The Shinkansen slowed to a graceful halt at Mishima Station. Agung stepped onto the platform, his senses still prickling with that unexplained, supernatural dread. He ducked into the nearest station restroom, locked the door, and closed his eyes.
*Creation magic.*
In a shimmer of light, his travel-worn, sweat-stained clothes were replaced by a crisp, charcoal-gray suit, a tailored white shirt, and a dark overcoat that radiated an air of quiet, expensive authority. He looked like the quadrillion-dollar man he technically was. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the "Deadbeat" look, and stepped back out into the station.
He moved through the terminal with purpose, ignoring the curious glances from commuters. Emerging into the cool Shizuoka air, he signaled the lead taxi in the queue.
The driver, an older man with a friendly face, hopped out to open the door. "Where to, sir? You look like you've got important business."
Agung settled into the back seat, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sea met the mountains. "Uchiura," he said, his voice steady despite the internal storm. "The Ohara family mansion. Take the coastal road."
The driver's eyebrows shot up. Everyone in the prefecture knew the Ohara name—the billionaires who essentially owned the bay.
"The Ohara estate? Understood. It's a bit of a drive, but we'll get you there."
As the taxi pulled away from the curb and began the winding journey toward the seaside, Agung watched the scenery change. The urban sprawl of the station gave way to the lush, green hills and the sparkling blue of Suruga Bay.
*Mari,* he thought. *Then Dia. Then the rest.*
He was heading straight for the seat of power in Numazu. He figured if he started with the Oharas, he could use their resources to facilitate the rest of his "atonement tour" quietly. He still harbored the delusion that he could manage this situation with the cold efficiency of a corporate merger.
"I have the money. I have the power," he whispered to himself, clutching his knees as the taxi hugged a sharp turn overlooking the water. "I'll make it right. I'll set up trusts for the children. I'll apologize. I'll be the benefactor they need."
He didn't realize that "the benefactor" was the last thing Mari Ohara wanted.
And he certainly didn't realize that even as his taxi climbed the private road toward the mansion, the Shinkansen carrying the "Tokyo Task Force" of wives was pulling into the station behind him, and a private jet from Hong Kong was already clearing Japanese airspace.
Agung was walking into a golden cage of his own design, and the keys were currently being held by a group of women who had been waiting thirteen years for this exact moment.