The General's Daughter: The Mission

Chapter 175: The Night That Didn’t Sleep

The girl in the photo looked... wrong.

Not just unfamiliar but wrong.

Her expression was too still, too composed—like something carved instead of lived. Her eyes held no warmth, no flicker of hesitation or doubt. Only a chilling, razor-sharp clarity.

The kind of gaze that didn’t ask questions anymore.

The kind that had already chosen.

Lara’s fingers trembled where they hovered over the screen.

A cold sensation crept up her arms, slow and invasive, like ice slipping beneath her skin.

That’s... me?

The thought didn’t settle—it recoiled.

Because the girl in the photo looked like someone who understood everything.

Who knew exactly who she was.

And worse—

Exactly what she was capable of.

Lara’s throat constricted. She swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the sudden dryness clawing at her mouth.

Her grip on the phone tightened, knuckles paling.

A heavy realization pressed down on her, suffocating, inescapable—

That version of her...was a stranger.

And somehow, that was more terrifying than the emptiness in her memory.

Because forgetting was one thing.

But this—

This was like looking at a future she didn’t want to choose...

—or a past she couldn’t accept.

Her breath came uneven.

Then—

A voice.

Not heard, not quite remembered—

But felt.

It slithered through the fog in her mind, low and heavy, like something long buried clawing its way back to the surface.

"You are the eldest..."

The words echoed, distant but undeniable.

"This blood feud falls on you."

Lara stiffened.

A sharp pain exploded behind the back of her head.

"Ah—!"

Her hand flew to her head as the world lurched violently.

The room tilted.

The light fractured.

Fragments of something—faces, shouting—flashed and vanished before she could grasp them.

"Stop...!"

Her knees buckled.

The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering against the floor, the sound distant, muffled—like she was already sinking underwater.

The pain surged again, stronger this time—splitting, blinding, merciless.

It felt like her mind was being torn open.

Like something inside her was trying to break free.

Her vision blurred.

Darkness bled into the edges of her sight.

Her body swayed—

Then gave in.

Lara collapsed onto the cold floor, the impact dull and far away.

The chill seeped through her skin, grounding and distant all at once.

Her fingers twitched weakly.

Her breath came shallow.

Silence swallowed everything.

As the last thread of consciousness slipped away, she saw someone emerge from the room.

And then—

Nothing.

...

"Larissa—!"

Ares’ voice cut through the silence, sharp and unsteady in a way it rarely was.

For a split second, the world seemed to stop.

Then he moved.

He crossed the distance in long, urgent strides and dropped to his knees beside her crumpled form. The cold marble floor had already leeched the warmth from her skin.

"Damn it..."

He slid an arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, lifting her effortlessly—but far more carefully than someone of his stature ever needed to.

She felt too light.

Her head lolled against his chest, strands of her hair clinging to her pale, clammy skin.

Ares’ jaw tightened.

As he carried her out, his gaze flickered briefly toward the bed across the room—

The small figure lying there, swallowed by sheets far too large for her frame, breathing softly in innocent sleep.

Unaffected. Unaware.

Without breaking stride, Ares turned and headed straight for his own room just across.

The doors opened, and he strode inside, placing Lara carefully onto the expansive bed. The dark sheets contrasted sharply against her unnaturally pale complexion.

For a moment, he just looked at her.

She was too still.

His brows drew together as he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against her cheek.

It was cold and damp.

"What happened to you...?" he muttered under his breath.

His chest felt tight—irritatingly so.

It was a good thing he had gone to check on Shay.

If he hadn’t—

His expression darkened at the memory.

Her silhouette. Swaying and unstable, then collapsing without warning.

Ares exhaled sharply and straightened.

His gaze fell on the phone that had been retrieved with her.

The cause.

Or at least—part of it.

He picked it up, his grip firm, eyes narrowing slightly.

"What did you see for you to lose consciousness...?" he murmured.

His thumb moved swiftly across the screen.

Of course, it was locked.

A faint scoff escaped him.

He tried to unlock it again—this time with different methods, more technical, more precise.

Hacking skills he had picked up from Xander weren’t for nothing.

And yet— nothing.

The device remained sealed, unyielding.

His expression hardened.

Before he could try again, a knock. Then the door opened.

The family doctor entered, slightly out of breath despite his effort to appear composed. It was rare—no, unprecedented—for him to be summoned directly by Ares himself.

Usually, requests came through layers of staff.

But tonight—

The call had come from the man himself.

Which meant one thing: this mattered a lot.

The doctor’s eyes landed briefly on the woman lying on the king-sized bed—beautiful, fragile, out of place in a room that radiated control and authority.

But his face revealed nothing.

Years of experience had taught him that out of him.

He stepped forward immediately and began his examination, fingers efficient and practiced as he checked her pulse, her breathing, her response.

Seconds stretched.

Then—

A faint frown creased his brow.

"Her vitals are stable," he said at last. "Normal. There’s no immediate sign of physical trauma."

Ares didn’t relax.

Not even slightly.

"She was clutching her head before she collapsed," he said, voice low, controlled. "She just woke up from a year-long coma due to a head injury. She suffered from memory loss."

A pause.

Then, more pointed—

"Could this be related?"

The doctor glanced at Lara again, this time more carefully. More thoughtfully.

"It’s possible," he admitted. "If something triggered her memory—something intense—her brain may have been overwhelmed."

He straightened, meeting Ares’ gaze.

"This isn’t a simple case of stress. If her condition is tied to neurological trauma..." he trailed off slightly, then finished, "You need a specialist."

A beat of silence.

"A neurologist."

Ares held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a single, decisive nod.

"I understand."

Without another word, he turned and ushered the doctor out.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence returned.

Ares stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.

Then, with visible reluctance, he pulled out his phone.

His fingers hovered for only a second before typing.

’Ask Doctor Yannis Fenn for a house visit first thing in the morning.’

The message was sent. But Ares still didn’t move.

His gaze drifted back to the unconscious Lara.

She looked so pale and fragile.

And for reasons he refused to examine too closely—

That unsettled him more than it should.