Chapter 3

“I don’t get you, bro. Carlos asked.

The goddess in this portrait is the girl in your dream? Really?”

The taxi halted to a stop.

Carden reached into his pocket, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to the driver. They stepped out and walked into their apartment. Carden was still smiling, and Carlos continued questioning him all the way to their room, but Carden said nothing—just smiled like a man possessed.

Inside their room.

“Come on, man, say something,” Carlos finally insisted.

“Yes, she is,” Carden said, turning to him. “Do you think I’d spend a hundred thousand dollars on a painting without a good reason?” His eyes drifted back to the portrait immediately.

The painting showed a girl in a white nightgown standing beside a window, as if waiting for someone—waiting for a savior. Her room looked luxurious, yet she seemed pale and unhappy, even though her skin glowed like moonlight touching the sea.

“The moment I saw the portrait, I remembered the dreams,” Carden continued. “It shocked me. She’s real. She looks exactly like the woman who’s been haunting my sleep. A goddess… trapped. I didn’t pay that money just for the painting. I did it because I need information about her. And from what the gallery man said, she’s a lady in distress.”

Carlos sighed heavily. “Well, it’s your money. I believe you know what you’re doing. At least now you won’t be dealing with those nightmares anymore. Whatever you decide, bro, I’m here to support you.”

Carden smiled. “Thanks, man. Really.”

“You’re welcome. But how do you plan to reach her? What’s the next move?” Carlos asked.

Carden exhaled. “I don’t know. The owner of this lady seems powerful. Dangerous. According to the gallery guy, he has men everywhere.”

“Did he tell you where the man lives?” Carlos asked.

“Yes. A mansion in the heart of Sicily. He lives there with her. The place is heavily guarded. He doesn’t let her near anyone. And if a man touches her, he calls a priest to pray for her. He thinks her innocence is the reason her portraits sell for so much. He kills anyone who gets close—even someone who picks a flower from his garden. The only person he fears is the priest.”

“Hmm… this man sounds scary. Trust me,” Carlos muttered.

“He is. But I need to know what this lady wants… why she keeps invading my dreams,” Carden said firmly.

“You’re right. And you said the only person he fears is a priest?” Carlos asked slowly.

“Yeah…” Carden said, looking at him. Then his eyes widened. “No. No way. Don’t say it.”

“That’s the only way you can get close to her,” Carlos replied with a straight face. “You have to pretend to be a priest. Otherwise, you’ll have to sneak in—and that’s suicide. I don’t want to lose you.”

Carden stared at the portrait, deep in thought. Then he turned back. “You’re right… So how do I become the priest that visits the mansion?”

“Leave that to me,” Carlos smirked. “But first, you need to learn how to act like a priest without blowing your cover.”

“I love you, man,” Carden said gratefully.

“You’re welcome,” Carlos replied, grinning. “Let me get us something to drink. We need to celebrate, because soon you’ll be Father Carden.” He joked as he walked to the mini-bar to pour some whiskey. 

Carden laughed. “Soon,” he said, holding the portrait like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Later That Night – The Dream

Carden saw the woman again—standing miles away, reaching out to him.

“Come quickly… come get me,” her voice echoed, faint but urgent.

He tried to speak, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. She drifted farther away.

“You’re close now… please come,” she whispered.

He reached for her, but she kept slipping from his grasp.

He gasped and opened his eyes.

“Another dream…” he whispered, still lying on the bed. “Now I know I’m close. I have her portrait.”

He turned to look at it hanging beside his bed.

“Hold on, stranger… I’m coming,” he said softly, before closing his eyes again.

In the Mansion

A girl sat on a stool facing a mirror, slowly combing her curly hair. Her skin was pale and glowing, her lips red like strawberries. Her blue eyes stared back at her reflection—perfect face, perfect figure. Her portraits hung everywhere in the room. Luxury surrounded her, but she looked anything but happy.

“Anna,” a man’s voice called. She turned to look at him.

“The priest is here. You shouldn’t have let him hold your hands. I told you to stay away from Mr. Douglas, and now you let him touch you. You need the priest to pray for you, You look unclean to me”.

She turned toward him crying,“I don’t want to be here. Let me go back to my parents. At least it was peaceful there…”

“Anna, don’t be ungrateful, this beauty of yours is not meant for the countryside,” the tall man said, walking toward her slowly. His hair was white, and everything about him screamed wealth and authority. He held a cold silver walking stick.

His face hardened.

“Don’t be ungrateful, dear. Uncle knows what’s best for you, at least you are helping your parents to live a better life,” he said calmly, but his eyes carried warning.

“Don’t keep the priest waiting my dear.”

Anna stood reluctantly, tears welling in her eyes. “Okay, Uncle Arnold…”

“And clean your eyes,” he added sharply. “Not a word of this to anyone. Not even the priest. Or your parents will pay with their lives.”

She nodded quickly and walked out, wiping her tears.

Arnold stayed behind, staring at his reflection with pride and cruelty.

“No one disobeys me,” he murmured, smiling wickedly.