The General's Daughter: The Mission

Victor Delora sat on the leather sofa in the lavish living room, its polished marble floors and towering windows a testament to the wealth of the man who owned it. His back remained perfectly straight despite having waited for nearly an hour. He would never complain. Men who worked for Anton Trillo learned quickly that patience was rewarded, while impatience was remembered.

The sound of measured footsteps echoed from above.

Anton Trillo descended the sweeping spiral staircase with the effortless confidence of a man accustomed to power. A fitted black shirt clung to his athletic frame, accentuating muscles that men half his age would envy. He wore simple black shorts, and a sheen of sweat still glistened across his tanned skin.

It was late afternoon.

Had he just finished exercising?

Victor could not help staring.

The man was already in his fifties, yet he looked barely past his late thirties. Time seemed reluctant to touch him. Victor glanced down at his own expanding waistline and felt a familiar stab of envy.

”Boss, Amelia Nades signed the contract with Starlight.”

He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to business.

Anton preferred it that way.

The man hated wasted words. Every conversation with him felt like standing before a judge who had already reached a verdict.

Anton’s expression barely changed.

”Starlight?”

The name meant nothing to him.

”Who owns it?”

”It was founded by Lino Brookes and is now being managed by his son, Lionel,” Victor replied. ”The company was on the verge of bankruptcy, but it was recently acquired by Ares Zuvel and Larissa Reyes through a parnership.”

For the first time, Anton’s calm facade shifted.

”Larissa Reyes?”

His brows drew together. Fine lines appeared on his forehead, subtle signs of age that rarely surfaced.

”She’s just an orphan,” Anton said slowly. ”How does someone like her suddenly have enough money to rescue a failing studio?”

It is true, then. The rumor about the treasures from Mount Ourea. How could she found a map for that treasure. He needed to put more pressure on Beatrice.

”From what we’ve gathered, Ares Zuvel is backing her.”

Silence settled over the room.

Anton walked toward the window his fingers lightly tracing the carved wooden windowsill. His eyes narrowed, calculating possibilities.

He had spent decades building networks, collecting favors, and positioning pieces across the board. People rarely succeeded without his knowledge.

When they did, they became interesting.

Finally, he spoke.

”Have someone write another screenplay.”

Victor immediately reached for his notebook.

”The one centered on the emperor’s youngest son.”

Anton turned toward the far wall.

His gaze settled on a large oil painting hanging above an antique cabinet.

It depicted a young nobleman with sharp features and intelligent obsidian eyes. The artist had recreated him from photographs Anton secretly took during his visit to the Kromwel Mausoleum.

The workmanship was extraordinary.

The portrait looked authentic enough to belong in a museum. Even the canvas appeared centuries old.

Unfortunately, the artist had died in a tragic car accident shortly after delivering a few more pieces from the final collection.

An unfortunate coincidence.

Victor followed Anton’s gaze.

”Focus on the prince’s sacrifices,” Anton continued. ”A man who abandoned royalty for love. People adore stories like that.”

Victor hesitated.

”Boss, wouldn’t it make more sense to focus on the eldest son? He inherited the throne and shaped the empire.”

A slow smile spread across Anton’s face. There was no warmth in it.

It was the kind of smile a chess player wore after seeing a winning move ten turns in advance.

”Because,” he said softly, ”the youngest prince is the origin of my bloodline.”

Victor’s eyes widened.

A rush of realization swept through him.

”Boss... are you saying you’re descended from the imperial family?”

Azuverda’s rulers had presided over the nation’s golden age. It was lost in text books and history, yes. But the discovery in Isla put them back in the limelight. Suddenly their names started appearing in other country’s historical accounts, monuments, and legends.

Suddenly Anton’s influence, his charisma, and his uncanny ability to bend powerful people to his will seemed less mysterious. Because of his bloodline.

Anton gave no direct answer.

He merely smiled. A smile that revealed nothing and suggested everything.

That was how Anton operated. He never lied when the truth could be manipulated into serving him better.

History belonged to those who controlled the narrative.

And Anton Trillo had no intention of allowing anyone else to write his.

He would decide which stories survived.

He would decide which names were remembered.

And he would rewrite history itself.

...

That evening, Beatrice lounged across Anton’s bed like a painting brought to life.

The silk-and-lace nightgown draped over her figure did little to conceal the elegant curves beneath. The delicate fabric caught the warm glow of the bedside lamps, revealing just enough to entice the imagination.

Anton found it far more captivating than complete nudity.

After years of fleeting affairs with younger women, beauty alone no longer impressed him. Beatrice possessed something rarer—confidence, sophistication, and the subtle allure that came with experience. She knew exactly how to command a room without demanding attention.

”There is an auction scheduled for next week,” Beatrice said casually.

She slipped from the bed and crossed the suite with unhurried grace. On a nearby table sat a chilled bottle of champagne beside two crystal flutes.

”The event was arranged by Ares.”

The champagne fizzed softly as she poured.

”It coincides with the grand opening of the Imperial Hotel in the heart of Calma.”

That hotel. Another of Ares’ investment that rocked the market.

And again, he was a step later.

Beatrice lifted an ornate envelope from the table.

Gold filigree decorated its edges, while an embossed imperial crest gleamed beneath the light.

”I got an invitation for you though I am sure you will receive another one.”

With practiced elegance, she approached Anton and handed him one of the glasses.

He accepted it without taking his eyes off the invitation.

The champagne disappeared in a single swallow. His expression remained calm.

Only those who knew him well would have noticed the sharpness that entered his gaze whenever Ares’s name was mentioned.

”So,” Anton said, setting down the empty flute, ”how much treasure is being auctioned?”

For the briefest moment, uncertainty flashed across Beatrice’s face.