He was as wrong as he could be

The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains of Karl's study, casting long shadows across the polished oak desk. The room was dim and quiet, save for the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Karl sat in his chair, eyes fixed on the glass of whiskey in front of him, untouched. His mind raced with the events of the previous night—Riko's tearful departure, the look in her eyes as she walked away, her words echoing in his head.

I'm leaving… We'll be safer away from you.

He leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking under his weight. His hands rested on the armrests, fingers drumming absently as he stared into the empty space where his life seemed to be unraveling. The world outside the mansion was on fire—wars, rivalries, power struggles—but inside, in this dark, silent room, it felt as though something far more important had been lost.

The door to the study creaked open, pulling Karl from his thoughts. Arjan stepped inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. Behind him, Czar, another of Karl's trusted allies, followed, his expression tense. The two men exchanged a glance before approaching the desk, their usual confidence muted by the gravity of the situation.

"Karl," Arjan began, his voice unusually soft. He crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed with concern. "We need to talk."

Karl didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the glass in front of him. "I'm not in the mood for a pep talk, Arjan."

Czar stepped forward, his voice more direct. "This isn't about the war, Karl. It's about Riko."

At the mention of her name, Karl's eyes flicked upward, locking onto Czar's. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, waiting for them to continue.

"She's gone to Tokyo," Arjan said, watching Karl carefully. "She left last night. We confirmed it. She's staying with her family."

Karl's grip on the armrests tightened, his knuckles turning white. He could feel the anger bubbling just beneath the surface, but he kept it in check, his face an unreadable mask.

"You have to go after her," Arjan continued, stepping closer. "You can't let things end like this. She's carrying your child, Karl. She's scared, and right now, she feels abandoned. You need to fix this before it's too late."

Czar nodded in agreement, his voice calm but firm. "Arjan's right. This war with Fausto will still be here when you get back. But if you don't go now, you might lose her for good."

Karl clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He knew they were right—he had felt it the moment Riko had walked out the door. But part of him still resisted, clinging to the belief that his focus on power, on protecting what he'd built, was for their sake. How could he just leave in the middle of everything?

"I don't have time to chase after her," Karl muttered, though his words lacked conviction.

Arjan's face hardened. "You'll make time. Don't be a fool, Karl. This isn't just about the business anymore. This is your family. Go to Tokyo. Make things right before it's too late."

For a long moment, Karl said nothing. The weight of their words hung in the air, pressing down on him. Finally, with a slow exhale, he nodded, rising from his chair. "I'll go," he said, his voice quieter now. "But this war… it doesn't stop."

Arjan placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "We'll hold things down here. Fausto's not going to make another move without feeling the heat from us. Go. We've got your back."

Czar stepped back, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Take care of your family, Karl. We'll take care of the rest."

By the time Karl's private jet touched down in Tokyo, the sun had already set, casting the bustling city in the soft glow of twilight. The skyline stretched out before him, a maze of glittering lights and towering skyscrapers. As the plane taxied to a stop, Karl gazed out of the window, his thoughts a turbulent storm of emotions. He hadn't been back to Tokyo in months, not since the early days of his relationship with Riko. Now, it felt like a different world—one he wasn't sure he still belonged to.

The city moved at a breakneck pace, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that had settled over Karl's life. He stepped off the plane, greeted by the humid summer air, and was quickly whisked away in a black sedan that waited on the tarmac. The car drove through the neon-lit streets, weaving through traffic, past the familiar haunts of his past dealings.

His destination wasn't Riko's family home—at least not yet. First, he needed to meet someone else.

The car pulled up to a grand building in Ginza, Tokyo's luxurious district, where wealth flowed like water. Karl stepped out, adjusting his jacket as he strode into the towering office building. He knew the way by heart—he had been here many times before. As the elevator doors slid open, he was greeted by a sleek, modern reception area that looked more like an art gallery than an office.

And there, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, was Takako.

Takako had always been an imposing figure—elegant, sharp, and calculating. Her dark hair was swept back in a tight bun, her tailored business suit immaculate, and her gaze as cutting as ever. As Karl approached, she turned to face him, her lips curling into a faint smile.

"Karl," she greeted him smoothly, extending a hand. "It's been too long."

He shook her hand firmly, though there was a tension between them, a long history of business dealings and silent power struggles.

"I wasn't expecting to see you back in Tokyo so soon," Takako said, studying him with her piercing eyes. "But then again, I've been hearing rumors."

Karl raised an eyebrow, but remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

Takako gestured for him to sit at a polished glass table. As they settled into the chairs, she poured a glass of sake for herself, offering him one, but Karl waved it off.

