The General's Daughter: The Mission

Shay rushed in and clasped Lara’s hands. ”Daddy said I can go back to school today. Hurry, Mommy.” She pulled her toward the door. ”Let’s eat breakfast and go to school. I already miss my classmates.”

Breakfast, in Lara’s mind, had always been more than a meal—it was a measured ritual. She remembered light porridge and fruit taken at first light, followed by a more substantial meal later in the morning: fine grains, eggs, grilled fish or meat, and a modest serving of pickled vegetables. The memory surfaced not as nostalgia, but as habit, as though her body still expected that order.

The spread laid out before her now was modest. Shay happily ate her cereal while sandwiches were prepared for Lara and Ares. At the center of the long table that could seat ten people, sat a basket of assorted fruits, arranged with deliberate symmetry rather than casual abundance.

Ares took the head of the table. Shay sat to his left in her high chair, with the dark-skinned Sarah, the new nanny, seated beside her, attentive but silent.

”Ma’am, would you like juice, coffee, or tea?” the cook asked.

”Tea, please,” Lara replied without hesitation.

Ares glanced up briefly. Tea—spoken as a certainty, not a preference.

As Lara ate, her movements drew the eye without demanding attention. She sat straight, shoulders relaxed, her posture flawless yet unstudied. Her hands moved with restrained precision, neither delicate nor stiff, as if she had been taught long ago that composure was not something to perform, but something to be. She ate slowly, pausing between bites, never once needing to adjust her napkin or glance at her plate. There was an unspoken dignity to her presence, a calm command that filled the space around her.

It was not the elegance of wealth alone.

Ares found himself watching despite his better judgment. For someone said to have grown up in a farming family in the countryside, Larissa Reyes, carried herself with a familiarity toward refinement that could not be easily explained.

When the tea was brought, Lara’s attention lingered on the porcelain set. Her fingers hovered briefly over the cup before lifting it, as though acknowledging something old and significant. The pattern stirred a memory she did not name—only a sense of ceremony, of gifts chosen with sentiment.

This is similar to the set I gifted King Aragon on his wedding day.

Ares noticed the brief stillness in her expression and cleared his throat.

”That tea set is only a replica,” he said, lifting his cup with deliberate care. ”I acquired the original at an overseas auction. It once belonged to an ancient kingdom east of Azuverda—a royal treasure, if the records are to be believed. I donated the authentic piece to the National Museum and commissioned a replica of equal craftsmanship.”

”You bought it from abroad?” Lara asked. ”It wasn’t found in Estalis?”

The name slipped from her lips effortlessly, without explanation—spoken as if it were common knowledge rather than a long forgotten place in the past.

”Estalis?”

Ares’ cup struck the saucer with a sharp clink.

”Wasn’t that the place where this treasure came from?” Lara asked

For a fraction of a second, something unreadable crossed his face.

”Ah... yes,” he said at last, forcing a faint smile. ”You’re right. I must be getting careless with my history.”

Before Lara could respond, a small voice cut through the tension.

”Daddy, Mommy—hurry! Let’s go!” Shay bounced on her feet, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Something flickered in Lara’s gaze. She met Ares’ eyes, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that charged silence between them.

”Shay,” Lara said gently, crouching slightly, ”how about you call me Auntie from now on? You can call me Mommy when it is just the two of us.”

It was one thing for Shay to call her Mommy when they were alone, but calling her Daddy and her as ’Mommy’ right after could cause a misunderstanding.

”Larissa is right,” Ares interjected, setting his cup down. ”She’s unmarried. People might misunderstand.”

He didn’t know why the words tasted bitter as they left his mouth. Or why it bothered him so deeply that she was always the first to draw a line between them.

Shay tilted her head, considering this, then brightened. ”Then why don’t you marry her, Daddy? That way, I can call her Mommy anytime. Anywhere.”

Ares froze.

He coughed, nearly choking on his coffee. ”Shay,” he said sharply, recovering too quickly, ”don’t say such nonsense. Marriage isn’t a game.”

Shay’s lips trembled as she pouted, disappointment clouding her bright expression.

”Take her upstairs and freshen her up,” Ares said to the nanny, his voice firm. ”We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

The nanny nodded and reached for Shay’s hand.

Lara rose as well. ”I’ll change too.”

She turned away, following them without another word.

Ares’ gaze lingered on her retreating figure—the sway of her hips, the quiet dignity in her back. Shay’s words echoed relentlessly in his mind, louder with every second.

Marry her?

How absurd!

And yet... the thought refused to leave.

...

Shay’s kindergarten was only a short drive from the Zuvel mansion, tucked neatly within the gated elegance of Aurelian Village. Marble fountains lined the entrance, and luxury sedans rolled in and out with practiced ease. The children who attended weren’t ordinary—they were heirs, darlings of wealth and influence, raised to inherit names that already carried weight.

Ares barely lingered. After a brief kiss to Shay’s forehead and a reminder to behave, he was gone, urgency pulling him back into the business world that never waited for him.

Lara walked Shay inside, along with the nanny, Sarah. The classroom was bright and immaculate—sunlight streaming through low windows, shelves stacked with imported toys, and colorful storybooks, laughter bouncing off polished floors.

But the moment Shay reached the doorway, her steps faltered.

Her shoulders drooped. The sparkle in her eyes dimmed.

”Mommy...I mean, Auntie,” she whispered, fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her dress. ”I don’t want to go inside.”