---- Chapter 7 Dante POV: My first move was to unleash hell. | put my entire security team, the best money and fear could assemble, on the task of finding her. Hackers, private investigators, informants on every street corner. | threw millions at the problem, expecting a result within hours. Days turned into a week. Nothing. She had vanished. Wiped her digital footprint clean. Paid for everything in cash. It was as if a ghost had slipped through my fingers. My men were coming up empty, their faces a mixture of fear and incompetence. "She's an artist, for God's sake, not a spy!" | roared at my head of security. But as the days bled on, a grudging respect began to form amidst my desperation. This wasn't the soft, timid Elara | thought | knew. This was a woman of sharp intellect and incredible foresight. She had planned this meticulously. She knew my methods, my resources, and she had countered every single one. | was trying to win a chess match against a player who had already knocked over the board and walked away. ---- Finally, | did something | hadn't done in a decade. | went outside my own organization. | made a call to a man who lived in the deepest, darkest shadows of the web, a data broker known only as 'Oracle'. The price was astronomical, paid in untraceable cryptocurrency. Twenty-four hours later, an encrypted file appeared on my laptop. It contained a single location: The Alpine Sanctuary for Creative Arts, a remote, exclusive artists' retreat nestled in the Swiss Alps. There were photos. My breath caught in my throat. It was her. She was standing on a balcony, a breathtaking mountain range behind her. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her face full of a light | hadn't seen in years. In other photos, she was talking with other artists, her hands moving animatedly as she discussed a piece of work. She was wearing simple, comfortable clothes, her hair was a little wild, and she looked... happy. She wasn't just surviving. She was thriving. The realization was a punch to the gut, more painful than any bullet. | had believed that without me, without the gilded world | provided, she would be lost. Instead, she was found. The cage had been open all along; | was just too arrogant to see she had the key. The sad, quiet woman from the photo album was gone. This was a different person. A stranger. And she was beautiful. ---- "Get the jet ready," | snapped into my phone. "We're going to Zurich. Now." "Sir, there's a massive storm system over the Alps. Air traffic control has grounded all private flights." "| don't care," | said, my voice dangerously low. "Find a pilot who will fly. Double his fee. Triple it. We leave in one hour." The flight was brutal. The jet was tossed around like a toy, the roar of the wind a constant scream outside the windows. But | didn't feel fear. All | could feel was a desperate, clawing urgency. | stared at the photos on my tablet, memorizing the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes. This was my fault. All of it. The storm was too much. The pilot, a man with nerves of steel, finally spoke over the intercom, his voice tight. "Sir, | can't land in Zurich. | can try for a small private airfield at the base of the mountains, but it's risky." "Do it," | commanded. We landed hard, the jet skidding on the rain-slicked runway. | was out the door before the engines had fully spooled down. | had arranged for a car, and it was waiting. | got behind the wheel myself, tearing out of the airfield and up the winding mountain road. Rain lashed against the windshield, and the wind howled. | drove like a madman, my only thought to get to her. To see ---- her. To explain. To beg. | reached the village at the base of the retreat. It was a quaint, quiet place that felt like another world. | burst into the main lodge, soaked to the skin, my hair wild, my eyes probably looking unhinged. A woman at the front desk looked up, startled. "I'm looking for Elara," | said, my voice rough. "Elara... Moretti." She had gone back to her maiden name. The sound of it was another twist of the knife. The woman, the retreat coordinator, looked at me with wary eyes. "Sir, | can't give out information about our guests." "She's my wife," | said, the words tasting like a lie. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave." Just then, a man in a search-and-rescue uniform ran into the lodge, his face pale. "The trail on the north ridge-there's been a massive avalanche. The afternoon hiking group is up there." The coordinator's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, God. The plein air painting class. They went up there for the afternoon light." My heart stopped. Cold, absolute terror seized me. | grabbed the coordinator's arm, my grip probably too tight. "Was she with them?" | demanded, my voice cracking. "Was Elara with them?" Her eyes filled with fear and pity. She nodded. ---- "Yes." Title: A Princess? No! I'm the Female General! In "A Princess? No! I'm the Female General!" by CrushReel, Adela Taylor, a noble family's daughter, disguises herself as her brother to secure their Duke title by joining the army. Despite facing obstacles, she achieves remarkable success. However, upon her triumphant return, her brother betrays her, setting off a chain of events that will test her resolve and reveal hidden truths. This captivating novel delves into themes of secrets, reincarnation, revenge, murder, and drama. Adela's journey from deception to betrayal is filled with intrigue and suspense as she navigates through a world where power dynamics and family loyalties collide. 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