"Word travels fast in this city," Takako began, sipping her sake. "I heard about the attack on Arjan's plantation. Messy business. And I've also heard about Riko." Her gaze sharpened, and for a moment, Karl could see the gears turning in her mind. "She's gone back to her family, hasn't she?"

Karl's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I came here to fix things," he said, his voice controlled but tense.

Takako leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "And what exactly are you going to fix? Your marriage? Or the war you've started?"

Karl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Both."

She smiled faintly, setting down her glass. "Always the ambitious one. But fixing a marriage is a little more complicated than taking down a rival, don't you think?"

Karl remained silent, his mind focused on Riko and the long journey that lay ahead.

Takako watched him closely, her tone shifting from casual to business. "I know why you're really here, Karl. And it's not just to win back Riko."

Karl glanced up, meeting her eyes. Takako always knew more than she let on.

"Your war with Fausto is already drawing attention. I've been working with several governments on certain… economic initiatives," she explained, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "And there's one in particular that needs your expertise. Caracas is in desperate need of revitalization, and their government is on the brink of collapse. They've reached out to me for help, but I think you'd be the perfect person to send. After all, you've been known to bring empires back from the dead."

Karl frowned, leaning forward. "You want me to fly out to Caracas to fix their economy while my personal life is falling apart?"

Takako shrugged lightly, her eyes gleaming. "Isn't that what you do best? Juggle chaos? Besides, if you want to win back Riko, maybe showing her you can manage more than just a war might help. Prove that you can build something, not just destroy."

The offer hung in the air, tempting but complicated. Karl's mind raced, caught between the urgency of fixing his marriage and the pull of the power that came with Takako's proposition.

"She knows about the war," Takako added, almost casually. "Riko. I met her briefly before she went back to her family. She's heard things—about Fausto, about you. She's more scared than angry, Karl. You'll have to show her you're more than the man leading this fight."

Karl looked down, his hands clenched into fists. "She won't listen to me," he muttered. "Not anymore."

Takako's smile was thin, but knowing. "Then make her listen. Go to her. But remember, fixing things at home doesn't mean abandoning everything else. I suggest you fly to Caracas after you've dealt with her. If you succeed, you'll be proving something not only to her but to everyone who's watching."

Karl stood, the weight of Takako's words sinking in. He looked out over the Tokyo skyline, the city glittering below him. He had come here to fix his broken marriage, but now the stakes felt even higher.

"I'll think about it," Karl said, his voice low.

Takako rose, walking toward him with graceful steps. She touched his arm lightly, her voice softening. "You'll make the right choice. You always do."

With that, Karl turned and left the office, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions and decisions. The war with Fausto, Riko's departure, the weight of Takako's offer—it all pressed down on him, but there was no time for hesitation.

----

The heat of Caracas hit Karl like a wave as he stepped off the plane, the thick, humid air clinging to his skin. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the tarmac, and the distant hum of the city echoed in the background. Karl adjusted his suit, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as he descended the steps of his private jet. A convoy of black SUVs waited for him, engines idling, their tinted windows hiding the local government officials eager to meet him.

Karl's mind was heavy, not with the task that lay ahead, but with thoughts of Riko. Every mile he had traveled, every decision he had made since leaving Tokyo, felt like a mistake. He should have stayed with her, tried harder to make her listen, to win her back. Instead, he had taken Takako's advice, thinking that proving his strength and importance in Caracas would somehow fix what was broken between them. But now, as the Venezuelan heat pressed down on him, the realization hit him hard.

I was wrong.

The weight of those words settled in his chest like lead. He had been so focused on maintaining his power, his reputation, and his empire that he had lost sight of what truly mattered—his family. Riko. Their unborn child.

As Karl approached the convoy, one of the doors opened, and a man stepped out to greet him. It was Alejandro Ortega, a key advisor to the Venezuelan government, and the man responsible for bringing Karl to the country. Alejandro was tall and lean, with slicked-back hair and sharp features. He wore a crisp linen suit that did little to hide the tension in his face.

"Karl," Alejandro greeted him with a stiff smile, extending his hand. "Welcome to Venezuela. I trust your flight was smooth?"

Karl shook his hand, offering a curt nod. "As smooth as it could be," he replied, though his mind was far from focused on the pleasantries.

Alejandro gestured toward the waiting SUV. "We've arranged a meeting with the finance minister tonight. They're eager to hear your plans for revitalizing the economy. Things have been… unstable, to say the least. The country needs a fresh perspective, someone who can deliver results."

Karl climbed into the back of the SUV, the cool air from the air conditioning doing little to ease the discomfort gnawing at him. As the convoy pulled away from the airport, Karl leaned back in his seat, barely listening as Alejandro launched into a detailed account of the country's dire economic situation. Inflation was spiraling out of control, crime was rampant, and the government's grip on power was tenuous at best.

