World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 170: Relentless Vivienne Got Served

James was dragged out of sleep by the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand.

He groaned, rolled over, and squinted at the screen. It was barely 6:37 AM on a Sunday.

The caller ID read: Mr. Harrington.

He sat up immediately.

"Morning," James said, voice still thick with sleep.

"Apologies for the early call, Mr. Zolomon," came the smooth, steady voice of Mr. Harrington. "But this couldn’t wait."

James rubbed his eyes. "I understand. What’s going on?"

"I’ve spoken to the appropriate contacts. Discreetly, of course. You’re officially on their radar now. It’s only a matter of time before things escalate."

James exhaled, fully awake now.

"I figured as much. They made a move on Alina last night."

There was a pause.

"I see. Was she harmed?"

"No. But she was followed. Shadowed. I advised her to stay under the radar. We both knew this was coming. I just didn’t expect them to act this soon."

"They’re desperate," Harrington said simply. "Cornered animals lash out. And Cullen Corp is no exception."

James leaned back against the headboard, the sheets crumpled around his waist.

"So what’s our next step? And what about family protection?"

"I’ve arranged for discrete executive-level bodyguards—background in counter-surveillance and civilian protocol. No uniforms. No weapons in plain sight. They’ll integrate into the household routine without disrupting privacy. I’ll send the files for approval."

James processed all that for a moment before saying, "Do what needs to be done. Bill me after."

"Of course," Harrington said. "You’ll receive the initial reports by noon."

The call ended, and James sat there for a long moment in silence. There was no turning back now. He had started something—ignited a chain reaction—and now everything was moving at speed.

But before any more strategizing could be done, he had another commitment: the Family Brunch and Golf Round at the Bel-Air Country Club.

***

By 7:00 AM, the house was already alive with soft clinks of silverware and the smell of coffee.

Patty had insisted on making breakfast herself—fluffy scrambled eggs, sourdough toast, and fresh fruit—her own way of grounding them before another day in the upper echelon jungle.

James, still dressed in casual loungewear, sat at the head of the table sipping black coffee as Patty briefed Leslie on the social nuances of today’s brunch. Leslie, dressed in a light sundress and low heels, was smiling but clearly a bit tense.

James, meanwhile, had his own plan.

By 7:45 AM, all three were dressed and ready. James wore a crisp, cream-colored golf polo and tailored navy slacks, his sunglasses resting atop his head.

Leslie was stunning in a pale blue dress that clung to her in all the right places, and Patty looked elegant and graceful in a flowing floral ensemble.

Instead of James’ Maybach, they took Patty’s Range Rover. James drove, hands light on the steering wheel as they made their way down the winding roads toward the club.

"Let’s keep today smooth and just enjoy the brunch and the game." Patty said as they approached the gated entrance.

James didn’t answer at first.

But Leslie muttered under her breath, "As long as certain people keep their mouths shut..."

***

The brunch was held at the west terrace overlooking the lush greens. Rows of long white-clothed tables were set up beneath ivory umbrellas.

Silver platters of avocado toast, smoked salmon, and mini quiches adorned every surface. Glasses of mimosa clinked as the elite mingled, networked, and performed their subtle dances of power.

At a glance, it all looked pristine—perfectly controlled. But James could feel it even before they stepped fully into the gathering.

The atmosphere was laced with unspoken tension.

It came in stolen glances. In smirks too precise to be polite. In the way conversations hushed whenever they passed by.

James didn’t need to look far to find the cause.

Vivienne Harrow, dressed in a sharp cream tennis set, stood near the mimosa table with a cluster of women.

Celeste Worthington was with her, along with two other airbrushed, high-society girls who’d never worked a day in their lives but still looked down on everyone else.

They weren’t subtle. As soon as James, Patty, and Leslie arrived, the group’s smiles twisted.

"Oh look," Vivienne said loudly enough for others to hear. "The stray and his handlers have arrived."

A few heads turned, but James didn’t even break stride. He simply led Patty and Leslie to their assigned seats with a calm, unreadable expression.

The brunch continued.

Conversations flowed. Servers moved quietly. James chatted with a few familiar faces. Leslie laughed with another new-money couple. Patty spoke with a senator’s wife about travel.

But all the while, the tension thickened.

Vivienne’s group floated closer during the golf warmup rounds. Always within earshot. Always making snide remarks about "people who don’t belong here" and "how fast wealth seems to be distributed these days."

James ignored it.

Until they made it personal.

After brunch, as guests filtered toward the parking lot to retrieve their clubs or prepare for the casual golf round, the three of them walked together, arm-in-arm and smiling.

But as they approached their car, Vivienne and her clique fell in step beside them.

"Leaving so soon?" Vivienne called out sweetly. "I thought new members were supposed to show gratitude. You know—smile, bow, and disappear when real pedigree walks in."

James said nothing. His jaw was set, but his face remained relaxed. frёewebηovel.cѳm

Patty placed a calming hand on his forearm.

But Vivienne wasn’t done.

She turned her attention to Leslie, and smiled a smile so venomous it belonged in a zoo.

"And you," she said. "Still tagging along like a little orphan looking for a benefactor. Don’t worry, sweetheart. Sometimes rich men keep pets too."

That was it.

Leslie stopped walking.

James turned just in time to see the look on her face—calm, composed, but burning with quiet fury.

Without a word, Leslie turned.

Vivienne was still smirking—until Leslie’s hand connected with her cheek in a thunderclap of a slap that echoed across the lot.

Gasps exploded around them.

Time seemed to freeze.

Vivienne staggered a step back, her manicured hand flying to her face, eyes wide with shock and rage.

The entire row of departing club members went silent.

And James? He simply exhaled.

Let the war begin.