The General's Daughter: The Mission

Unbeknownst to the others, while sunlight spilled gently across the garden and laughter lingered in the air a guest had already entered the estate.

A servant led him through the grand halls of the mansion, footsteps muted against polished floors, before stopping at a discreet side door that opened toward the east garden.

”It is alright,” the man said, his voice smooth—pleasant in a way that put people at ease without trying too hard. ”I can take it from here.”

The servant hesitated for only a second before bowing slightly and retreating.

The door closed with a soft click.

He stepped outside. He wore black trousers paired with a blue polo shirt.

It looked simple, yet the clothes highlighted his masculinity.

The share of blue on his shirt deepened the color of his eyes, turning them into something almost... unfathomable under the morning light.

He didn’t take the main path.

Instead, he circled—entering through a secondary opening, the kind meant for gardeners and staff.

He meant to be unseen and unannounced.

And just in time.

Because in the heart of the garden, Lara moved.

The sword flashed. Her body flowed.

And just like Asher before him, the man stopped.

Completely.

His steps halted mid-stride, as if the ground itself had decided he would go no further.

His gaze locked onto her. He forgot to blink. Forgot to think.

Forgot—briefly—why he had even come.

She spun, light catching along the curve of her blade, her movements both powerful and impossibly graceful. There was no wasted motion. No hesitation. Just a seamless harmony between strength and elegance.

He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath—

—not until his chest tightened.

And when he finally exhaled—

it left him in a slow, quiet sigh.

”...Beautiful.”

The word barely formed on his lips. But the feeling lingered.

There was something about her. Not just beauty. Not just skill.

Something... untouched. Pure and innocent.

He watched the way she bent slightly to guide Shay’s hands, the softness in her expression, the warmth in her voice as she corrected Sandro’s stance.

And for a fleeting moment, something in his chest twisted.

How long can you stay like that...?

Untouched by what’s coming. Unaware. Unbroken.

His gaze dimmed. Reality returned.

His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing against his phone.

He had a purpose here.

A task.

And somewhere far away, his godfather was waiting.

Waiting and losing patience.

The thought pressed down on him like a weight.

Time was running out.

He exhaled again, shoulders sinking ever so slightly, before pulling out his phone.

The screen lit up.

He lifted it, and just as he did—

Lara leapt. A sudden, fluid flip into the air.

Clean. Precise.

She landed without a sound, blade steady, posture flawless.

For a second, he forgot to record. Forgot everything.

He felt the heaviness in his chest.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

...So this is her.

He didn’t move closer. Didn’t interrupt.

He simply stayed where he was—watching, recording, memorizing—

until her voice drifted toward him.

”That’s enough for today,” Lara said gently. ”You must be hungry. Let’s have breakfast at the gazebo.”

The moment he had been waiting for.

His thumb stilled over the screen.

Then the phone disappeared back into his pocket.

His posture shifted.

His shoulders relaxed. Like a man with nothing to hide.

He walked casually, hands slid into his pockets as he stepped forward, unhurried, unbothered—

—completely ignoring the sharp, unmistakable glares from the two men approaching from the opposite side.

His presence announced itself not with force but with ease.

”Good morning, Larissa.”

His voice carried just enough warmth to be pleasant, just enough charm to be dangerous.

”Good morning, little warrior princess...” His gaze dipped briefly to Shay, softening.

Then it flicked to Sandro.

”...and the little knight.”

A beat.

Lara stilled.

Her brows drew together slightly as she met his eyes, something cautious flickering beneath her calm exterior.

”Good morning, Doctor Fenn—”

”What are you doing here this early, Doctor Fenn?”

Ares cut in. His voice was sharp and cold.

The warmth in the air thinned instantly.

He stepped forward, positioning himself just enough—subtle, but deliberate—like a barrier that didn’t need to announce itself.

”I don’t recall inviting you.”

The guest—Doctor Fenn—only smiled.

Unbothered and amused.

”Oh, that?” he said lightly, as if the tension meant nothing at all. ”Scarlet invited me over.”

His gaze slid past Ares—back to Lara.

It lingered just a second too long.

”But it seems she’s still asleep,” Doctor Fenn continued smoothly, as if the tension in the air was nothing more than a passing breeze. ”So I’ll take this opportunity instead... to visit my patient.”

His smile followed. It was effortless, yet charming.

And under the morning sun, it almost seemed to glow—warm enough to disarm, polished enough to deceive. The light caught along the curve of his lips, softening his features, turning something ordinary into something dangerously appealing.

The kind of smile people trusted.

The kind they shouldn’t.

”I see you’re having breakfast,” he added, glancing toward the gazebo where the table had already been prepared. ”I haven’t had mine yet.”

A slight pause.

”And I do hope I can join you.”

Silence fell. Not the peaceful kind.

The kind that stretched thin—ready to snap at the slightest pressure.

Asher was the first to break.

”Shameless!” he blurted, scoffing loudly as he folded his arms. ”You just invited yourself into someone else’s home, hijacked breakfast, and you’re saying it like you’re doing us a favor.”

His eyes narrowed, openly sizing the man up.

”The audacity is impressive. I’ll give you that.”

Doctor Fenn didn’t even blink.

If anything, his smile deepened.

As if Asher’s words amused him more than they offended him.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

...

”Yannis, you’re here... it’s too early.”

Scarlet’s voice drifted into the garden—soft, languid, carrying the faint rasp of someone freshly awake.

Every head turned.

She stood at the edge of the path, bathed in the gentle spill of morning light, wearing a sleeveless white dress that clung to her frame just enough to blur the line between sleepwear and something far more intentional. The thin fabric caught the sun, faintly sheer in places, outlining the delicate curves beneath.

Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, slightly tousled, as if she had rushed out without bothering to compose herself.

Or perhaps—as if she wanted to be seen that way.

Like she belonged here more than anyone else.

Her gaze moved past the others, landing directly on Ares.

”It’s already 8:30, Scarlet,” Yannis replied, his tone calm, almost conversational. ”That’s hardly early.”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment—

Then, slowly, a faint smile touched his lips.

”Or did I arrive before you were ready to receive me?”

”Stop pretending. I know that you are not here for me—”