Persistent

“These are for you, Miss Lia.”

Lia glanced up from the sketchpad resting on her lap, startled by the voice of a delivery boy standing at her front gate. His arms were laden with a bouquet of vivid red roses and a small, neatly wrapped package.

“For me?” she asked, standing and brushing off her dress.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “From Mr. Casella.”

The mention of Vincent’s name brought an odd sensation—a mix of curiosity and discomfort. Over the past week, Vincent Casella had made himself known in her life in ways that went beyond casual friendliness. First, it was a basket of fresh fruits from his estate. Then came an intricately carved wooden box filled with delicate pastries she’d never even heard of.

The flowers were the latest in his line of lavish gifts, and though they were beautiful, Lia hesitated.

“Should I put them here, Miss?” the boy asked, noticing her silence.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll take them,” Lia replied, forcing a polite smile. She took the bouquet and package into her hands, nodding her thanks before the boy trotted off.

She turned back toward the house, only to find Mei standing on the porch, her arms crossed and a frown set firmly on her face.

“Another gift from him?” Mei’s voice was sharp, her disapproval evident.

“Just flowers,” Lia said softly. “And a box, I think. Probably food again.”

“Flowers don’t come without meaning, child.” Mei stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “Vincent Casella isn’t the kind of man who gives gifts just to be friendly. There’s always a reason.”

Lia sighed, setting the bouquet and package on the kitchen table. “The villagers say he’s kind. Generous, even. They don’t see any malice in his actions.”

“They don’t know him like I do,” Mei countered. “Kindness from a man like Vincent comes at a price, Lia. You can’t let him think you’re interested in any way.”

“I’m not interested,” Lia protested, though her voice lacked conviction. “But what am I supposed to do, Mama? Refuse everything he sends? The whole town already talks about how fortunate we are to have his help. If I start rejecting him, it might make things… awkward.”

Mei shook her head, clearly unconvinced. “Good people don’t need gifts to prove their goodness. Vincent Casella is dangerous, Lia. You may not see it now, but I do.”

Samuel entered the room, wiping his hands on a rag after spending the morning repairing the chicken coop. “What’s this about Vincent?”

“Another gift,” Mei said, her tone tight. “He’s trying to buy his way into Lia’s life.”

Samuel’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at the flowers on the table. “The man’s persistent, I’ll give him that. But persistence isn’t always noble.”

Lia looked between her parents, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “It’s just flowers, Papa. And it’s not like I asked for them. Everyone else seems to think he’s harmless.”

Samuel’s expression softened, though the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. “Harmless men don’t give gifts without reason, Lia. Just… be cautious. That’s all we ask.”

The next day, Lia found herself in the town square, running errands with Mei. As they passed the bakery, several women called out to her.

“Lia! Another gift from Mr. Casella?” one of them teased, a knowing smile on her face.

Lia flushed but managed a polite laugh. “Yes, but it’s nothing, really.”

“Nothing?” another woman chimed in. “A man doesn’t send flowers like that for nothing, dear.”

The women shared a round of laughter, leaving Lia feeling flustered. Mei’s disapproving gaze didn’t help matters.

As they moved on to the next shop, Lia tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment. She told herself that the villagers were just being playful, that they didn’t mean any harm. But deep down, Mei’s warnings echoed in her mind.

By the time they returned home, another package awaited her—a leather-bound notebook with her initials embossed on the cover. Lia hesitated before opening it, knowing full well it was from Vincent. Inside, a handwritten note read:

For your art. I hope this inspires you as much as you inspire me. – V.C.

Lia stared at the note for a long moment, her heart sinking. The gifts were becoming harder to ignore, but returning them felt impossible under the weight of the villagers’ praises and Vincent’s relentless persistence.

Samuel entered the room, taking one look at the notebook before his jaw tightened. “You need to end this, Lia. Now.”

Lia nodded, though she wasn’t sure how. Vincent Casella wasn’t a man easily turned away, and something about his gifts felt more like a trap than a gesture of kindness.

And yet, for the sake of maintaining peace—for her family and her village—she held on to the notebook. For now.

 

The next morning, the sun bathed the village in its golden light, casting long shadows over the cobblestone streets. Lia hummed a soft tune as she walked through the bustling market square, her woven basket swaying with every step.

She had spent the early hours of the day helping Mei bake bread, and now she was on her way to pick up the painting supplies she had ordered weeks ago.

The small art shop was tucked between a bakery and a tailor’s shop, its wooden sign gently creaking in the breeze. Lia pushed open the door, and the familiar smell of paper and paint filled her senses.

“Lia!” Mrs. Ramos, the elderly shop owner, greeted her with a bright smile from behind the counter. “Your supplies are ready, dear. I set them aside just for you.”

Lia returned the smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Ramos. You’re the best.”

As Mrs. Ramos handed over a neatly wrapped package, the two women chatted about the weather and Lia’s latest painting project. The older woman had always been one of Lia’s biggest supporters, often encouraging her to pursue her dreams despite the simplicity of village life.

“Don’t forget to show me your next masterpiece,” Mrs. Ramos said as Lia prepared to leave.

“Of course,” Lia replied with a laugh. “You’ll be the first to see it. Thank you again!”

With a cheerful wave, Lia stepped out of the shop and onto the lively street. She took a deep breath, letting the chatter of the townsfolk and the aroma of fresh bread fill her senses.

But as she turned the corner, her peaceful moment shattered. She stumbled slightly, bumping into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—” she began, looking up.

The words froze on her lips.

Standing before her, with his sharp suit and piercing gaze, was Vincent Casella. His lips curled into a slow, predatory smile.

“Miss Tan,” he said smoothly, as if they were old friends. “What a delightful coincidence.”

Lia’s heart skipped a beat. She clutched her basket tighter, suddenly aware of how small the bustling street felt. “Mr. Casella,” she replied, forcing a polite tone. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I seem to have that effect,” he said, his voice dripping with charm. “What brings you to the city today? Running errands for your family?”

“I’m just picking up some supplies,” Lia said quickly, taking a small step back. “It’s nothing important.”

Vincent’s eyes lingered on her basket, then flicked back to her face. “Ah, an artist. I’ve always admired creative minds. Perhaps I could buy you a cup of coffee and hear about your work?”

Lia’s stomach churned. She shook her head, mustering her courage. “That’s very kind of you, but I really need to get home. My parents are expecting me.”

Vincent’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze darkened ever so slightly. “Surely they wouldn’t mind you taking a little time for yourself.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Lia said firmly, “but I have to go. Thank you, Mr. Casella.”

Before he could respond, she stepped around him and hurried down the street, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t dare look back, even as she felt his eyes following her.

By the time she reached the bus stop, her hands were trembling. The vibrant colors of the town blurred as unease settled deep in her gut.

As the bus pulled away from the city and began its journey back to the village, Lia stared out the window, trying to shake the feeling that she hadn’t seen the last of Vincent Casella.