The General's Daughter: The Mission

Amelia felt so stifled.

The laughter around her felt too loud, the music too sharp, the air too thick with perfume and champagne. Every word, every glance, pressed against her ribs like invisible hands squeezing tighter and tighter. If she stayed one second longer, she was certain she would shatter right there in front of everyone.

”I... need to go to the restroom,” she muttered.

She didn’t wait for Liam—or anyone—to answer.

She didn’t walk away.

She fled.

Her heels struck the grass in quick, uneven beats as if something monstrous were chasing her. Past the lantern-lit tables, past the drifting clusters of guests, straight toward the mansion. Anyone watching would think she was escaping a battlefield.

Summer watched her retreating figure and curled her lips into a small, satisfied smirk.

Amelia’s long strides were almost desperate.

”Hmph. Pathetic. I didn’t even do anything,” Summer muttered under her breath. ”And she’s already running. What easy prey.”

Her gaze shifted smoothly to Liam.

He was relaxed, laughing—completely unaware how devastated his fiancée was. The sight softened her expression instantly. She picked up a glass of wine from a passing waiter and slipped into character, sweet and effortless.

”Liam,” she said lightly, stepping beside him, ”when did you meet Amelia? How come I’ve never heard of her before?”

He didn’t notice the careful innocence in her tone.

”About three or four years ago,” he replied. ”Right after you left for university abroad. Dad and I had an accident during a mission. We were stranded in the mountains. She and her grandfather found us, brought us back to their villa, and took care of us until we recovered.”

Summer’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her glass.

”Yeah,” Fidel added with a low whistle. ”You two were lucky. Three men didn’t make it out of that accident.”

The air seemed to freeze.

Summer looked back at Liam, eyes glistening with practiced tenderness.

”So... she saved you?” she asked softly. ”Is that why you feel responsible for her?”

Liam shook his head. ”Not exactly. It was Grandfather’s arrangement. Turns out her grandfather is one of his most trusted old subordinates. They go way back.”

”Oh... I see.”

She nodded as if everything made perfect sense.

But inside, something dark twisted. Responsible? Arrangement? Trusted subordinate?

Each word scraped against her nerves.

How ridiculous. This is the 21st century.

How dare Amelia worm her way into Liam’s life like that? Saving him didn’t mean she deserved him.

Standing beside Liam was her place. She was the only one who deserved to be his wife.

It had always been hers.

And she wasn’t about to let some mountain girl steal it.

...

Amelia’s vision blurred.

She blinked hard, fighting the sting behind her eyes, but the tears kept gathering anyway—hot, stubborn, humiliating. Her throat burned like she’d swallowed smoke.

Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them. Amelia comforted herself.

Grandpa... you were wrong. So wrong, she thought bitterly. Liam and I were never meant to match.

Her chest ached with the truth she’d been trying to outrun all evening.

He loves someone else.

The words scraped through her mind like broken glass.

Her steps quickened.

The music and chatter behind her faded into a dull roar. The garden lights smeared into streaks. She wasn’t even sure where she was going—only that she needed to get away to somewhere private, somewhere safe.

The restroom was the only place she could think of.

She was halfway across the party area when a calm, steady voice cut cleanly through the noise.

”Miss Layla Norse, I am still a guest invited by your father. Don’t insult your father like that.”

The voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It carried authority—cool, measured, and unshakable.

Amelia slowed down. Something about the voice made her turn and watch.

A small cluster of guests stood near Layla. At the center was a woman dressed entirely in black. The dress looked plain, but she wore it with elegance.

She glanced at her own peach dress. The muscle sleeves and the flaring skirt with a bow in front made her look like a pre-teen girl.

She glanced back at the woman. Her posture was impeccable, spine straight as a blade, chin lifted—not arrogant, just composed. She looked so noble and so untouchable. Like someone who didn’t need to raise her voice to command a room.

Layla, who had been sneering moments ago, stood stiff and silent, lips parted but no words coming out.

She was silenced by one sentence from a nanny, and she was furious.

Amelia stared.

She’d heard the name earlier—Larissa Reyes, but the Norse family, except Liam and Layla, called her Lara. Madeline and her sons spoke to her with an ease that bordered on respect.

A strange, sharp envy twisted in Amelia’s chest.

That’s what confidence looks like, she realized.

Not loud. Not desperate. Just... certain.

How nice would it be, she thought, to stand like that? To speak like that? To not feel like you had to run every time things hurt?

Then the ache returned, heavier than before.

Her fingers curled into her skirt. She tore her gaze away and hurried toward the mansion.

She didn’t notice that Lara had also excused herself.

”I’ll use the restroom,” Lara said lightly, stepping away from the group and entering through the side door. She was tired of Layla’s petty little tricks and wanted to escape.

A few minutes later, the restroom door creaked open.

Amelia was at the sink, gripping the porcelain edge, staring at her reflection like she didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

Her reflection was pale, eyes glassy, mascara faintly smudged at the corners.

Pale. Fragile. Pathetic.

She looked like someone who’d just lost something precious.

Her lips trembled.

”No... don’t...” she whispered to herself.

Her chest tightened. She tried to breathe in, but the air wouldn’t go down.

Her throat burned.

And then—

It broke.

A small, ugly sound escaped her. Half sob. Half gasp.

Her fingers dug into the counter as tears spilled over, one after another, unstoppable. Not the graceful kind you wiped away in movies.

Here face was messy.

She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from making noise, her shoulders shaking violently.

”I’m so stupid...” she choked.

Why had she even come tonight?

Why did she think she could stand next to Liam like she belonged there?

Summer was elegant, beautiful, and confident.

Everyone gravitated toward her like sunlight.

And Amelia?

She was just... there, looking awkward and an obligation.

Grandpa forced him, she thought miserably. He didn’t choose me.

That truth hurt more than anything.

The door shut behind her, followed by light footsteps.

Then a calm, familiar voice.