Chapter 3: Under Fire
642 Words
The paparazzi were already swarming outside the gala venue by the time Candice arrived.
She stepped out of the luxury car in a crimson satin gown, the slit cutting high up her thigh, diamonds glittering at her neck like frost. Cameras flashed the moment her heels hit the red carpet. People screamed her name. She gave them the practiced smile she’d perfected over years in the spotlight.
Sergio followed one step behind, dressed sharply in a tailored black suit, earpiece in place, eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. Unlike the other security guards, who stood stiff and obvious, he blended into the background — quiet, alert, lethal.
“This is where I shine, soldier,” Candice murmured, posing for the cameras. “Try not to ruin the pictures.”
“I’ll only ruin the ones taken at your funeral,” he replied without missing a beat.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t push further. For now.
As they made their way toward the entrance of the venue, Sergio’s gaze darted constantly — rooftops, crowd patterns, pacing, hand movements. He clocked three security guards at the entrance, two camera drones overhead, and several fans pressing too close to the barricade.
Then he saw him.
A man in the far corner of the crowd — baseball cap pulled low, no phone in hand, not even pretending to take pictures. Just staring. Still. Focused entirely on Candice.
Sergio’s instincts screamed.
The man reached into his coat.
Sergio moved before he even registered the full motion. “Gun,” he barked through his earpiece. “Northwest corner.”
He lunged toward Candice just as a sharp crack split the air — the unmistakable sound of a shot fired.
Screams erupted. Cameras dropped. People scattered.
Sergio slammed into Candice, dragging her down to the pavement behind the luxury car, shielding her body with his own as chaos unfolded around them.
Two more shots rang out. Security scrambled. The shooter disappeared into the panicked crowd.
“I’ve got you,” he said low in her ear, holding her close. “Don’t move.”
“I’m not,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I—I can’t…”
Sergio looked down at her. The fearless, sharp-tongued starlet he’d met only a day ago was trembling under his arms. For a moment, the mask had slipped — and beneath it was a terrified girl.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Additional guards swarmed. The event was over.
He helped her into the car, shielding her with his body until the doors shut. She was quiet the whole ride home — not a single sarcastic comment, not even a glance his way.
Until they reached the estate.
She turned to him finally, voice hoarse. “You… you took the bullet for me.”
“No,” Sergio said, pulling off his jacket. “If I had, I’d be bleeding. I was lucky. You were luckier.”
Her eyes dropped to his hands — scraped, bruised from the fall — and she said nothing.
Then her father stormed in, pale and furious. “You’re leaving the city. Tonight.”
“What?” Candice blinked. “Dad—”
“I warned you,” he snapped. “This isn’t just about fans anymore. You’re going to the villa. Until we find out who did this. You leave in an hour.”
Sergio stepped in. “I’ll go with her.”
“You’re not going anywhere without him,” her father agreed. “He just proved he’s worth every damn cent.”
Candice looked between the two men — one demanding her obedience, the other already planning her escape route — and swallowed her pride.
Fine.
Let the soldier tag along.
But deep inside her chest, where pride didn’t matter, a truth settled in quietly:
For the first time, she hadn’t felt alone.
- Writer
