The General's Daughter: The Mission

”Do you know him?” Lara asked when she caught the shift in Ares’ expression.

It was subtle, but she didn’t miss it—the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes lost their usual lazy calm.

Ares gave a careless shrug, like it meant nothing.

”An old acquaintance.”

His voice was flat, but his gaze hardened, cold enough to cut glass.

Gary Vice.

The name dragged up memories he’d buried years ago.

Could Gary know about Shay? Did he approach her on purpose?

No... that didn’t make sense.

He hadn’t seen the man in eight years. There was no way Gary could know. Shay’s identity was locked down tight—kept as a secret and only family and a few friends knew about it.

Still, the thought lingered like smoke he couldn’t clear.

”If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave,” Lara said quietly.

She turned to go, heels whispering against the floor, then she stopped.

A strange hesitation rooted her in place.

Shouldn’t she wait for his permission?

The idea felt foreign. Since when did she wait on anyone? How come she felt that it was the others who waited on her?

”You can go,” Ares said, waving her off when he noticed.

And she was dismissed, just like that.

...

The next morning, Lara woke before sunrise.

The mansion was still half-asleep, wrapped in mist in the cold, gray light of a January morning.

She stretched by the window first—slow rolls of her shoulders, deep lunges, muscles loosening one by one. Her body felt lighter than it had since she woke up, less stiff, more responsive.

But it wasn’t enough. She still had strength to rebuild. Speed to recover.

So she hit the jogging trail that circled the estate. She had her earbuds in, listening to a heavy beat to keep her pace steady.

The air was cool and sharp in her lungs. Gravel crunched under her shoes.

Security was tight around the mansion, and she felt safe enough to let her guard down a little.

She didn’t notice the eyes on her.

Ares had skipped his usual outdoor run. Instead, he was upstairs.

The fourth floor of the Zuvel mansion was built like a private resort—more luxurious than most hotels.

One side housed the gym, packed with state-of-the-art equipment. The entire wall facing east was glass, stretching from floor to ceiling, giving a clear view of the part of the estate where the gardens and jogging trail were.

Across from it sat a pool designed like an oasis—clear blue water, a small gazebo rising from the center, connected by a narrow bridge that led to a sleek minibar.

But Ares wasn’t admiring any of it.

He stood on the treadmill, running hard, a steady rhythm pounding through the room.

Yet his attention wasn’t on the workout.

It was outside. On her.

Lara’s figure moved along the trail below, small from this height but impossible to miss.

Sometimes she slowed to stretch—touching her toes, rolling her neck, dropping into low-impact drills with practiced precision.

Her actions were not random movements. They were disciplined and controlled. Like muscle memory, beautiful to watch from where he was.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

She’d put on some weight. Not much, but it was noticeable. Just enough to soften the sharp edges she used to have. More curve at her hips. A fuller chest. Her chin was less blade-like than before.

She looked healthier, stronger, different, more captivating.

Lara turned back toward the mansion, sweat soaking through her white top, fabric clinging to her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, hair messy from the run, sticking to her neck.

Ares didn’t realize he’d slowed the treadmill until it nearly stopped.

His gaze stayed locked on her the entire time.

Even after she stepped inside the mansion doors and disappeared from view.

...

By the time Lara stepped inside, the cool air-conditioning hit her damp skin like ice.

Her breathing was steady now, controlled.

She had a good run.

Not her best, but good enough for a start.

The marble floors of the mansion foyer gleamed under the morning light pouring in through the windows. Everything was too polished, too pristine.

It didn’t feel like somewhere people actually lived, but more like a museum...a cage dressed up as luxury.

She tugged out one earbud, letting the music fade to a low murmur, and wiped the sweat from her neck with a towel draped over her shoulders.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor ahead. It sounded heavy, measured and familiar.

She looked up and locked gaze with him.

Ares.

He’d just turned the corner, black compression shirt clinging to his frame, sleeves darkened with sweat. His joggers hung low on his hips, towel slung around his neck. A faint sheen covered his skin, like he’d just finished pushing himself hard.

His hair was slightly damp, pushed back carelessly.

For once, he didn’t look like the untouchable boss behind a desk. He looked rugged and dangerous.

Like a street fighter who’d cleaned up nice.

Neither spoke at first.

Just the quiet hum of the aircon between them.

”You run the trail every morning?” Ares broke the silence.

His voice was calm, but his gaze dragged over her—taking in the flushed cheeks, the sweat-soaked shirt sticking to her chest, her steady breathing.

”I’m trying to get back into shape,” Lara replied. ”My body felt like it belonged to an old woman.”

”Hmm.”

It wasn’t a disagreement, but just a sound.

She started to move past him, but his voice stopped her.

”There’s a gym upstairs.”

She paused. ”A gym?”

”Fourth floor.”

She raised a brow. ”I didn’t know that.”

”Most people don’t go up there unless they’re invited.”

The way he said it made it clear—access wasn’t automatic.

Nothing in that house was.

He continued, ”It’s fully equipped. Weights, resistance, and recovery equipment. Better than anything you’ll find in the city.”

Of course it is, she thought. This place probably costs more than an entire block downtown.

”Floor-to-ceiling windows,” he added. ”Equipment to train properly. Not just jog in circles like you’re doing prison laps.”

She folded her arms. ”You watching me ?”

A beat of silence.

”I can’t help it. That space is visible from the gym,” he said simply.

There was no denial nor embarrassment.

Just truth.

Something about that honesty threw her off more than an excuse would have.

”So,” he added, grabbing a bottle of water from the side table, ”if you’re serious about getting your strength back, use it.”

It was not an invitation. Not exactly a command either. He issued her a challenge.

Lara studied him for a second—the sweat, the steady breathing, the controlled energy under his skin.

He worked out hard. Hard enough that it wasn’t just for show.

That told her something about him.

”Can you show me the fourth floor?”

The words left her mouth before she could rethink them.

His brow lifted slightly. Then a faint, almost invisible curve touched his lips.

”Of course. Follow me,” he said, already turning toward the stairs.

And for some reason—

It didn’t feel like she was being summoned.

It felt like she’d just stepped into a challenge she didn’t want to lose.

So she followed.