The General's Daughter: The Mission

Across the restaurant, two children watched like they were at the movies.

They’d pushed their desserts aside, attention locked on a table at the corner.

”That’s her,” Aira whispered, bouncing in her seat. The pink bow in her hair bobbed with every word. She grabbed the boy beside her. ”Aiden — look. That’s Lara.”

Aiden squinted.

The young woman across the room didn’t look like the Lara he remembered.

She was too skinny, her hair too short, and her clothes too plain.

Their sister used to look prettier and chubbier with long hair. This one looked... ordinary.

”You’re imagining things,” he muttered, though he kept staring. ”Lara wouldn’t dress like that.”

Aira pouted. ”It is her.”

He tilted his head, studying her harder.

Then he snapped his fingers. ”Oh. I know. She looks cheap now. That’s why.”

He said it with the triumph of someone who had solved a puzzle.

Their mother returned from the restroom, heels tapping softly against the marble floor.Late thirties, immaculate, every strand of hair in place.She didn’t walk so much as glide, like the restaurant belonged to her.Elegance clung to her the way perfume did — effortless, expensive, untouchable.

Marian, dabbed her hands with a napkin, composed as always.

Until she saw what they were staring at.

Her gaze followed—and her breath hitched.

The world seemed to tilt.

That face.

Impossible!

Cold prickles crept up her spine.

She had seen the hospital reports. She was in a vegetative state for so long. So why was Lara sitting there... alive?

Did she wake up from the 12-month-long coma? Why hadn’t her husband told her?

Her fingers tightened around her clutch.

Stay calm. She reminded herself. Don’t draw attention.

...

”Mommy!” Aira’s voice sliced through the restaurant like feedback from a speaker.

Bright, shrill, and way too loud.

Conversations faltered mid-sentence. Cutlery paused. A few heads turned, irritated.

”Mommy, look — it’s Lara!”

She stood on her chair and pointed straight across the room, arm fully extended, zero restraint.

Some people murmured that she had no manners, and she was in reckless excitement.

Marian’s stomach dropped. Heat rushed to her face as every nearby table glanced their way. Years of careful composure — charity galas, board dinners, high-society lunches — and her daughter was shouting like they were in a food court.

But worse—Aira had said the name: Lara.

And Lara must have heard it.

Slowly, like fate had a sense of humor, Marian followed the direction of that small accusing finger.

Across the room, the woman at the corner table looked up.

Their eyes met. Time seemed to stand still. The noise around dulled.

For a split second, Marian forgot how to breathe.

Recognition flickered in Lara’s gaze — faint, uncertain, like a match struck in the dark.

Then it was gone.

...

Before the maid could stop her, Aira slipped free and ran over. Aiden followed, slower but just as curious.

They stopped at Lara’s table like they owned the place.

Aira planted her hands on her hips.

”Lara,” she demanded, chin lifted, ”why are you with that kid? Shouldn’t you be the one taking care of us?”

Her eyes slid to Shay, dismissive.

”Aren’t you supposed to take care of us?”

Her words were not a greeting. There wasn’t even a hello.

Like Lara had failed her.

Just an accusation, and those eating nearby craned their necks to get a glimpse of what was going on.

Lara blinked. ”Do I know you?”

Aira stared like she’d been slapped.

”What?”

Aiden scoffed. ”Stop pretending. That’s so lame.” He rolled his eyes. ”You disappear forever, and now you’re acting like you forgot your own family? Seriously?”

His tone wasn’t hurt. It was annoyed.

Like a nanny who’d quit without notice.

Shay suddenly pressed herself against Lara’s legs. Both arms wrapped tight in a possessive embrace.

Her fingers fisted in Lara’s clothes like she was afraid someone might rip her away.

”She’s mine,” Shay snapped, glaring up at them. ”My mommy. Don’t talk to her.”

The word mine came out sharp, almost feral.

Aira frowned. ”Ew. Why is she calling you that?”

”She’s weird,” Aiden muttered.

Shay stepped forward like a tiny guard dog. ”Go away.”

”You must be mistaken,” Lara said gently, but there was steel under it. ”My name is Larissa Reyes. I’m an orphan. My parents died in a car accident a year ago.”

The words were slow and deliberate, as if Lara were ensuring they conveyed her meaning.

Behind them, Marian moved fast. Too fast for someone trying not to look nervous.

”Take them back,” she whispered sharply to the maids. ”Now!”

Before they say something stupid.

Before they ruin everything that her husband had planned for a long time.

Before anyone asks questions.

”Master, Miss,” the maids urged, tugging the children’s arms. ”Let’s go.”

”But—” Aiden resisted, still staring at Lara like she was a defective toy he didn’t understand.

”Darlings,” Marian cut in smoothly, smile perfectly in place now, ”don’t disturb the lady and her... ward.”

Ward. Not daughter.

Marian’s words were careful and measured. Her eyes flicked to Lara, calculating.

Then, she withdrew it when Lara gazed back at her unblinking, like she was taking in every minute details of her face.

”The food’s getting cold,” she continued lightly. ”You still have skating lessons, remember?”

Aira huffed. ”But that’s—”

”Aira.”

Aira pouted. Her mother just called her by name, not using the usual endearment. It was a warning.

She shut up immediately.

They were dragged back toward their table.

Both kids kept looking over their shoulders. They were suspicious and annoyed.

They were unwilling to let it go. They did not want to lose something that had once belonged to them. Especially when Lara doted on them so much, she would do everything for them.

At the table, Shay didn’t loosen her grip. Not even a little. She was afraid.

If anything, she held Lara tighter. She felt like the whole world was trying to steal her away.

”Mommy, who are they?” She asked.

”I don’t know.” Lara answered her gaze fixed at the direction where the twins headed.