Chapter 4: The Villa of Silence
985 Words
The Finley family villa was nothing like the mansion in the city.
It sat on a cliffside, hidden among pine trees and wild orchids, with a sweeping view of the sea that stretched endlessly into the horizon. The air was cooler here, untouched by the chaos of paparazzi and city noise. A gravel path led up to a Mediterranean-style home made of stone and wood, old yet majestic — like something built to outlast time itself.
Candice stepped out of the car, sunglasses hiding her eyes, arms wrapped around herself despite the warm breeze. She hadn’t said much since the shooting. Not during the flight. Not during the drive. Not even when Sergio had pulled her behind him instinctively at the sound of a bird flying too close to the window earlier.
Her silence wasn’t arrogance anymore. It was something else.
Exhaustion. Fear. Maybe even guilt.
Sergio didn’t push her. He just observed.
The villa had minimal staff — only a housekeeper and a cook, both discreet and loyal. The security system was state-of-the-art, upgraded just that morning. Sergio had checked every inch before allowing Candice to enter. Twice.
She wandered through the open living room slowly, the sound of the waves crashing below echoing through the glass doors. The silence unnerved her.
“I hate quiet,” she muttered to no one in particular.
Sergio, who was walking a few steps behind, responded, “It’s safer than the alternative.”
She turned. “What, bullets flying past my face?”
“I meant crowds. Noise. Cameras. Where someone can blend in and strike.”
Her jaw tightened. “So this is my life now? Hide and wait?”
“This is survival, Candice,” he said, voice calm but firm. “And until we know who’s behind that attack, this villa is the safest place for you.”
“And you?” she asked. “Are you staying in one of the guest rooms too?”
“No. I’ll take the study downstairs.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s basically a storage closet.”
“I’ve slept in worse.”
Candice sighed and turned away. “Suit yourself.”
---
That evening, the silence remained — broken only by the occasional rustle of the sea breeze through the curtains or the distant cries of seabirds.
Candice sat by the window in the upstairs lounge, barefoot, hair loose, a cup of untouched tea in her hand. She wasn’t used to being still. Her life had always been movement — rehearsals, shoots, premieres, interviews. Now there was only space and time. Too much of both.
Sergio passed by the hallway but paused when he saw her.
“You didn’t eat dinner,” he said.
She didn’t look at him. “Wasn’t hungry.”
“You should eat something.”
“I said I’m not hungry,” she snapped.
Silence again.
Sergio leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “What happened yesterday—it shook you.”
She looked at him finally. “Of course it did. Someone tried to kill me.”
He didn’t flinch. “So don’t pretend like it didn’t. Don’t sit there and pretend you’re fine.”
She stood, anger flaring. “What do you want from me, Sergio? You want me to cry? Scream? Break something? I’ve been doing that all my life behind closed doors and none of it made a damn difference. I was raised to keep smiling — to always look okay even when everything’s falling apart.”
He stepped closer, but gently. “I’m not asking you to break. I’m telling you it’s okay if you do.”
That stopped her. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“I’m not your father,” he continued. “I’m not your fans. I’m not the people who only want your face, your name, your brand. I’m just the guy who took a job to keep you breathing.”
She looked at him then — really looked at him. And for the first time since they met, there was no sharp edge in her voice.
“You’re different,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “So are you.”
They stood there, surrounded by moonlight and waves and a silence that no longer felt so empty.
---
Later that night, Candice couldn't sleep.
She wandered into the kitchen in an oversized shirt and saw Sergio sitting at the counter, cleaning his gun. He looked up when he heard her, and she froze awkwardly in place.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she mumbled.
“You didn’t.” He set the weapon aside.
She opened the fridge and pulled out a slice of cake the cook had made, then sat across from him, poking at it with a fork.
“Were you ever scared?” she asked after a moment.
Sergio didn’t answer immediately. “All the time. When I was in the army. When I left. When I didn’t know how to pay for my mom’s medicine. When I held my brother’s college forms and realized I didn’t have enough to send them in.”
She swallowed. “You make it look so easy. The protecting part.”
“It’s not. It’s just that sometimes… protecting someone else is easier than protecting yourself.”
Candice stared at him, something fragile flickering in her eyes.
She pushed the plate toward him. “Want some?”
He smirked. “Didn’t think rich girls shared dessert.”
“I’m not sharing. I’m offering you the piece I don’t want.”
Sergio chuckled softly and took a bite. “Fair enough.”
She smiled, and it wasn’t fake this time.
For the first time since the shooting, she felt something close to peace. Not because she was safe, but because — for once — someone didn’t expect her to be perfect.
Just human.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for tonight.
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