Lara barely had time to lift the lid of the small velvet box when the door to her hospital room swung open. Her attending physician walked in like he owned the place. He wasn't alone. A middle-aged man followed, broad-shouldered, calm in a way that screamed money and power. Behind him came two younger guys in their early twenties, walking with easy swagger. One wore a loud yellow tee that looked fresh off the rack; the other was dressed in a black tee and black jeans, eyes sharp, unreadable. Last was a woman about Lara's age, beautiful and elegant, her heels clicking once before she stopped.
The attending physician, Doctor Luke Rivera, excused himself when he heard his name over the hospital's PA system.
"Sorry, General. I have to leave."
The middle-aged man nodded, then turned toward Lara.
"Thank goodness, you're awake."
The middle-aged man's voice was warm, steady. He wore a navy blue polo tucked neatly into matching trousers, the kind of man whose authority didn't need to announce itself. His eyes softened as they settled on her. "May I call you Lara, instead of Larissa?"
For Lara, the world tilted. Time slowed, then stopped altogether.
A memory surged up without warning—clear, vivid, impossible to ignore.
"Father…" The word slipped from her lips in a breathless whisper. Her eyes widened, shimmering.
"You're alive." She stumbled toward him and hugged him like her life depended on it.
General Leonard Norse froze, too stunned to move, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides.
For a split second, instinct told the middle-aged man to push her away—this was inappropriate, reckless, a liability. But then he felt it: the way she clung to him, desperate and shaking, like she'd been carrying grief for decades and not staged, not calculated.
Then something heavy settled in his chest. He didn't remember the last time someone had held him like that—without fear, without expectation, just pure longing.
Logan swore under his breath.
"What the hell…"
He stared at the woman pressed against his father, mind racing. Did she wake up on the wrong side of the bed? She didn't look crazy. Her voice had cracked when she said Father—raw, like it hurt to say it. That kind of pain wasn't something you faked.
Liam's reaction was colder.
His jaw tightened, eyes flicking from Lara to Leonard's hands—still hovering uselessly in the air. His mind cataloged risks automatically. She was a stranger in a hospital room. Was she sent by someone to trap his father?
But even as suspicion flared, something didn't sit right.
If she was acting, she was damn good at it.
"You, what are you doing?" He said through gritted teeth.
Layla, meanwhile, felt her pulse spike.
The sight made her skin crawl—not because it was inappropriate, but because Leonard hadn't stopped it.
Push her away, Daddy. Say something. Layla thought sharply.
He didn't.
That was the moment danger settled in her gut.
She stepped forward, heels sharp against tile, voice slicing through the silence. "Are you serious right now?" Her eyes locked on Lara. "Your father died in that crash on impact. Why are you calling our Dad father? Did you hit your head really hard?"
The words were a warning.
"Of course, she did." Logan snickered. "She was in a coma for twelve long months. duh!"
Lara recoiled like she'd been burned, then splashed with ice water. Her arms fell away, her face draining of color.
Cold reality slammed back in.
She staggered a step away, breath uneven, chest tight. Her hands shook as she clenched them into fists.
Right.
She knew this.
Her father, the legendary general of Azurverda, died at eighty. He was buried with honors befitting a war hero. Taken by an illness no healer—no matter how powerful—had been able to cure. Not even Lucas, the medical genius of Azurverda.
"I'm sorry," Lara said hoarsely. "My head's messed up. I mistook you for someone else." Then, in the most graceful way, she did a curtsy, as a queen would do to an elder monarch.
Leonard watched her closely.
She wasn't watching him anymore. She looked… embarrassed. Devastated. Like someone who'd just realized they did something unforgivable.
Leonard Norse studied her for a long moment, his expression gentle rather than offended.
He exhaled slowly.
"It's okay," he said. "After waking up from a severe injury, it is understandable." After a beat, he added, "You can call me Dad. If it helps."
Layla fretted inwardly. Was her adoptive father seriously considering adopting another woman? One who was already this grown?
She snapped her head toward him. "Dad?"
Her voice was tight, controlled—but her eyes were blazing.
"Absolutely not!" Layla let out a sharp laugh. "Wow. You really leaned into it, didn't you?"
Both Liam and Logan glared at her, and she swallowed the words she wanted to say.
Lara blinked. "Thank you… Father."
"Father?"
The young man in yellow scoffed, stepping forward with a crooked grin. "That's way too formal. Who even calls their dad Father these days?"
Logan glanced at Lara, then quickly looked away. Something in her eyes—too open, too raw—made his chest tighten. She looked fragile in a way that unsettled him. The word Father still echoed in his head, scraping against old discomfort he preferred not to examine.
He turned to Lara, clearly amused. "Name's Logan. Second son of General Norse." He gestured lazily toward the guy in black. "That's my elder brother, Liam, a Major in the army."
Logan.
The name echoed faintly in Lara's mind, tugging at something she couldn't quite grasp.
"And this," Logan continued, nodding toward the woman, "is our youngest sister, Layla."
Lara greeted them all, her voice steady despite her still tangled thoughts. Still, her attention drifted—unintentionally, inevitably—back to Leonard, her gaze lingering there longer than intended.
He looked too much like her father.
Not just the resemblance. The presence. The way the room seemed to tilt slightly around him. The same commanding calm she remembered of the father, of the supreme general who slaughtered enemies and protected the kingdom for many years.
"Thank you for coming," Lara said softly. "And for bringing your family. Please—have a seat."
Something unreadable flickered in Leonard Norse's eyes as he smiled back at her, as he sat on the sofa.
"It's my responsibility," he said. "If not for me, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't have lost your parents."
Liam moved instantly.
"Dad." His voice was calm, but there was steel underneath it. He stepped half a pace forward—subtle, deliberate—placing himself just slightly between Leonard and Lara. "That was an accident. You don't put that on you."