Unwanted

FLASHBACK

“Mr. Casella, thank you so much for this!” The elderly woman’s voice quivered with gratitude as Vincent placed a bundle of cash in her trembling hands.

He offered her a polished smile, the kind that had charmed his way into countless rooms of power and influence. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Ramirez. You’ve worked this land for decades—you deserve better than broken tools and sleepless nights over repairs.”

The small crowd gathered around the old woman murmured their appreciation. The other villagers stood with hopeful eyes, their whispered thanks and admiration warming the air around them.

Vincent soaked it in, every nod and smile feeding the facade he’d carefully built. He was the picture of generosity—a wealthy outsider who had arrived in their quiet town with promises of prosperity and progress. But in truth, this was all a performance.

The village wasn’t a charity case to him; it was an opportunity. Buying their trust was a small price to pay for the land he planned to turn into a luxury resort. The sentimental value the villagers attached to their homes didn’t matter to Vincent. What mattered was their signatures on his contracts and their unshaken belief in his goodwill.

He knelt down to meet Mrs. Ramirez’s eye level, his voice dropping into a softer, almost conspiratorial tone. “I’ll send someone tomorrow to take care of the repairs on your irrigation system. Don’t worry about a thing—it’s all covered.”

The old woman nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re too kind, Mr. Casella. The town is lucky to have someone like you here.”

Lucky. Vincent almost laughed.

Straightening, he waved off the praise and gestured to one of his aides. “Make sure the crew prioritizes Mrs. Ramirez’s farm first. The others can wait until her place is up and running again.”

“Yes, sir,” the aide replied, jotting down notes.

The crowd’s whispers grew louder, the words generous, kind, and hero drifting to Vincent’s ears. It was almost too easy. People always wanted to believe in someone who appeared larger than life, someone who could swoop in and fix their problems.

Satisfied, Vincent began to make his way back to the car parked near the town square. He didn’t need to linger any longer. The seeds of trust had been planted, and soon, they would grow into compliance.

As he passed a small café, something—or someone—caught his attention.

She wasn’t like the other villagers. She didn’t rush forward to shake his hand or gush about his supposed generosity. Instead, she stood across the street, speaking animatedly with an older man near a shopfront.

Her laughter rang out, light and unguarded, carried on the breeze. It was a sound that shouldn’t have reached him from where he stood, but it did, piercing through the hum of voices and the shuffle of feet.

Vincent stopped in his tracks, his gaze narrowing on the young woman.

Her beauty wasn’t loud or attention-seeking; it was quiet, almost understated. But there was something about her that demanded his focus. Perhaps it was the way the sun caught her hair, illuminating it like a halo, or the natural ease with which she moved. Whatever it was, Vincent was spellbound.

“Sir?” his aide asked hesitantly. “Should we head back to the hotel?”

Vincent didn’t respond immediately. His sharp eyes tracked the woman’s every movement as she laughed and waved goodbye to the older man before disappearing into a nearby truck.

He finally turned to his aide, a slow, calculating smirk curling his lips. “Find out who she is.”

————

“She’s different,” Vincent murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the hum of the car engine.

The sleek black car rolled to a stop at the edge of the small rural town, far removed from the bustling cities and their ceaseless noise. Vincent Casella rarely ventured into places like this. They didn’t appeal to him—too quiet, too predictable, too… boring. Yet here he was, for reasons even he hadn’t entirely sorted out.

It had started with a business deal. One of his many investments involved acquiring farmland for development, turning quaint countryside homes into luxurious resorts. It was supposed to be routine—visit the site, meet the locals, flash his name and money, and close the deal. But this time, something had shifted.

It had shifted the moment he saw her.

Vincent was sitting in a small outdoor café at the center of town, idly stirring his coffee while pretending to listen to one of his advisors drone on about the logistics of land acquisition. His attention was elsewhere. Across the street, near a weathered shop with a faded sign, a young woman stood with an older man.

She had a presence he couldn’t describe, a natural grace that drew his gaze like a magnet. Dressed simply in worn jeans and a loose blouse, her appearance was unremarkable by the standards Vincent was accustomed to. No polished designer wear, no high heels, no expensive jewelry. And yet, there was something captivating about her.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear as she laughed at something the older man said. The light in her eyes when she waved at a passing child. The quiet confidence in her movements as she carried a basket of goods toward a waiting truck. She was radiant, untouched by the superficiality that surrounded Vincent’s world.

“Who is she?” Vincent asked suddenly, interrupting his advisor mid-sentence.

The older man blinked, caught off guard. “I… I’m sorry, Mr. Casella. Who?”

“The girl,” Vincent said, his tone sharper now. His piercing gaze never left her. “The one with the basket.”

The advisor followed his line of sight, squinting at the scene across the street. “Ah, that’s Lia Tan, sir. She’s local. Lives here with her adoptive parents. Her father runs one of the farms near the outskirts.”

“Adoptive?” Vincent leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued.

“Yes, sir. She’s been here since she was a child. Good family, well-liked in the community. Quiet, keeps to herself mostly. Why?”

Vincent didn’t answer. His mind was already spinning, considering possibilities, weaving fantasies. He knew nothing about her beyond what little his advisor had just shared, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to know everything.

For the next several minutes, he watched her, studying every detail. The way she spoke to the shopkeeper with warmth and familiarity. The way her laughter seemed to lighten the air around her. The way she carried herself with an innocence that was rare and intriguing.

By the time she climbed into the truck and drove off, Vincent had made up his mind.

Later that evening, he sat in his private suite at the town’s only hotel, a glass of whiskey in hand as he stared out the window. The room was lavish compared to the humble surroundings, but Vincent barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by Lia.

She was unlike anyone he had ever encountered. In his world, women threw themselves at him, eager for his wealth and status. They wore masks of perfection, but underneath, they were as calculated and manipulative as he was. Lia was different. She wasn’t chasing anything. She didn’t even know he existed.

That thought both irritated and intrigued him.

He needed to see her again. Not just from a distance, but up close. He wanted to hear her voice, to understand her, to unravel the mystery that she presented. It wasn’t just attraction—it was an obsession, the kind that Vincent had felt only a few times in his life.

The next morning, he made his way to the outskirts of town, where he knew her family’s farm was located. He didn’t approach her directly; instead, he watched from a distance, concealed by the trees that bordered the property.

There she was, kneeling in the soil, her hands deftly pulling weeds from between rows of crops. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, strands of it escaping to frame her face. She was laughing at something the older man—her father, he assumed—had said.

Vincent’s jaw tightened. There was something so… pure about her. It made his world feel dirty in comparison, filled with greed, manipulation, and power plays. Lia was untouched by any of that, and he wanted to keep it that way.

But more than that, he wanted to claim her. To take her innocence and simplicity and make it his own.

As he lit a cigarette, Vincent leaned against a tree, his smirk returning. He knew what he wanted, and Vincent Casella always got what he wanted.

She looked up briefly, her gaze scanning the horizon. Her eyes locked on him for a split second, her face registering surprise and unease. Vincent didn’t move. He just smirked, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling the smoke into the crisp morning air.

She turned away quickly, her pace hurried as she joined her father and disappeared into the farmhouse.

Vincent crushed the cigarette under his heel, his smirk widening. This was only the beginning.