The General's Daughter: The Mission-Chapter 162: The Patriarch 2

The old man was watching Lara. Not just watching, but observing and assessing.

He seemed to read her thoughts and understood her dilemma.

"Girl, you may call me Grandpa Randell."

He leaned back into the chair, fingers lightly tapping against the armrest as his gaze lingered on Lara. Not rudely. Not obviously. But thoroughly.

That curtsy earlier...

It wasn’t something learned from books or films.

It was habit. A conditioning.

The kind carved into a person through years—no, decades—of repetition.

His eyes darkened slightly.

And those eyes of hers...

There was restraint there. Discipline. A quiet strength wrapped beneath softness.

Not a social climber. Not a gold digger and definitely not ordinary.

And yet... she stands here as a governess?

A faint scoff echoed in his mind.

Ridiculous.

His gaze flicked briefly to Ares.

His grandson stood tall, composed as ever—but the old man knew better. He had raised men like him. Built empires around instincts sharper than blades.

And right now—

Ares was too attentive.

Too aware of the girl’s every movement. Too quick earlier. Too... involved.

So that’s how it is.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Then his gaze shifted to Asher.

That one was worse.

Far less guarded.

The amusement, the curiosity, the blatant interest—it was practically written across his face.

The old man exhaled quietly.

Both of them interested in her?

Now that... that was troublesome.

But not entirely unwelcome.

Because the child—

His eyes softened as they landed on Shay, who was still proudly demonstrating clumsy sword stances to no one in particular—

The child had already chosen.

"Mommy!" She said it without hesitation, without doubt.

Children were rarely wrong about these things.

They saw truths adults buried.

His fingers stilled.

The girl is already rooted.

Which meant—

She wasn’t temporary.

And he did not believe in letting valuable pieces drift away.

Not in the family. Not in legacy. Not in matters of the heart.

He leaned forward slightly.

"Ares."

His voice cut cleanly through the room—not loud, but commanding enough that even the air seemed to still.

Ares turned immediately. "Yes, Grandpa."

Good.

Still obedient where it mattered.

"Walk me to the study." He said.

Asher groaned from the sofa, dragging a hand through his hair. "What about me, Grandpa?"

The old man turned his head slightly, a slow smirk forming on his lips—sharp, knowing.

"You want to discuss business with us?" he asked mildly. "Then come."

Asher froze.

Then immediately took a step back, raising both hands in surrender. "—On second thought, I suddenly remembered I have... absolutely no interest in business."

The old man chuckled under his breath.

Predictable.

He had always known exactly how to deal with this one.

Ares said nothing more. He simply stepped forward, guiding his grandfather toward the study beside his bedroom. The ground floor had long been prepared for him—no stairs, no inconvenience. Everything within reach.

Power, even in old age, was never meant to be inconvenienced.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

Silence followed.

Ares moved first, pulling out a chair and assisting the old man into it with quiet efficiency.

"Please sit, Grandpa."

The old man waved him off lazily once settled, but his eyes never left Ares—not for a second.

Then he gestured faintly toward the direction of the living room.

"That woman," he said.

A pause.

"Keep her."

The words were simple. Blunt. Absolute.

They landed like stone.

The room went still.

Ares didn’t react—at least, not outwardly. His expression remained composed, unreadable as ever.

But something in his gaze sharpened.

Barely noticeable.

"Grandpa," Ares replied evenly, "she is just Shay’s governess. Besides, she lost her memory."

The old man snorted.

"I have lived for eighty years," the old man said dryly. "Do not insult me with something so obvious."

His eyes locked onto Ares—no softness, no humor now.

Only authority.

"That girl is already acting as the child’s mother. The child has accepted her." A slight pause. "Even you—"

His gaze flicked briefly toward the door. Toward the memory of Ares catching Lara earlier. Holding her without hesitation.

"—have accepted her more than you realize."

A faint, dangerous pause.

Then—

"Make it official."

This time, the words carried weight and finality.

"Give Shay a real mother."

Ares’ fingers curled slightly at his side.

For the first time—

He hesitated.

"This is inappropriate, Grandpa," he said, quieter than intended.

The old man didn’t even blink.

"Ares," he continued, voice calmer now but firmer in a different way, "a child needs stability. Not temporary figures that come and go."

His tone shifted—less commanding, more... certain.

"I have been watching Shay."

A pause.

"She has improved."

His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful.

"Her health. Her behavior. Even the way she speaks."

A faint exhale.

"You said she just completed her chemotherapy. Yet today—she did not look like a sick child, like before."

His gaze darkened with quiet realization.

"She looked... alive."

Another pause.

"And her interactions are quite natural. No fear, not withdrawn."

His fingers tapped once against the armrest.

"That woman... and that boy around her—they are doing something right."

Ares didn’t interrupt.

He Couldn’t.

Because he had seen it too.

Every change. Every small improvement. Every moment Shay laughed a little easier.

The old man leaned back slightly.

"Shay carried herself like a child who had already lost everything," he said quietly. "But now..."

His eyes lifted.

"She is different."

A beat.

"And you know that."

Ares’ jaw tightened.

"Even Asher sees it."

Silence stretched again.

Then—

"The woman is a treasure."

The words came slower this time. Deliberate.

"People like that do not give their loyalty lightly."

His gaze hardened.

"But once they do..."

A pause.

"They stay."

A long, quiet breath filled the room.

Then, almost casually—

"Unless you are foolish enough to let her go."

The warning settled deep and sharp.

The old man shifted, easing back into his chair as if the matter were already decided.

"And if you do—"

His lips curved faintly.

"I’ll have Asher marry her."

Ares’ head snapped up.

"Anyway," the old man added lightly, "he looks interested enough. It makes no difference to me whether it’s you or him."

"Grandpa."

Ares’ voice rose—just a fraction.

Controlled but unmistakably edged.

For the first time—

There was resistance.

The old man simply stood.

His movement was slow and unhurried.

Conversation over.

"I’m tired," he said. "I’ll retire to my room."

And just like that he walked out.

Leaving the weight of his words behind.

Ares didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe properly.

He stood there for a long time.

Still. Rigid.

Because for the first time in a long while—

Something felt... unsettled.

And the quiet certainty he once had—

Was no longer as solid as before.