The General's Daughter: The Mission

”It seems the powerful tycoon, Anton Trillo, has become quite captivated by the youngest son of Emperor Alaric Kromwel.”

The voice that echoed through the chamber was deep, clear, and commanding—smooth as polished steel, yet carrying an authority that instinctively made people fall silent.

Every head turned.

Ares Zuvel strode toward them with calm, unhurried confidence, each step measured against the ancient stone floor. The sharp rhythm of leather striking rock reverberated through the tomb like ceremonial drumbeats heralding the arrival of royalty.

For a fleeting moment, Lara’s gaze dropped to his shoes.

Then slowly, her eyes traveled upward.

Past the immaculate black slacks.

Past the dark tailored coat draped perfectly over a pristine white polo.

Past the deep crimson tie accentuated with a silver tie clip that gleamed beneath the torchlight like a blade.

Power.

Everything about his ensemble screamed power.

Lara blinked in surprise.

Why is he dressed like this today?

Ares rarely bothered with formal attire when coming to Isla. She had grown accustomed to seeing him in simple polo shirts and jeans, carrying himself with effortless indifference despite his status.

But today was different.

Today, he looked more than just the domineering CEO...

He looked like a ruler walking through his domain.

The flickering artificial torches lining the walls reflected within his obsidian eyes as he approached, their warm glow dancing briefly across his sharp features.

Without a word, Ares positioned himself between Lara and Anton.

His gaze lifted toward the portrait hanging above the coffin, calmly studying it as though trying to understand what had captured Anton’s attention so intensely.

Anton subtly straightened before extending his hand.

Ares glanced at it briefly before accepting his hand.

The handshake was firm, brief and controlled.

”Ah... it is Ares Zuvel.” Anton smiled faintly. ”I’m greatly honored by your presence here.”

His tone sounded perfectly professional.

But Lara caught it immediately. That undercurrent beneath the words.

Something restrained. Something probing.

”Ares, you’ve arrived.”

Governor Rogel Sanchez approached with a broad smile and eagerly extended his own hand for a handshake.

”Where is your grandfather?”

”Grandpa is in the northwestern sector,” Ares replied evenly. ”The excavation team recently uncovered Hevenfort’s main hall.”

Governor Sanchez’s eyes widened.

”How wonderful!”

His smile broadened warmly—

But for the briefest moment, envy flickered across his eyes before vanishing.

These Zuvels truly are lucky. To think the entire island belonged to their family.

The governor cleared his throat before glancing toward Anton and the portrait overhead.

”I was also wondering why Anton seemed so captivated by this painting.” He chuckled lightly. ”He mentioned feeling a familial connection while standing before the fifth prince’s tomb.”

The governor gestured playfully toward the portrait.

”Who knows? Perhaps he’s actually one of the prince’s descendants.”

He laughed again.

”Come to think of it, princes in those days must’ve had countless concubines. Maybe even I descended from one of their bloodlines.”

It was framed as a joke.

But not truly.

Governor Rogel Sanchez was testing the waters—casting out a dangerous idea to see whether others might entertain it.

And if people could be made to believe such a thing...then why not benefit from it?

Lara’s expression darkened instantly. Her fingers curled tightly into her palms.

A sharp anger surged through her chest.

How dare they reduce her son to someone so immoral?

How dare they stain his name so casually?

”Governor,” Lara said coldly.

Though her voice remained controlled, the faint tremor beneath it betrayed her fury.

”Just like Emperor Alaric himself, all of his sons took only one wife.”

Her sharp gaze locked onto him.

”So do not slander their legacy with baseless assumptions.”

Governor Sanchez chuckled softly.

But the warmth in his expression vanished the moment his gaze settled on Lara.

A faint shadow darkened his eyes.

How dare a nobody speak to him like that?

To him—a governor.

”I didn’t realize our guide for today, Miss Reyes, was this... passionate.”

He deliberately emphasized the word guide, his tone carrying subtle contempt, as though reminding Lara exactly where she stood beneath him.

”Passionate enough to lecture a governor.”

The smile remained on his lips.

But his voice had turned even colder.

Sharp enough to cut.

Dr. Grace Varona immediately sensed the shift in the air.

”Governor, Larissa is still young and new to these kinds of gatherings,” she said quickly, offering a conciliatory smile. ”Please forgive her if she spoke out of turn.”

Then she turned toward Lara.

The gentleness vanished from her face almost instantly.

”Larissa,” Grace said sternly, ”apologize to Governor Sanchez.”

Lara frowned.

Their eyes met—

And for a moment, Lara saw no concern in Grace’s gaze.

Only hostility. Only pressure.

”Dr. Grace,” Lara replied evenly, ”I don’t believe I said anything wrong.”

The air turned heavier.

Grace’s expression stiffened before she stepped forward, clearly intending to grab Lara and force the matter to end.

But before she could, Ares moved.

It was subtle. Just a single step.

Yet his tall figure cleanly blocked Grace’s path.

The chamber fell silent.

Ares didn’t even look at her immediately.

His obsidian eyes remained calmly fixed on Governor Sanchez.

”Miss Reyes is correct,” he said smoothly.

”The Kromwel princes each took only one wife.”

His tone remained polite.

But there was an unmistakable firmness beneath it.

”And since the governor himself called it a joke...”

Only then did Ares slowly shift his gaze toward Sanchez.

”...then it should end as a joke.”

Silence spread through the chamber.

Governor Sanchez’s smile stiffened slightly.

Even Grace Varona froze.

No one had expected Ares Zuvel to involve himself.

Anton quietly observed the exchange from the side, his narrowed eyes shifting between Ares and Lara.

Protective...

That was the word that immediately surfaced in his mind.

Far too protective.

Interesting!

Was there something more between them?

His fingers slowly tapped against his phone before he lowered his gaze and typed a short message.

Then, he pressed send.

”Everyone,” Philip Hardy suddenly spoke with a light laugh, stepping forward before the tension could worsen further, ”it’s getting late.”

He clapped his hands lightly together.

”I’ve already prepared a welcome lunch at the Isla Pavilion.”

The atmosphere loosened almost instantly.

Conversations resumed. People began moving again.

And just like that—

The suffocating tension hanging over the tomb quietly dispersed.