Soon, a stir rippled through the side entrance of the Norse Mansion.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned.
A line of n stepped in—so broad-shouldered and silver at the temples, others older but still carrying themselves with soldier-straight backs. They walked two by two, instinctively synchronized, like formation had never left their bones.
At their head was General Leonard Norse.
Even out of uniform, authority clung to him like a second skin.
Then—
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Party poppers burst overhead, raining down tallic confetti. Music blared from hidden speakers, bright and off-key and unapologetically cheerful.
"Happy birthday to you—!"
Sumr and Layla led the song, their voices loud enough to make the old soldiers wince and laugh.
"Happy Birthday, General!" the crowd bood in unison.
Leonard stopped mid-step.
For a heartbeat, the hardened general disappeared, replaced by sothing softer—almost boyish.
He smiled.
Not the polite, diplomatic smile he wore at banquets.
A real one.
His gaze swept across the east wing lawn.
It used to be nothing more than packed dirt and grass—the training ground where he and his son had sparred at dawn. His wife’s prized hedges bordered the space, now dotted with bursts of flowers she had planted herself.
Today, it had transford.
Round tables draped in white linen. Lanterns swaying in the breeze. Steam rising from silver chafing dishes. Laughter, music, life.
A battlefield turned banquet hall.
Guests lined up to greet him, but Leonard raised a hand, already amused.
"Eat first," he ordered. "Before the food gets cold."
No one argued with a general.
It was a buffet.
Lara grabbed a plate.
Alia trailed so closely behind her that their sleeves brushed.
Since leaving the restroom earlier, Alia hadn’t left her side—not even for a second.
Before, she would’ve followed Liam everywhere.
Quiet. Clingy. Invisible but always there.
Now she stayed with Lara.
Like she’d chosen her.
Across the lawn, Liam had already looked for Alia twice.
When he finally spotted her beside Lara, his brows drew together.
She was still his fiancée.
So why did it feel like she’d drifted miles away?
"Liam."
Sumr slid up beside him, effortless and glowing, and handed him a plate.
Steak. Roasted ribs. Grilled vegetables. Everything arranged with ridiculous precision—like sothing straight off a culinary magazine cover.
Indeed, it was the chef who arranged it perfectly.
"These are your favorites," she said sweetly.
Even Fidel, standing next to Liam, paused to stare.
He let out a low whistle and clapped Liam’s shoulder. "Man, I’m jealous. Food delivered like you’re royalty."
Liam forced a small smile and accepted it.
But his eyes wandered. Back to the buffet. Back to Alia.
She was laughing softly with Lara, picking through dishes like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Like he wasn’t even there.
As if sensing him, she glanced up. Their eyes t. Just for a second.
She frowned. Her gaze flicked to the woman beside her. Then she looked away.
Sothing twisted in his chest. A quiet, unpleasant ache.
A tug on his sleeve broke the mont.
He looked down.
Sumr’s eyes were warm, gentle, almost glowing.
"I missed you," she said, voice dripping honey. "Can I sit with you? We should catch up."
"Of course you can," Fidel cut in imdiately. "We’re a bunch of sweaty guys. We need a rose at the table."
Sumr laughed.
The sound was light and magnetic.
Fidel looked like he’d just been struck by lightning.
Liam swallowed whatever protest he’d had.
Before he could object, Sumr waved Layla and two other girls over.
Naturally.
Who would pass up sitting with the country’s most decorated officers?
anwhile, Lara returned to the buffet for desserts.
Shay liked sweets, and she volunteered to get them for her.
She reached for a pastry, then stopped.
Soone stepped into her space.
A shadow.
"You seem very comfortable being a nanny to that autistic girl."
The voice was deep, smooth, and heavy.
Her hand froze mid-air. Just for a second.
Autistic. How dare he call Shay, that!
She calmly placed the pastry onto her plate like nothing had happened.
Slowly, she turned and ca face to face with a familiar man. The man from the hospital.
Middle-aged. He wore an expensive suit and predatory eyes.
Beside him stood a wall of muscle—easily six-foot-sothing, neck thicker than her thigh. A fighter’s build, probably a boxer or a martial artist. A bodyguard.
The guard smirked, clearly expecting sothing.
Recognition, then fear and submission.
But Lara just looked at him. Her gaze was cold and detached.
Like a queen glancing at a pawn.
The smirk faltered.
His jaw tightened.
He didn’t move.
"Excuse , sir," Lara said politely. Calm. Indifferent. "Could you step aside?"
The disrespect of her composure made Artemio’s fists clench.
Where is the woman he forged as a weapon? The one standing in front of him is soone so unfamiliar.
Before the tension snapped—
"Artem."
Leonard’s voice cut through the air.
He stepped beside Lara, warm hand resting lightly near her shoulder.
It was protective and familiar.
Lara did not flinch. She seed to welco the touch.
"So you’ve t my future adopted daughter."
Artemio’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
"Ah. So this is the girl you ntioned." His tone was casual.
But sothing sour flickered underneath.
Resentnt.
Another man stepped forward—mid-fifties, glasses sharp against a stern, contemplative face, the kind of man who observed everything and missed nothing.
"Leo," he said, voice low and steady, studying Lara with a tactician’s eye. "She resembles you."
A brief pause. Calculated. Deliberate.
"But the eyes are different." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "If my goddaughter had lived... she’d be about her age now."
Clink.
A fork struck porcelain sowhere in the sudden quiet.
Then— Silence.
Utensils stopped clinking.
Laughter died, and so held their breaths.
Everyone knew. General Leonard Norse’s only daughter died before her first birthday in an accident.
No one spoke about her on occasions like this.
Ever.
Lara felt the weight of it settle in her chest.
Understanding dawned slowly.
So that was it.
The Norse family wanted to adopt her. To fill the void that a missing daughter had left.
She was a replacent.
But...
Wasn’t Layla already filling that space?
And more importantly—
Wasn’t it too late now?
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