None of it mattered to Karl. Not now. His mind was already thousands of miles away, back in Tokyo, where Riko had returned to her family, likely wondering if he even cared enough to fight for her. The memory of their last argument played over in his head, her tear-filled eyes, her voice breaking as she told him she was leaving. He had let her go. And now, the more distance that grew between them, the more he realized how badly he had failed her.

"—and the oil sector is in complete disarray," Alejandro's voice cut through Karl's thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "Without outside investment, there's little hope of recovery. The international community has all but abandoned us."

Karl nodded absently, not really processing the details. "I understand the situation," he said, his voice flat. "Let's focus on what we can do."

Alejandro glanced at him, his brow furrowed. "Karl, are you all right? You seem… distracted."

Karl turned to look out of the window, the sprawling chaos of Caracas rushing past. "I'm fine," he lied. "Just thinking about the work ahead."

But Alejandro didn't seem convinced. He hesitated for a moment before pressing on. "You know, this country needs someone with vision. Someone who can see beyond the immediate crisis. That's why we asked for you. Takako said you were the best at what you do."

The mention of Takako's name sent a jolt of annoyance through Karl. Takako, with her manipulations and schemes, had led him to this moment. She had convinced him that coming to Venezuela was the right move, that it would prove his value not just to the world but to Riko. But now, sitting in the back of this armored SUV, far from the woman he loved, Karl realized that it was all just another game to her. A game he had played willingly.

The convoy snaked its way through the crowded streets, passing dilapidated buildings and street vendors trying to scrape by. The poverty and desperation were palpable. It was a country on the brink, but the problems here were not ones Karl could solve with money or influence alone. He was beginning to see that clearly now.

Later that evening, Karl sat in a lavishly furnished room at the presidential palace, opposite Venezuela's finance minister, Miguel Rivas. The room was filled with ornate furniture, heavy drapes, and the scent of cigars. A long table separated Karl and the government officials, who were looking to him for a miracle.

Karl stared at the documents laid out before him, plans for economic recovery, investments, infrastructure projects—all the things that might stabilize the country's economy. But his heart wasn't in it. He could feel the disconnect, the growing realization that this wasn't where he needed to be.

Miguel leaned forward, his fingers tapping the table impatiently. "Señor Karl, your reputation precedes you. We need action. We need results. What is your assessment?"

Karl closed the folder in front of him, pushing it aside. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his eyes distant. "My assessment?" he repeated, his voice low. "My assessment is that this is a disaster."

The room fell silent. Miguel exchanged nervous glances with his aides, unsure of how to respond to Karl's bluntness.

Karl stood abruptly, pacing to the window, looking out over the city. "You don't need me to tell you what's wrong with this country. It's obvious. You've let corruption, mismanagement, and greed destroy your infrastructure. And now you're looking for someone to come in and clean up the mess."

Miguel cleared his throat, his voice tense. "We believe, with your expertise, you could help us—"

Karl cut him off, turning to face the room, his frustration boiling over. "I can't help you," he said sharply. "Not because I don't have the means, but because you're asking me to solve something that goes far deeper than money. Your government is rotting from the inside out. No amount of investment is going to change that unless you're willing to clean house."

The tension in the room was thick, the air heavy with discomfort. The officials looked at each other, unsure how to respond to Karl's sudden outburst.

But Karl wasn't finished. He stepped toward the table, planting his hands firmly on its surface as he leaned forward. "I came here because I thought this would prove something to someone important to me. But I see now that I was wrong. There are things more important than money. More important than power."

Miguel blinked, clearly thrown off by Karl's shift in tone. "I… I don't understand."

Karl straightened, his mind suddenly clear for the first time in days. "I'm leaving," he said simply. "I can't fix what's broken here. And I've wasted enough time."

He turned and walked toward the door, leaving behind the stunned officials and the half-formed plans for a future that no longer concerned him.

The next morning, Karl was back on his private jet, watching the Venezuelan coastline disappear into the clouds. His heart pounded in his chest, not from the adrenaline of a new venture or the thrill of a power play, but from something far more personal.

He was going back to Tokyo. Back to Riko.

As the plane soared through the sky, Karl leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. His thoughts were focused entirely on her now. He had been as wrong as he could be, thinking that power and influence would fix what was broken between them. But he was done with that game. He didn't care about the empire or the war with Fausto—not right now. All that mattered was getting back to Riko and proving to her that he could be the man she needed.

He pictured her face, the way she had looked at him before she left, the fear and sadness in her eyes. He had hurt her, pushed her away with his obsession with control. But now, he was determined to make it right.

When the plane landed in Tokyo, Karl knew that this was his chance. He wasn't sure if Riko would even listen to him, but he had to try. For her. For their child. For the family he had nearly lost in his pursuit of power.