The General's Daughter: The Mission-Chapter 161: The Patriarch

It was already edging toward mid-morning when Yannis finally left, the echo of his departure swallowed by the vast silence of the estate.

Lara watched him as he disappeared from her view before she checked her cellphone for the promised password, but none came.

Lara stepped into the mansion. Sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, spilling across polished marble floors in long, golden streaks.

She expected the usual stillness—but stopped short.

There was someone new.

In the living room, seated like he owned not just the space but the very air within it, was an old man. Ares and Asher stood nearby, their usual composure intact, while little Shay perched comfortably on his lap as if she had always belonged there.

The man looked... old, yes—but not frail.

His hair was a crown of silver, still thick despite his age, and unyielding. His back held a slight stoop, but it did nothing to diminish the quiet authority radiating from him. If anything, it sharpened it. There was a weight in his presence—something ancient, something commanding—that pressed against Lara’s senses.

This was no ordinary grandfather. This was their grandfather.

And then Lara truly saw him.

Her breath caught.

For a split second, the world tilted.

Time fractured.

It felt as though she had been dragged centuries into the past—face to face with a man she could never forget.

Those eyes.

Dark. Deep. Obsidian-black and unreadable.

The older Alaric.

The resemblance struck like lightning.

The angle of his jaw, the quiet arrogance in the way he reclined, the piercing intensity behind that deceptively relaxed gaze—it was all there. Not identical, no... but close enough to make her pulse stutter and her knees weaken.

The room spun.

She staggered.

Both Ares and Asher moved at the same time—but Ares reached her first, his hand firm around her arm, steadying her before she could fall.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice lower than usual, edged with concern.

Lara could barely respond.

Her eyes were still locked on the old man.

"Grandpa," Ares continued, and Lara stiffened.

There was something different in his tone—respect, unmistakable and rare.

"This is Larissa Reyes. She’s Shay’s governess."

"Daddy, she is Mommy, not governess!" Shay protested immediately, puffing her cheeks in defiance.

The old man let out a rich, amused laugh, the sound deep and resonant, like it had lived through decades of power and privilege.

"Alright, alright," he conceded easily, his lips curving. "Mommy, then."

But his gaze shifted—sharp, calculating—as it moved between Ares and Asher.

It narrowed slightly. As if measuring. As if... deciding.

Whose woman is she?

The unspoken question hung heavy in the air.

Heat rushed to Lara’s face.

"Sir, Shay is just a child," she said quickly, forcing composure into her voice. "I’ve tried to correct her—to call me Auntie—but she insists on ’Mommy.’"

The old man waved a hand dismissively, clearly unbothered.

"Girl, sit down first," he said, tone light but commanding all the same. "You’re too tall—I’ll get a stiff neck looking up at you."

Asher burst into laughter, bright and unrestrained.

And just like that, Lara understood.

That teasing arrogance... that effortless charm...

So that’s where Asher gets it. From this old man.

The realization stirred something unexpectedly warm—and painfully familiar. It reminded her of Brandon. Of the youngest son she bore for Alaric. The exact opposite of Aldrich for Aldrich was Alaric’s replica.

Her thoughts halted.

Slowly, her gaze returned to the old man.

He was watching her. Not casually, but intently.

As if peeling back layers.

As if searching for something buried deep beneath her skin.

Her chest tightened.

A quiet, dangerous thought slipped into her mind, unbidden.

Could he be...?

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Could it be...?

"It is nice meeting you, Sir," Lara said softly.

But the moment the words left her lips, her body moved on its own.

She gathered the sides of her dress and dipped into a graceful curtsy—fluid, precise, perfect. The kind that belonged not in modern living rooms, but in candlelit halls and marble courts.

The kind she had once performed countless times... before Alaric’s father.

Silence followed.

Then—

"Hmmm."

The old man leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with interest.

"You have a rather unique way of greeting, girl," he said, voice laced with amusement. "You remind me of those palace films I’ve been watching recently."

Lara froze.

Her heart skipped.

She hadn’t even realized she had done it.

Again.

Just like before... it came from instinct—something ingrained so deeply it bypassed thought entirely.

Her fingers tightened at her sides.

Careless...

"Great-Grandpa, don’t tease Mommy!"

Shay’s voice burst into the tension like a tiny firecracker. She puffed her cheeks, clearly offended on Lara’s behalf.

"She’s teaching me sword-play, okay? And I’m a warrior princess!"

She scrambled off the old man’s lap, landing with a small bounce before striking what she clearly believed was an intimidating stance—feet apart, imaginary sword raised, chin high.

"And—and she also teaches me how to be a proper princess!" she added proudly. "Like... manners and stuff!"

She attempted a spin.

It was... less graceful than she imagined.

But her determination was undeniable.

A brief silence followed—

Then the old man chuckled. It was deep and warm.

"Oh, I see," he said, nodding as if evaluating a young knight. "Very good. Very promising."

His eyes crinkled, amusement softening the sharpness of his features.

"Mommy," Shay continued suddenly, her voice turning conspiratorial as she leaned closer to Lara, though loud enough for everyone to hear, "Great-Grandpa is very rich. He always gives me money."

Lara blinked.

The old man burst into laughter again, fuller this time, the sound echoing lightly across the room. The years seemed to fall away from his face as he laughed, smoothing the lines carved by time.

"Your Daddy Ares has far more money than I do, my little princess," he replied, his tone indulgent as his weathered hand reached out and pulled Shay back. Then he gently smoothed her hair.

The gesture was soft but powerful in its quiet affection.

Lara watched them, momentarily pulled out of her spiraling thoughts—but only for a second.

Because curiosity crept back in.

Sharp. Persistent.

She wanted to ask his name.

But etiquette held her back. It felt improper to ask so directly, especially given his status—and the way Ares and Asher carried themselves around him.

So instead, she turned her gaze sideways.

Toward Ares.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly.

Seriously?

Who introduced someone like that... and leaves out the most important detail?

Her lips pressed together.

Unbelievable.