The General's Daughter: The Mission

Yannis Fenn left the dinner table with a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the wine.

The evening should have gone differently. He had planned it carefully — the restaurant, the lighting, the pacing of conversation.

But Ares had been there the entire time, looming without trying, inserting himself into every pause, every glance, every chance Yannis might have had to be alone with Lara.

Not just an interruption. A barrier.

A thorn lodged deep — and Yannis had no intention of letting it stay there.

When he was back, he finally could not restrain himself.

”Ares,” he said at last, voice smooth but edged with steel, ”may I have a private word with Larissa?”

Most men would have softened the request. But not Yannis.

Years of psychiatry had stripped him of the instinct to tiptoe around powerful people. He said what others only rehearsed in their heads — even when the man across from him was the most feared tycoon in Lanura.

Ares held his gaze, dark eyes unreadable, tension coiled beneath the surface. For a long second it looked like he might refuse.

Then he stood.

”I’ll go to the restroom.”

The door shut behind him.

A charged silence settled.

Yannis’s demeanor shifted instantly, the sharpness dissolving into something warmer and gentler.

”I’ll be staying in Isla for the next few days to accompany the excavation team,” he said softly, as though sharing a secret meant only for her. ”I was hoping we could have another meal together.”

Lara hesitated. She didn’t trust easy kindness — not anymore. Not from anyone.

”Okay,” she said finally. ”Next time it will be my treat.”

She refused to owe people. Even small debts had a way of turning into chains.

Yannis smiled — not wide, not flashy, just enough to feel personal.

”I’d like that.”

He reached into his coat and produced a slim leather-bound book. It was elegant, old-fashioned, secured with a tiny brass lock — the kind meant for secrets, like in diaries.

He placed it in her hands as if it were fragile.

”I thought this might help you recover your memory faster,” he said. ”The password is 5221.”

Lara’s brows drew together. She turned the book over, studying it.

”Isn’t that... my birthday written backwards?”

Yannis’s eyes lit up, genuine delight flashing across his face.

”Excellent. You figured it out immediately.”

She gave a noncommittal hum, already sliding her thumb toward the clasp—

”Later,” he said gently, placing his hand over the book for just a moment. ”Open it when you’re in your room.”

Something in his tone made her pause.

She looked up at him, suspicion flickering behind her calm expression.

Yannis laughed lightly, the sound warm and disarming. It transformed his face, made him look less like a calculating doctor and more like a man who knew exactly how attractive he was — and how to use it.

Charm, carefully measured. Precision honed by years of reading people for a living.

Lara said nothing more. She simply nodded, retreating into silence.

The door opened.

Ares stepped back inside, presence filling the room before he even spoke. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than before. He had seen Yannis smiling — really smiling — at her. And the knowledge scraped at something raw inside him.

He didn’t bother hiding the irritation.

”It’s late,” he said curtly. ”We’re leaving.”

Lara frowned. The sharpness in his voice caught her off guard.

What is wrong with him?

Yannis walked them out, every step feeling like surrender. At the entrance, the night air was cool, the city humming beyond the valet line.

A sleek black Bentley pulled forward, headlights cutting through the darkness like blades.

Ares opened the door for Lara, his movements controlled, possessive without being obvious. She slid inside without another word.

The door shut.

Yannis remained on the curb, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable as the car pulled away. Red taillights glowed, then shrank, then disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Only then did the polite mask slip.

The thorn wasn’t just lodged anymore.

It was growing roots.

His eyes remained fixed on the empty road.

They were gone.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it carried no warmth.

”Ares...” he murmured under his breath.

The man irritated him in ways that were difficult to explain. Not because of power. Not because of money.

Yannis had dealt with men like him his entire career—dangerous men who believed control was their birthright.

No.

What bothered him was something far simpler.

Lara looked at Ares differently, just as Ares treated her unlike he treated other women.

He exhaled slowly and slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat.

This is becoming a problem.

Yannis was not only a neurosurgeon. He was also a psychiatrist.

And as a psychiatrist, he knew exactly what that sentence meant. It was the clinical warning sign of emotional involvement. The moment a professional began labeling a patient as a problem, objectivity was already slipping.

And Lara... Lara was the most complicated patient he had ever handled.

He began walking down the sidewalk, the cool night air brushing against his face.

Amnesia. A clean slate.

Most doctors would call it a tragedy.

Yannis knew better.

For Lara, it might be the closest thing to salvation she would ever have.

His mind drifted back years—back to a younger version of her.

A girl with sharp eyes and quiet footsteps.

A girl who could dismantle a gun faster than most soldiers.

A girl who called him Brother Yannis with effortless trust.

He stopped walking. The memory tightened something in his chest.

Back then, he had told himself the feeling was a protective instinct. A simple big-brother affection.

That lie had lasted a surprisingly long time.

Until the day he realized he noticed the way she laughed.

The way her eyes curved when she was amused.

The way she thanked him every time he dressed the wounds on her body.

The way she always stood beside him when they walked together, trusting him to lead.

That was the moment the lie fell apart.

And by then it was already too late.