Chapter 186: Her Doubts

“Let’s head back. You haven’t had breakfast yet.”

Yannis’s voice was even, almost casual—like nothing had shifted between them.

Like the air hadn’t turned cold.

Lara didn’t answer right away.

She stood still, the wind brushing past her again, softer now, as if urging her to stay.

“I’ll go later,” she said after a pause. “You can head back first. I want to stay here a bit longer.”

Yannis watched her.

Not openly. Not obviously.

But his gaze lingered just enough—measuring, searching, as if trying to read something she wasn’t saying.

Or something she didn’t even know herself.

In the end, he looked away first.

“…I’ll wait over there.”

He lifted a hand and pointed toward the entrance of the Narra forest—the narrow path they had just come through, now half-swallowed by shadows and trees.

A safe distance. Not too close. Not too far.

Of course, he did not want to go back without her and let that man ridicule him.

Lara gave a small nod. She didn’t thank him and didn’t stop him.

And Yannis didn’t say anything else before turning away.

…

The garden felt different without him.

It was quieter, but not peaceful.

Lara’s mind was in turmoil.

She walked slowly toward a small gazebo nestled at the heart of the flower garden. Petals in every shade—crimson, gold, violet—swayed gently around her, their colors almost too vivid under the morning light.

It should have felt calming, only it didn’t.

She sat down on the wooden bench, the faint creak grounding her just enough to steady her hands.

Then she reached into her pocket and unlock her cell phone.

The photograph…the same one Yannis had given her.

The same one that had unraveled her last night—until her vision blurred, her head throbbed, and everything went black.

For a moment, she hesitated.

Then she inputted the pass key and the family of five was displayed.

No, it looked more a family of four with a photo bomber at the back…

Her.

Lara’s fingers tightened slightly around the edges as she stared at it.

A family. Frozen in time.

Faces that were supposed to mean something.

Faces that should have felt familiar.

But didn’t. Not in the way they were supposed to.

She studied it—longer this time, carefully and deliberately.

As if forcing recognition through sheer will.

But she felt nothing. No pull of the bloodline. No familial affection.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Slowly, she opened her gallery.

She swiped through the photos.

Her movements grew more deliberate as she searched.

Until she found it.

A photo from Leonard Norse Birthday Celebration.

Lara… smiling.

Surrounded by the Norse family.

It looked so natural, like a real family.

She brought both images up.

Side by side.

Her eyes moved between them.

Again. And again. And again.

Her expression shifted. It was subtle but still noticeable.

Her brows slowly drew together. Because the more she looked, the more something unsettling took shape.

Her features. Her posture. Even the way she carried herself—

She looked closer to the Norse than to the Fuegerros.

“But how could it be?”

Her breath slowed but sharpened.

“Was… something done to me?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Did someone alter me to look like them?”

The thought felt absurd.

And yet it refused to leave.

Her grip on the phone tightened.

“Is my mission… connected to the Norse family?”

Silence answered her.

But her mind didn’t stop. It accelerated.

She zoomed in on one face in the first photograph—

Artemio Fuegerro.

He was sharp and composed.

Even in the photo, he looked like he was watching.

Even in a still image, there was something calculating about him.

Lara’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you playing at… General Fuegerro?” she murmured.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

“Why don’t I feel anything?”

No warmth. No instinct. No pull.

Nothing that resembled blood calling to blood.

Just distance. Like looking at a stranger she was told to trust.

Her chest tightened. A colder thought surfaced.

One she couldn’t ignore anymore.

“…Was I made to believe this? Was I brain-washed?”

Her voice dropped further.

Quieter and more dangerous.

“That I’m connected to the Norse?”

The garden remained bright.

Beautiful. Unchanging.

But to Lara, everything felt wrong.

Like she was standing inside a carefully painted lie—

and somewhere beneath it—

the truth was waiting to be uncovered.

She glanced at Yannis and their gazes locked.

He was watching her. Her every move, even the frown on her face, Yannis saw it all.

Lara must have realized something while looking at her phone.

Whatever it was, it scared Yannis.

…

Meanwhile, Lara was getting restless. Her gaze shifted back to the two photos.

The thought refused to settle. It kept circling.

Digging.

Something was wrong.

Lara exhaled slowly and leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees as she brought both images closer.

This time, she wasn’t just looking.

She was studying.

Details. Edges.

The things people usually miss.

Her gaze moved first to the older photograph—the one Yannis gave her.

The Fuegerro family. Formal. Controlled.

Then, to the second— the Norse family.

They looked warmer, more natural and less guarded.

Her gaze snapped back to the Fuegerro photograph.

This time—

she wasn’t looking for details.

She was looking for the truth.

And now she was certain…

Her fingers tightened around the edges of her cellphone.

“If my face wasn’t altered…” Her voice was barely a whisper because she knew that one couldn’t do plastic surgery on a child. “Then there’s only one explanation.”

Her heartbeat quickened.

Like something inside her was waking up—something that had been buried too deep, too long.

A cold realization settled into her chest.

“Could it be that I’m not a Fuegerro…”

The words felt strange on her tongue.

And yet terrifyingly right.

“I think I am … a Norse.”

The daughter they lost.

Her breathing grew shallow as fragments of information began to align in her mind—pieces she hadn’t questioned before.

Not until now.

“Back then…”

Her grip trembled.

“That same day…”

Her eyes darkened as the memory surfaced—not her own, but something she had learned.

“Artemio Fuegerro’s wife and son were killed…”

Her lips parted slightly.

“…and Leonard Norse’s daughter was kidnapped.”

Her thoughts spiraled, faster now, sharper, more dangerous.

Her stomach twisted.

“No…”

Her voice dropped, laced with disbelief—

but not enough to dismiss the thought.

“That’s not a coincidence.”

Her eyes snapped back to the face in the photograph—

Artemio Fuegerro.

Even frozen in time, he carried the weight of authority—

Something darker.

Lara’s gaze hardened.

“Did you…?”

The question caught in her throat.

Because once spoken, there would be no taking it back.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“Did you have a hand in it?”

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