betrayed her.

They were rimmed with exhaustion, and her shoulders were no longer squared with pride but sloped with weight.

She looked like someone holding herself together because she didn’t know what would happen if she let go.

James said nothing. He simply waited.

"I... forgot to ask for your number earlier," Rachel said.

Her voice was quiet — no arrogance, no command — just a statement, tinged with something that almost resembled uncertainty.

He raised an eyebrow, then slowly extended his hand.

She stepped forward and handed over her phone.

James keyed in the number, handed it back, and didn’t say a word.

Rachel held the phone for a second longer than necessary, as if hoping for something else. But James had already stepped into the car and closed the door.

The engine purred to life. The headlights lit the street ahead in clean, pale gold. He didn’t spare her a second glance.

Rachel stood still, her hand tightening slightly around her phone. She exhaled — long and slow — and turned back toward the yacht, disappearing into the shadows of the dock.

James pulled away from the marina and merged smoothly into the quiet streets of coastal L.A.

The Panamera’s engine was a gentle vibration beneath him, the interior cool and hushed. For the first time that evening, he could finally breath freely.

As he drove, the events of the night replayed in his mind — not in a flood, but in clean, precise segments. He had always been good at compartmentalizing.

First was William Howell.

A fool with too much mouth and not enough merit. He had come at James with a loaded name and empty hands, and he’d walked away with his reputation bleeding out on the deck of a party he co-hosted.

That encounter had ended decisively. But James knew better than to think it was over. He could already feel the tremors beneath the surface — William would retaliate.

Not with fists, but with influence. He’d use his father’s name, his board ties, his family’s quiet reach.

That was how people like William operated — through inherited muscle.

James wasn’t worried, but he wasn’t foolish either. A wounded animal backed by a legacy was still dangerous.

Then... Rachel.

That, James thought, was the real puzzle of the evening.

She had snubbed him at first — not rudely, but with the practiced indifference of someone raised to ignore anything that didn’t have pedigree.

And yet, by the end of the night, she had chased him twice. She had looked desperate. Vulnerable and genuine.

She had exposed a truth that surprised him: her place in her family was not solid, not unshakable. In fact, it was crumbling beneath her heels.

And she’d come to him, of all people, for help.

He didn’t trust her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But she was useful. A name like Cobb carried weight, and allies with power were hard to come by — especially ones willing to admit they needed help.

Fascinating, he thought to himself as he made a smooth turn at a nearly empty intersection.

Tonight, he had made an enemy.

And he’d gained a potential ally.

Both had influence. Both had reach. One wanted him out of their world.

The other wanted him to change hers.

He chuckled to himself, eyes focused on the empty road ahead.

"This world," he muttered, "really is something else."

The Porsche vibrated beneath him, causing him to smile.

As the city lights blurred past the windshield, James leaned back into his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the armrest.

He was still new to this world, still finding his footing — but if tonight proved anything, it was that he didn’t need to be born into power to bend it.

He just needed to keep walking into the right rooms... and flipping the tables when needed.

And now, as he drove deeper into the night, he had two names burned into the forefront of his mind:

William Howell.

Rachel Cobb.

One to crush. One to watch.

And maybe — just maybe — one to use.

By the time he reached Bel-Air and turned into the quiet, gated lane that led to his home, the smile had faded from his face.

In its place was something colder and sharper.

He had come to the yacht party to enjoy himself. Instead, he left with the scent of blood in the air and the taste of war on his tongue.

And he was ready for both.