Chapter 72
The gates slid open with a metallic groan as Ares escorted Shay, Sandro, and Lara out of the military base. Soldiers snapped to attention, boots striking pavement in crisp rhythm. No one spoke.
A matte-black Black Hawk waited on the landing pad, its blades already slicing through the afternoon-heavy air. The wind whipped Lara’s ponytail loose as Ares guided Shay up first, one broad hand steady at her back.
Within minutes, they were airborne.
The Alta-Sierra mountain range shrank beneath them—tall trees and canopies of different shades of green bleeding into the horizon.
At the private airstrip, Ares’ jet waited like a sleek predator, polished body gleaming under the afternoon sun.
An hour. That was all it would take to return to the capital—to tiled halls, armed guards, and secrets behind locked doors.
But inside the jet, it was quiet.
Shay refused to leave Ares’ and Lara’s side. She planted herself between him and Lara at first, then stubbornly insisted Lara sit on her other side. As if she were anchoring them together.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her.
She yawned, curled inward, and laid her head in Lara’s lap—small fingers clutching at Lara’s sleeve. Her legs sprawled across Ares’ thighs as though he were nothing more than a living cushion.
A stewardess approached with a soft, professional smile. “Sir, would you like me to move the child to a reclining p>
Ares lifted one hand without looking up from the documents on the table.
“Let her be p>
His voice was low, controlled. It sounded final.
Silence returned.
After a while, he glanced sideways—and paused.
Lara had fallen asleep, too.
Her head tilted slightly toward him, long lashes casting dark shadows against her cheeks.
Up close, he could see the faint purple shadows beneath her eyes, the hollowed exhaustion she hadn’t bothered to hide earlier.
Had she not slept at all?
He shifted subtly, pretending to adjust Shay’s legs, but really, he was studying her.
Even worn down, she was calm and beautiful in an unguarded way. The sharp edge she carried when awake was gone, replaced by something softer.
A loose strand of hair had escaped her ponytail, brushing against her cheek. Sunlight filtered through the oval window, catching the strand and turning it into molten copper.
Without thinking, Ares lifted his hand.
His fingers hovered inches from her skin.
Then he froze.
’What the hell am I doing p>
He pulled back as though burned.
The woman was not simple.
Her reflexes. The way she rode that motorbike like she’d been born on it. The way she’d tracked down the kidnappers without hesitation. No panic. No second-guessing.
Could she have been planted? Sent by one of his enemies?
But how?
No one could have predicted Shay would grow attached to her. No one could have foreseen that he would offer her the governess position.
Besides, she risked her life.
He remembered the look in her eyes when Shay went missing. That fury. That desperation. That determination when she tore off on the motorbike, wind slicing across her face as she chased down the truck.
That wasn’t performance. It couldn’t be.
He exhaled slowly.
“Who are you really, Larissa Reyes p>
Then, her eyes opened.
For one suspended second, they locked gazes.
Dark. Clear. Awake.
Ares was the first to look away. He adjusted Shay’s legs, unnecessarily.
Cleared his throat.
“Thank you for keeping Shay safe,” he said, tone formal now, shield back in place. “What reward do you want p>
“I’d like to adopt Sandro. Can you help me with that?” She spoke without hesitation.
That made him look at her again.
’She did not ask for money p>
“Adopt Sandro,” she repeated steadily.
“I’ll have my lawyer handle it,” he said. “The process won’t be immediate p>
“That’s fine. But I hope he can stay with me at the mansion in the meantime p>
He studied her—really studied her this time.
“You’re young. Unmarried. Why take responsibility for a seven-year-old boy p>
Her answer came without drama.
“He’s pitiful. And we’re both orphans p>
Simple. Honest.
Something in his chest tightened—just slightly.
“Alright,” he said at last. “He can use one of the guest rooms on the third floor p>
“Thank you,” she replied, and this time her voice carried something rare—pure sincerity.
Ares leaned back.
“I’ve already transferred one million to your account. Consider it my gratitude. Shay didn’t suffer much. That matters p>
He didn’t add what lingered unsaid:
And neither did she.
Outside, the jet sliced through the sky toward the capital—toward a mansion where alliances would shift, questions would deepen, and nothing about Larissa Reyes would remain simple.
Zuvel Mansion
Zuvel Mansion stood like a silent monarch over the capital—steel gates, white stone walls, and windows glowing faint gold against the night.
Inside, the chaos of the day had finally settled.
Shay had cried herself to sleep, one small hand still fisted in the silk blanket as if afraid someone might take it away.
In another room, Sandro, quieter but no less shaken, lay awake longer than he pretended to—staring at a ceiling far too grand for a boy who used to count cracks in concrete walls.
Only when both children were secure did Lara retreat to her room.
She didn’t turn on the ceiling lights
Just the desk lamp. A single pool of light.
She opened her laptop.
The glow sharpened her features, stripped away the softness she’d worn around the children. Her fingers hovered for a second over the keyboard—then began to move.
Fast. Decisive.
She logged into a website she had once used to earn money. Back then, she had been cautious. Testing. Learning.
.Now?
Her fingers flew across the keys like she owned the system.
Firewalls peeled back. Code rearranged itself under her touch. Security threads unraveled cleanly, like silk pulled from a seam.
After just a month, she had become even more efficient—precise, ruthless.
A message notification popped up in one of her encrypted channels.
Handler: You don’t move like a rookie. How are you this good?
Lara didn’t stop typing.
Lara: Guess I was born with it.
Handler: p>
It wasn’t arrogance. It was fact.
Some people were born into wealth.
She was born into survival.
She closed three contracts in under forty minutes. Clean jobs. No trace. No fingerprints.
Past midnight, she finally shut the laptop.
The room fell silent again.
And her mind rested easy.
Because tonight, someone else had been watching the same headlines Ares’ men erased.