The General's Daughter: The Mission

The lights on the second floor of the Zuvel mansion were still burning long past midnight, slicing through the darkness like a northstar.

Inside his room, Ares sat hunched over his sleek black laptop, the screen casting a cold glow over his sharp features. His fingers moved fast, precise, relentless. He wasn’t browsing.

He was digging.

Larissa Reyes.

He started with the obvious—school archives, public records, competition rosters. The legal channels. Clean. Safe.

At first, he looked at legal channels, archives of the school she had been.

”Interesting...” he murmured, eyes narrowing.

Her elementary records were almost painfully ordinary. Quiet achiever. Consistent second place. Always close to the top but never quite claiming it.

But high school?

That was different.

She was the track and field champion. Volleyball varsity. Army Cadet Corps Commander during junior high.

He leaned back slowly, jaw tightening.

Army Cadet.

The memory of how she moved flashed through his mind—quick, efficient, controlled. The way she had assessed danger without panic.

”She learned it there,” he muttered. ”Those survival instincts.”

Then he scoffed at himself.

”What am I even thinking? ”

Still, the unease refused to leave.

Sleep was impossible.

He shut the laptop with a snap and headed toward the pool, thinking the cold water might calm the restlessness crawling under his skin. But halfway down the corridor, he stopped.

A thin sliver of light cut across the polished floor—from Lara’s room.

His brows furrowed.

It was past midnight.

Why was she still awake?

Then he heard it.

At first, it was faint. A muffled sound. Like someone trying not to cry.

Then—

”No! Let me go! You bad men! Let me go!”

Shay’s scream shattered the silence.

Ares didn’t think.

He kicked the door open with brutal force.

The scene hit him instantly.

Shay was trembling in Lara’s arms, her tiny body shaking as if she had just escaped something unseen but terrifying.

”Mommy... wu huu huu...” Shay sobbed, clutching Lara’s nightgown. ”They’re meanies... they scared me...”

Lara held Shay so tightly it was as if she could shield her from the world with her bare hands.

”Sweetie, it’s okay. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here...”

Ares stepped forward, his voice lowering instinctively.

”Baby... Daddy’s here too. Don’t be scared.”

He wrapped his arms around both of them.

For a moment, time froze.

Three figures clinging to each other under the dim light. Anyone walking in would assume they were a family—broken but holding on.

Shay sniffled, still shaking. ”Mommy... Daddy... please stay and sleep with me. I’m scared.”

That was when Lara became painfully aware of how close Ares was.

His arms were firm around them. Protective. Possessive.

She was only wearing a thin nightgown, and she could feel the heat from his chest seeping through the fabric. Solid. Steady. Dangerous.

Her breath hitched. She gently removed his hands and shifted away.

”You sleep with Shay. I’ll go back to my room.”

”No!” Shay cried instantly, gripping her. ”Mommy, don’t go! I want you and Daddy!”

Shay’s tears made the decision for her.

In the end, Lara relented.

The bed was large enough. More than large enough for the three of them.

They lay down with Shay in the middle. Slowly, the child’s breathing steadied. Her fingers loosened. Sleep claimed her again.

In the semi-darkness, Ares spoke quietly.

”We’re taking her to a psychiatrist tomorrow. I thought she was fine. I was wrong.”

His tone was calm, but the self-blame underneath was sharp.

”She’s still scarred.”

”Hm,” Lara responded softly.

She had reached the same conclusion the moment she saw Shay’s terrified face.

Silence settled between them.

Lara stared at the ceiling, feeling the tension at first. The unfamiliar closeness. The awareness of the man lying only inches away.

But then—

A strange dream-like familiarity washed over her.

A déjà vu.

Another room. Not just any other room, but one that looked like the emperor’s bedchamber —it was a declaration of sovereignty.

Another bed but larger, that stood elevated on a low marble dais, as if even sleep required reverence.

A child sleeping between her and a man.

A memory that didn’t belong to this life.

And then, she was swallowed by darkness.

She found herself sitting on a bed.

It was a massive four-poster structure carved from dark narra wood, each post thick as a warrior’s thigh and etched with intertwining dragons and phoenixes locked in eternal ascent.

The canopy above was not simple fabric but layered silk embroidered with gold thread, heavy enough to muffle sound and hold warmth against the cold draft of January nights.

Above the canopy, stretched to form a painted ceiling—an expansive fresco of the empire’s founding legend.

The golden light from the candelabra in the corner made it appear captivating and mysterious.

Soldiers rose across the plains, spears raised, while a firebird broke through storm clouds in the center. The emperor’s bloodline was symbolized by the firebird. And every heir born beneath that ceiling slept under the weight of destiny.

...

”Althea, you’re already so old. Why do you still want to sleep with Father and Mother?”

The voice was childish but proud. Aldrich sat at the edge of an enormous imperial bed, arms folded, brows furrowed in exaggerated disapproval.

”I’m not old!” Althea protested in her sweet little voice. ”I’m only four. Still a baby!”

”Hmph. If you’re sleeping here, then I will too.”

”Aldrich.” The deep, commanding voice of the emperor cut through the playful argument. ”You are a boy. Why compete with your sister? Go back to your room.”

”But Father—”

”You are the future emperor. Learn independence early.”

”...Yes, Father.”

Aldrich climbed down reluctantly, walked around the bed, and stood in front of his mother.

”Mother, I want a hug and a kiss.”

Lara laughed softly, crouching down to lift him into her arms.

”I’ll tuck you in.”

”Good night, Brother,” Althea called sleepily.

”Good night, Thea.”

After settling her son, Lara returned.

Althea was already asleep.

Lara lay down quietly in the center of the bed, which held something softer.

Althea slept curled between her parents, her small hand clutching her mother’s sleeve.

The vast chamber that could host royal councils and war strategies felt smaller then. Warmer.

Because even emperors, beneath painted heavens and carved dragons, were only men when their wives lay beside them.

A large, warm hand slipped over hers.

”Next time,” the emperor whispered near her ear, voice low and teasing, ”don’t let this little one trick you into letting her sleep here. I can’t even hug you properly.”

”You shameless emperor,” she whispered back, cheeks warming. ”Your children are this big, and your thoughts are still indecent.”

”What indecent thoughts? I just want to hold my wife.”

”Alaric—!”

Lara’s eyes snapped open.

Ares was inches away, his obsidian gaze locked onto her.

His voice was low. Controlled.

”Who is Alaric?”