[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-billionaire-cashback-system-i-can-t-go-broke":3,"chapter-billionaire-cashback-system-i-can-t-go-broke-billionaire-cashback-system-i-can-t-go-broke-chapter-120":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Billionaire Cashback System: I Can't Go Broke!",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1621579,2091,"Chapter 120: Floor","billionaire-cashback-system-i-can-t-go-broke-chapter-120",120,"\u003Cp>By nine o’clock, the sprawling ballroom transitioned from an open floor of whispered deals and clinking glasses into a structured theater of financial bloodsport.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dining tables were arranged in wide, tiered arcs facing the elevated stage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The centerpieces – massive arrangements of white orchids and silver branches – were cleared away by swift, silent waiters to afford clear sightlines to the podium.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan sat at Table 4, a prime location near the front right flank. Diana sat at the head of the table, flanked by Arthur and a media conglomerate CEO.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zara sat to Ryan’s left, her thigh brushing his beneath the heavy linen tablecloth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The friction of the silk against his wool trousers was a quiet, steady burn anchoring him to the present moment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The auctioneer stepped to the podium. He was a British man with a sharp, clipped delivery, wielding a mahogany gavel like a conductor’s baton.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan leaned back in his chair, nursing his second glass of bourbon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wasn’t here to buy. He was here to exist in the room, to solidify the foundation of his rapidly scaling Reputation stat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The early lots moved quickly. A week-long retreat at a private villa in Tuscany went for a hundred and fifty thousand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A vintage 1960s Rolex Daytona, authenticated and pristine, triggered a brief bidding war between two hedge fund managers across the room, closing at three hundred thousand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan watched the mechanics of the room. It wasn’t about the items. Nobody in this room needed another watch or a vacation rental. They were bidding for territory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were raising numbered paddles to physically manifest their liquidity in front of their peers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was violence disguised as philanthropy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zara watched the stage, her chin resting on her hand. The ambient lighting of the ballroom caught the sharp, elegant lines of her profile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Bored?\" Ryan murmured, leaning in close enough that the scent of cedar and vanilla filled his lungs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Observing,\" Zara corrected softly. \"I’ve walked in a dozen shows modeling jewelry that usuallly cost more than this hotel. Watching men fight over it with little numbered paddles is fascinating.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Lot number fourteen,\" the auctioneer’s voice cut through the ambient murmur, ringing with a sudden, heightened gravitas. \"Ladies and gentlemen, we turn now to a truly exceptional piece.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The heavy velvet curtains at the back of the stage parted. A security detail marched forward, flanking a pristine glass display case.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside the case, resting on black velvet, was a necklace.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The room went perceptibly quieter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wasn’t a sprawling, gaudy piece. It was a single, flawless, pear-cut deep blue sapphire, suspended from a delicate lattice of brilliant white diamonds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The central stone caught the harsh spotlights of the stage, fracturing the beams and throwing deep, oceanic blue light across the walls. It looked like a piece of the midnight sky frozen into carbon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"The Midnight Tear,\" the auctioneer announced, the reverence bleeding into his clipped tone. \"A forty-two carat, unheated Burmese sapphire, entirely flawless. A piece of history, offered tonight from a private collection.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zara’s breath hitched.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The movement was microscopic, but sitting inches away from her, Ryan felt the sudden, rigid tension lock her spine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her dark eyes were pinned to the stage, tracking the blue fractures of light dancing against the glass case.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"That is a pretty necklace,\" Zara murmured. Her voice was incredibly soft. It was a genuine, involuntary slip of admiration from a woman who had spent her life dripping in borrowed diamonds she always had to give back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan looked at the sapphire. He looked at Zara’s face, tracing the reflection of the blue light in her irises.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A fierce, predatory heat flooded his veins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The System rewarded dominance. It rewarded seduction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We will open the bidding,\" the auctioneer declared, his eyes sweeping the room, \"at one million dollars.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A low murmur rippled through the ballroom.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A million-dollar floor instantly vaporized ninety percent of the room’s purchasing power. This wasn’t a charity write-off anymore. This was apex predator territory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Silence stretched. The auctioneer waited, poised.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Near the back of the room, at Table 12, a paddle went up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan glanced over his shoulder. The bidder was a young man in his late twenties, wearing a sharp, custom-tailored white tuxedo jacket.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had the bored, heavy-lidded expression of a man who had never been told the word ’no’.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whispers immediately identified him—a junior member of an Arabian royal family, known in the city for aggressive, highly publicized spending sprees.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"One million dollars to the gentleman at Table Twelve,\" the auctioneer confirmed smoothly. \"Do I have one point two?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The room remained still.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young royal took a slow sip of his champagne, not bothering to look at the stage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He assumed the floor was his. He assumed the transaction was already over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan set his bourbon glass down on the tablecloth. He didn’t reach for his numbered paddle. Paddles were for people asking for permission.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and locked his eyes on the auctioneer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Two million,\" Ryan said without shout.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He spoke with the heavy, dead-flat resonance of a man ordering a coffee, but the acoustics of the silent ballroom carried the syllables perfectly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The entire room froze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heads snapped around. Arthur stopped mid-sip. Diana’s posture locked rigid, her eyes darting to Ryan with a mixture of shock and rapid, frantic calculation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zara’s eyes widened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young Arabian royal at the back of the room lowered his champagne glass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bored expression completely evaporated, replaced by a sudden, jarring spike of insulted fury. He glared across the sea of white tablecloths, locking eyes with Ryan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan didn’t look away. He held the royal’s gaze, completely immovable, the cold, lethal gravity of the Warlord Protocol radiating off his shoulders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Two million dollars,\" the auctioneer repeated, his professional composure cracking for a fraction of a second as he looked at Table 4. \"The bid is two million dollars to the gentleman in the front.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ryan didn’t break eye contact with the back of the room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He reached blindly under the table, his hand finding Zara’s bare knee, his thumb tracing a slow, burning circle against her skin.\u003C\u002Fp>",1028,"2026-06-06T10:45:06.292Z",1,"novelbin.me","b3c6b7ec3a47fb09702fa82f944161dc27fbe0c660a17b277aa14dfcb56b6915","billionaire-cashback-system-i-can-t-go-broke-chapter-121","billionaire-cashback-system-i-can-t-go-broke-chapter-119",161,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fbillionaire-cashback-system-i-can-t-go-broke-cover.jpg"]