The General's Daughter: The Mission

Liam stared at the bottle in his hand.

It was half-empty.

For a brief moment, he hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the plastic as if weighing something far heavier than water. Then, without another thought, he lifted it to his lips and drained the remaining contents in two quick gulps.

No pause. No second guessing.

The water tasted... sweet.

Liam stilled.

It wasn’t just refreshing—it lingered, almost unfamiliar on his tongue. His grip on the bottle tightened slightly as an unbidden thought crossed his mind.

Was it because she drank from it first?

The idea was absurd.

And yet—

His gaze shifted, almost against his will.

Amelia was already looking at him.

For a fleeting second, neither of them looked away.

Something softened in Liam’s expression, the usual coldness in his features easing as the corners of his lips lifted into a faint, unguarded smile—one that rarely surfaced, and never without reason.

Amelia’s breath caught.

Color rose quickly to her cheeks, a soft blush spreading as if betrayed by her own thoughts. She broke eye contact first, turning her face aside, but not before the warmth in her eyes gave her away.

And just like that—

The moment passed.

But not without leaving something behind.

From the side, Summer saw everything.

And something inside her snapped.

The heat rose fast—sharp and suffocating—coiling in her chest until even breathing felt difficult. Her throat was dry, parched... painfully so. She had been thirsty herself, yet she offered that bottle to Liam without hesitation.

And now?

It hadn’t even been him who benefited from it.

Her jaw clenched.

A bitter laugh nearly escaped her, but she swallowed it down, along with everything else threatening to spill over. This wasn’t the place. Not here. Not now.

Not where eyes were watching.

Slowly, she drew in a deep breath... then another.

She forced the heat down, buried it beneath layers of restraint, until her expression smoothed and her posture relaxed—as if nothing had happened at all.

But her fingers curled subtly at her sides, nails pressing into her skin.

Lara. Amelia.

Her gaze flickered toward them, cold and sharp.

Enjoy it while you can.

Their moment wouldn’t last.

Soon enough—

It would be their turn to be humiliated.

...

Liam kept the bottle in his hand, his fingers unconsciously tightening around its ridges.

His gaze drifted—subtle, almost reluctant—toward Amelia.

Just a glance. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He didn’t have feelings for her. He was certain of that. He had always been certain.

Their engagement was nothing more than an arrangement—practical, convenient, expected. She was simply... part of the structure of his life, like a title he carried or a duty he fulfilled.

And yet—

Since yesterday, something had shifted.

Something small... but persistent.

It had started as a faint irritation, barely noticeable. But now it lingered, coiling quietly in his chest, tightening whenever he saw her with someone else.

Especially that young archaeologist.

His jaw tensed. The image surfaced again—uninvited, unwelcome.

Amelia sitting close to someone else...speaking softly...smiling.

That same expression she rarely showed so openly.

Something in him recoiled at the thought.

No, not recoiled. It burned.

Liam exhaled slowly, forcing the tension down, but it didn’t fully leave him.

What was this?

Was it simply possessiveness because she was his fiancée?

Because, by all rights, she belonged within the boundaries of his name?

That would make sense. It should have been that simple.

But the feeling didn’t sit right. It was too... personal.

Too intrusive. Too difficult to ignore.

His grip tightened further around the bottle.

Or—

His thoughts stalled, resisting even as the question forced its way through.

Am I... developing feelings for her?

The moment the thought formed, a chill ran down his spine.

Liam stiffened.

No. Absolutely not.

The very idea unsettled him more than anything else.

Because if that were true—

Then this wasn’t control. It wasn’t an obligation.

It wasn’t something he could easily dismiss.

It was something far more dangerous.

And Liam had never been a man who allowed himself to be ruled by things he couldn’t control.

...

Philip Hardy arrived alongside Liam, Persius, and Amelia, his pace brisk despite the oppressive heat that clung to the excavation site.

The moment he spotted him, his face lit up.

At last.

Standing near the shaded area was none other than Randell Belmont, the maternal grandfather of Ares, and a man whose presence alone carried quiet authority.

For Philip, however, it wasn’t just respect that stirred his enthusiasm.

It was an opportunity.

”Sir Randell, it’s good to see you back,” Philip greeted warmly, his smile stretching so wide that his eyes nearly disappeared into thin crescents.

Randell let out a soft chuckle as he eased himself into one of the plastic chairs beneath the large umbrella. The shade did little to dispel the heat, but it made conversation bearable.

”Of course,” the old man replied, his voice touched with a faint tremor—but his eyes were bright and lively. ”This place is very important to me. If I could, I’d come here every day.”

Across from him, Persius Nades sat quietly, his aged gaze sharp and observant. He said nothing, but missed nothing.

Philip took a seat as well, leaning slightly forward, his posture respectful yet eager.

”That’s wonderful to hear,” he said, maintaining that same genial tone. ”In fact, I’d be honored to see you here more often.”

There was a brief pause.

Just long enough.

Philip’s smile remained—but something behind it sharpened.

”I actually have a small request,” he continued smoothly. ”And I hope you might consider granting it.”

Randell’s expression shifted, the warmth giving way to something more discerning. Slowly, he lifted his head and met Philip’s gaze directly.

”A request?”

The air seemed to still.

Even the distant sounds of digging and machinery faded into the background.

Philip nodded, his voice steady, carefully measured.

”Would it be possible for Larissa Reyes to assist us here?” he asked. ”Even just for a few hours a day.”

He gestured lightly toward the excavation site beyond them.

”She has an exceptional understanding of ancient architecture... far beyond what we typically see.”

There was admiration in his words. But beneath it was intent.

Quiet. Calculated.

Waiting for an answer.