Chapter 2: The Guard and The Crown
729 Words
The Finley estate was exactly what Sergio expected — massive, intimidating, and meticulously guarded. The kind of place where security cameras outnumbered flowers and the lawn was trimmed more often than the people who lived there smiled.
He stood at the iron gates under the morning sun, carrying nothing but a duffle bag over his shoulder and the weight of what this job meant to his family. He was used to cold ground and harsh orders, not golden chandeliers and marble lions on driveways. And yet, here he was — waiting to serve a woman who had the world bowing at her feet.
"Name?" the head of security asked at the intercom.
"Sergio Estrada."
A brief pause. Then a buzz, and the gates slowly creaked open.
As he walked up the long, curved driveway, Sergio didn’t bother admiring the mansion. His mind was already alert, scanning windows, exits, weak spots. The estate was beautiful — but beauty was rarely safe.
The front doors opened before he could knock.
She didn’t wait for him to find her.
Radiance Candice Finley walked down the grand staircase as if it were a runway, wrapped in a silk robe the color of champagne. Her skin glowed in the morning light, her hair was swept up in a messy bun, and not a trace of effort was in her appearance. She didn’t need it. She was effortlessly stunning — and she knew it.
Her expression, however, was anything but warm.
"You must be the guy my father hired," she said dryly, her arms crossed. “Figures.”
Sergio kept his stance neutral. “Sergio Estrada, ma’am.”
“Oh no,” she said, waving a hand with mock horror. “Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not your commanding officer.”
He didn’t flinch. “No, you’re the client. But I’m not here to entertain you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not much fun, are you?”
“Didn’t know I was supposed to be.”
The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken challenges. She was sizing him up — not just as a bodyguard, but as a man. And he was doing the same.
Candice tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth lifting in mild amusement. “You’re not like the others.”
“I’m not paid to be like the others.”
“No,” she said, descending the last step. “You’re paid to follow me around like a shadow and make sure no one touches the merchandise.”
He raised a brow. “Is that what you think you are? Merchandise?”
She blinked, caught off guard by the bite in his tone. “I know what this industry sees me as. A brand. A face. A product.”
Sergio didn’t look away. “Then maybe it’s time someone treated you like a person.”
Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful for the first time. But it passed quickly, hidden behind practiced indifference.
“Spare me the poetic soldier act, Mr. Estrada,” she said smoothly, walking past him. “I don’t need another man trying to understand me.”
“I’m not trying,” he called after her. “I’m just doing my job.”
She paused at the doorway, her back to him. “Good. Then let me make it easier for you — I don’t want a bodyguard. I don’t want a babysitter. Stay out of my way, keep your mouth shut, and we’ll get along just fine.”
“And if someone tries to kill you?” he asked calmly.
She turned, smiling sweetly. “Then you can throw yourself in front of the bullet like a good little soldier.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
Her words were sharp, but they didn’t cut him. He’d heard worse from men who meant it. This girl — she was lashing out because she hated being vulnerable. He recognized the look in her eyes.
He had worn it too.
Candice walked away without another word, her robe flowing behind her like a silk banner of war.
Sergio exhaled, then stepped inside.
The marble floor gleamed. The walls were lined with portraits and trophies. And at the center of it all was a woman who had everything — except freedom.
This wasn’t going to be just a job.
This was going to be war.
- Writer
