The General's Daughter: The Mission

Why did it feel like he was looking at something close to him?

It wasn’t possession or desire, but something familial.

His gaze darkened slightly as it settled on his father. He wanted to ask if his dad had cheated on his mother, but there were outsiders, so he stopped himself.

But if there was even a fraction of truth to the situation, if there was any chance that Larissa Reyes was related to them by blood, then this wasn’t something he could ignore.

He could not leave it to speculation.

He needed facts.

Because this—

This quiet, persistent suspicion—

Would either collapse under truth or rewrite everything he thought he knew.

Liam exhaled slowly, steadying himself, but the tension remained coiled beneath his calm exterior.

He didn’t look away from her. Not anymore. He couldn’t afford to.

He needed to investigate. To dig.

To confirm—

Or destroy the growing, dangerous thought before it took root too deeply.

...

Artemio Fuegerro arrived at the same conclusion as Liam—only his came slower, sharper, and far more dangerous.

Before, it had been easy to dismiss.

Lara had been all angles and shadows back then—skin darkened by relentless drills under the sun, her body honed by punishment and discipline.

Injuries had not spared even her face; they blurred memory, distorted familiarity. She had been someone you looked at once and filed away under soldier, not someone worth remembering twice.

But now—

Now her skin had lightened after a year away from the sun, smooth and almost luminous. The sharpness of her frame had softened; she had gained weight, her features gentler, deceptively delicate.

And that was the problem.

Because beneath that transformation...

Her resemblance to the Norse family was no longer deniable.

A cold thought slipped into Artemio’s mind.

Would Leonard Norse notice?

Worse—

Would the Norse siblings?

...

”Oh—right,” Logan muttered, scratching the back of his neck, his casual tone failing to mask the brief hesitation. ”I forgot you need a pass. My badge can get me through... but not you.”

Liam stepped forward, handing Lara an RFID wristband.

”You can use this,” he said. ”I already registered your name.”

”Thank you, Liam.” Lara accepted the wristband without hesitation.

Logan snatched the wristband from Liam and put it on to Lara.

...

Leonard Norse cleared his throat.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

The soft, measured sound cut cleanly through the space, shifting the atmosphere with quiet authority.

”Lara, dear,” he began, his voice calm, almost warm—but threaded with something unmistakably firm, ”you should have met General Artemio Fuegerro during my birthday, correct?”

Lara nodded faintly, her gaze drifting toward the man in uniform.

Artemio Fuegerro.

He was watching her. Not casually, not politely, but intently.

His eyes moved with precision, cataloging, dissecting—searching for something he could not yet name, or perhaps something he refused to acknowledge.

There was restraint in his expression. But not enough to hide what lay beneath it.

Suspicion.

Leonard gestured lightly.

”And this is Colonel Aquilo Vibora. He just arrived. If Logan is escorting you around the site, you may as well go together.”

There was no elaboration on the introduction. None was necessary. The name alone carried weight.

Aquilo stepped forward. He extended his hand.

But his gaze never left her face.

Three years.

That was how long it had been. Three years since he last saw her.

And this woman—

This woman standing before him—

She was not the girl he remembered.

Back then, Lara had been carved from edges and resistance. Sun-browned skin, scars like quiet testimonies etched across her. She had carried herself like someone who expected the world to strike—and dared it to try.

Now she looked...

Soft and refined. Beautiful in a way that felt almost unreal.

Her skin was unmarked. Her features smoother, almost fragile at first glance.

But her eyes—

Her eyes hadn’t changed. They still held that same depth. That same quiet defiance.

Lara reached out. Their hands met.

His grip was firm and steady.

Warm. Familiar.

Something stirred at the edge of her awareness—a flicker of recognition she couldn’t quite grasp. His touch. His presence.

A memory buried just beneath the surface.

Close—but unreachable.

”Don’t you remember me?” Aquilo asked.

And for the first time—

There was something unsteady in his voice.

Lara tilted her head slightly, her expression composed, her gaze clear and distant.

”Am I supposed to?”

The words fell clean. Precise.

Unapologetic.

The air tightened.

Tension moved through the group like a ripple beneath still water.

”Larissa,” Artemio cut in smoothly, his tone controlled, measured to perfection, ”Colonel Vibora was once assigned to oversee tactical inspections in several southern academies.”

Aquilo’s eyes flicked toward him.

A message passed between them in silence.

Not spoken. But understood.

Careful.

”Right,” Aquilo said, recovering, though his attention snapped back to Lara, sharper now. ”You were the corps commander of your school.”

”Yeah, Sis,” Logan added quickly, stepping in with forced ease, the word Sis landing heavier than intended. ”You handled that inspection really well.”

Artemio stilled.

Damn! The realization came fast—and late.

He had overlooked something critical.

Aquilo knew her. And more than that, the Lara from before had trusted him, even admired him.

”Sis?” Aquilo echoed, slower this time.

The word didn’t sit right.

His brows furrowed, confusion surfacing openly now.

Why would Logan Norse call her that?

His gaze shifted, sharp and searching, landing on Artemio.

But the general gave him nothing.

Still. Controlled. Impenetrable.

Artemio had planned this carefully.

He had arranged his own assignment to Isla with precision, surrounding himself only with men he trusted—predictable, controllable variables.

No surprises. No loose ends.

But Aquilo had just returned from an overseas deployment.

No time for briefings. No time to prepare him.

And now—

This situation unfolded in real time.

Uncontrolled. Unstable, Dangerous.

”Larissa Reyes,” Leonard said calmly, stepping forward before the silence could fracture into something more, ”I had taken her as my god-daughter.”

The statement landed softly.

But its weight was absolute and final.

A truth offered, or a truth imposed.

Either way, it demanded acceptance.

And yet—

It did nothing to ease the tension coiling beneath the surface. If anything, it deepened it.

Because now, the question was no longer who she was.

But—

why she had to be someone else.