n like Anton Trillo and Rogel Sanchez would never waste their ti traveling to a remote island just to admire ancient ruins.
No.
They were here for sothing else.
Sothing hidden beneath the Kromwel Mausoleum.
Sothing valuable enough to gather a billionaire, a governor, military officials... and ard escorts in one place.
A cold realization tightened around Lara’s chest.
Just what were they after?
Whatever Anton Trillo’s true motive was, Lara did not care—as long as it posed no threat to the Kromwel legacy.
But if it did—
Then she would beco the obstacle standing in his way.
...
Lara’s gaze drifted toward Artemio Fuegerro, and a faint frown creased her forehead.
Sothing about him felt... wrong.
Why was Artemio practically bending over backward for those two n—especially Anton Trillo?
She had seen the footage of the incident from twenty years ago.
The lively children’s songs. Then the screams.
Chloe Fuegerro and her one-year-old son, Hubert, had died in that incident. And Artemio had witnessed it first hand.
If it had been Lara, she would have hunted down every person responsible and buried them one by one.
But Artemio wasn’t her.
People grieved differently. People hid things differently.
Still... none of this made sense.
Not once had he assigned her a mission against Anton Trillo or Rogel Sanchez. Never once had he ordered her to investigate them, much less eliminate them.
And yet Artemio had always claid that her purpose—her duty—was to carry out the Fuegerro vendetta. To avenge Chloe and Hubert.
So why treat ery n connected to their deaths with high regard?
She did not sense any hint of hatred from him when he looked at Anton Trillo. What she saw was awe and then fear. But why would he fear him and not hate him?
The question gnawed at her mind like a parasite.
Now that she knew the truth—that she was a Norse, that her face had never been altered, that her mories had not been fabricated—everything she once believed was beginning to crack apart.
She had more questions than answers.
What did Artemio really want?
Was he targeting the Norse family?
But the Norses had been victims too that day. Like him they were tornted by the loss of Lara Norse.
Unless...
Lara’s chest tightened.
From the very beginning, Artemio Fuegerro’s target were the Norses?
"Miss Larissa Reyes, are you even listening?"
Dr. Grace Varona’s voice sliced through the chaos in Lara’s mind.
Lara blinked hard, suddenly pulled back to reality.
The murmurs of distinguished guests, the suffocating humidity near the mausoleum entrance, and the distant echoes of footsteps against ancient stone all ca rushing back at once.
When she looked up, Dr. Grace was already glaring at her.
The older woman’s usually composed expression had noticeably hardened. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and the irritation in her eyes made it obvious she had repeated herself more than once.
"Honestly," Grace muttered, not quietly enough to avoid being heard. "What is wrong with you today?"
Nearby guests awkwardly looked elsewhere.
Lara stared at her in faint surprise. She had always thought Dr. Grace was gentle and soft-spoken. Apparently, she had been wrong.
"I—"
"You’ve been standing there staring into space for the last five minutes," Grace snapped before Lara could finish. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?"
Though her voice remained controlled, irritation seeped through every word.
Grace stepped closer, lowering her voice even further.
"I asked you a question three tis, Larissa."
This ti, the warning in her eyes was unmistakable.
She wanted to scold the younger woman further for being distracted at such an important mont. Especially after noticing the attention Anton Trillo had been giving Lara since the mont he arrived.
And she did not like it. Not one bit. A man like Anton Trillo should only notice her.
But the mont Grace t Lara’s eyes, she faltered.
Lara’s gaze was too sharp.
For a split second, she felt an inexplicable chill crawl down her spine. The words gathering in her throat suddenly refused to co out.
An odd pressure filled the space between them.
Then Lara quietly withdrew her gaze. And only then did she realized everyone was staring at her.
Anton Trillo.
Governor Sanchez.
The ard escorts standing behind them.
Even Artemio Fuegerro had shifted his attention toward her, his expression unreadable as he silently observed the exchange.
The weight of their stares settled heavily upon the air.
But Lara did not lose her composure. Instead, she slowly straightened her back and lifted her chin with calm, practiced grace.
And when her eyes rose once more—
They collided directly with a pair of deep brown eyes.
Anton Trillo’s.
There was sothing deeply unsettling about the way he looked at her. Not openly hostile. Not re curiosity, but his gaze was far too intent.
Far too observant.
Like a predator studying its prey before deciding whether to approach... or devour.
The silence between them stretched for several dangerous seconds.
Yet Lara did not look away.
She held his gaze calmly, neither intimidated nor submissive.
Then, as though nothing unusual had happened at all, the polished smile of a professional guide slowly appeared on her lips.
...
Anton Trillo had been watching Lara from the mont he stepped out of the car.
Among the three won waiting near the mausoleum entrance, all dressed in the sa outfit, carrying the sa polished professionalism, she was the one who imdiately drew his attention.
She stood out without even trying.
Perhaps it was the way she carried herself.
There was an effortless elegance in the way she stood—shoulders straight, chin slightly lifted, every movent graceful without appearing rehearsed. But beneath that refinent was sothing far more dangerous.
Confidence.
Not the loud, attention-seeking kind worn by socialites desperate to impress powerful n.
No.
Hers was quiet. Natural. Untouchable.
As though she did not need anyone’s approval to know her worth.
Anton had t actresses, models, heiresses, even won from political dynasties, but very few possessed that kind of presence.
And none of them had managed to hold his attention this quickly.
His gaze lingered on her face.
Young. Very young.
Early twenties at most.
Yet there was sothing oddly mature about her eyes—as if she had seen far more of the world than soone her age should have.
That contrast stirred sothing dangerous inside him.
Interesting. He thought and felt the excitent bubbling up inside him.
The blood in his veins heated as anticipation coiled through his chest.
Beautiful won were easy to find. He had bedded a lot of them... won who he could no rember their nas.
But a woman like her?
She was rare.
And Anton Trillo had always been drawn to rare things.
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