The General's Daughter: The Mission

Artemio Fuegerro had been pacing inside his bedroom for nearly half an hour.

His hands were clasped behind his back, his brows drawn into a deep frown. The restless figure bore little resemblance to the seasoned military general known for maintaining his composure even in the face of adversity.

Tonight, however, his patience was wearing thin.

His cellphone suddenly rang.

Artemio stopped mid-stride and snatched it from the bedside table.

”Hello.” His deep, baritone voice filled the room.

He listened in silence, his expression growing darker with every passing second.

”What did you say?” His voice rose sharply. ”His injuries are so severe that he’ll never be able to fight again?”

For a moment, he stood motionless, struggling to process the news.

Then his temper snapped.

”Damn it!”

He swung his foot at the leg of the bed with all the force he could muster.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten one crucial detail. He was at home, wearing flimsy bedroom slippers instead of his usual military boots.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through his foot.

Artemio’s face twisted. A tear escaped the corner of his eye before he could stop it.

”Fuck!”

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, lifted his injured foot, and rubbed the throbbing spot with a grimace.

For several seconds, the mighty general could do nothing but nurse his bruised foot.

It was humiliating. But not nearly as humiliating as what was happening to his plans.

One setback after another. One carefully positioned piece after another, knocked off the board before it could fulfill its purpose.

He had spent years arranging his pieces, anticipating every possible move and ensuring that his opponents remained several steps behind.

Yet someone was systematically dismantling everything he had built.

And that was what truly infuriated him.

Artemio lowered his foot and stared into the darkness, his jaw tightening.

Whoever was behind this was no ordinary opponent.

Worse, the person seemed to know exactly where to strike.

For the first time in a long while, Artemio Fuegerro felt something dangerously close to uncertainty.

His chessboard was losing its pieces.

And if he failed to identify his opponent soon, he might be the next one removed from the game.

...

”Darling, what happened?”

Marian emerged from the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel and a silk bathrobe draped around her figure. The faint scent of jasmine-scented body wash followed her as she hurried to the bed and sat beside her husband.

”What happened to your foot?”

”Nothing. I accidentally kicked the bed.” Artemio waved her concern away, his tone impatient.

Marian frowned.

It wasn’t the injured foot that worried her. It was the dark expression on his face, the tension in his jaw, and the simmering fury in his eyes.

She had been married to Artemio long enough to recognize the signs. Whatever happened, it was far more serious than a bruised foot.

Still, Marian knew better than to press him for answers.

Her husband was a man who guarded his affairs as fiercely as he guarded his secrets. Unless he chose to confide in her, even the gentlest probing would get her nowhere.

She reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

”Don’t stay up too late,” she murmured.

Artemio gave a noncommittal grunt, his thoughts already elsewhere.

Marian studied him for another moment before falling silent.

Some questions were better left unasked. Especially when the answers could draw her into a world she had learned to stay out of.

...

Marian had arrived in Isla three days earlier.

Her first impression of the accommodation assigned to her husband had been less than favorable. The house was too small, the furnishings too simple, and the overall arrangement hardly befitting the wife of a general.

She had complained about it the moment she stepped through the door.

However, after learning that the other generals had been assigned similar accommodations, she had reluctantly swallowed her dissatisfaction.

If everyone was being treated equally, she could hardly demand special privileges.

Besides, she hadn’t come to Isla to inspect houses.

On the very day of her arrival, Marian had approached Madeline and suggested that they visit the Royal Mausoleum and Hevenfort together.

Madeline had been reluctant at first. Although Chloe was a close friend of hers, she had never developed the same familiarity with Marian, Artemio’s second wife. Their husbands were colleagues, and their homes were neighbors, but that hardly made them friends.

Still, refusing Marian outright would have been awkward.

She eventually agreed, and on their first day of tour, Lucas volunteered to show the two women around the mausoleum.

By the time they returned that evening, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in shades of amber and violet.

As Madeline, Marian, and Lucas stepped out of their car, another vehicle pulled into the driveway.

Artemio Fuegerro had just returned from duty.

His gaze swept over the group before settling on Madeline.

For a moment, he simply stared.

There was nothing remarkable about her appearance at first glance. Yet her complexion was smooth, her features elegant, and her bearing composed. Few would have guessed that she was older than Marian.

Something flickered in Artemio’s eyes.

Whatever it was, it disappeared before anyone could notice.

”Darling!” Marian greeted him brightly. ”You’re home early.”

”It’s already seven. I’m off duty.” Artemio loosened his collar and gave her a casual smile. ”How was your day?”

”The mausoleum was breathtaking!” Marian exclaimed. ”Who would have imagined that such magnificent sarcophagi and murals existed in this quiet town of Isla? I could have spent the entire day there.”

Artemio listened with an expression of mild interest, but his attention kept drifting toward Madeline.

”Why don’t we invite Madie and Lucas over for dinner?” he suggested casually.

His tone was warm and unassuming, as though the idea had occurred to him on the spur of the moment.

”Thank you, General,” Madeline replied politely. ”But we’ve already eaten. Perhaps another time.”

For the briefest instant, Artemio’s eyes darkened.

Then he smiled.

”Of course. Another time, then.”

Madeline bid them goodnight and entered her residence with Lucas.

Artemio watched until the door closed behind them.

Only then did he turn to Marian and led her inside their house.

Later that night, long after Marian had gone to bed, he remained alone in his study. A desk lamp illuminated the cellphone in his hand, casting the rest of the room into shadow.

One by one, he examined the photographs Marian had taken that day.

The ancient sarcophagi. The intricate murals. The imposing stone structures of the Royal Mausoleum.

He barely spared them a glance.

His attention was fixed on the woman who appeared in several of the pictures.

Madeline.

He enlarged one photograph, studying her face in minute detail. Then he opened another, comparing the angle of her eyes, the shape of her nose, and the delicate contours of her features.

His expression grew increasingly solemn.

After a long silence, he ran his thumb across the screen, stopping at a photograph in which Madeline was looking directly at the camera.

A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.

”Just a little more time, Madie.” He murmured.