Prescott came to a sudden stop, his gaze dropping to the small, flawless hand tugging at his shirt. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, a quiet warning in them.

Camila froze under that look, a chill running down her spine. She yanked her hand back-only halfway-before noticing the white pullover she'd tugged was now a wrinkled mess. With a guilty wince, she reached out again, trying to smooth out the fabric.

Her fingers moved back and forth over the crease, clearly just trying to fix the mess she'd made. But the second her hand made contact again, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Wait a second... was that abs? Like, actual hard abs?

"Had enough?" came his voice from above-low, deep, and with that ever-so-distracting magnetic edge.

"Y-yeah... more than enough..." she blurted out before her brain even caught up. Then immediately, her cheeks went up in flames, turning crimson in a flash like she'd just face-planted into a heater.

Seriously, what the hell was she doing?

Could this moment get any worse?

"You sure? You're still holding on," Prescott said, throwing a side-eye her way. His obsidian-like eyes were unreadable, yet somehow teasing.

Then, out of nowhere, he leaned in close, just enough so she could feel the curve of his lips as he smirked. "What? Got attached already? Want me to take it off so you can keep going?"

That breath of his-it was cool yet somehow scorching at the same time, brushing across her face again and again. Camila's heart did a league sprint in her chest.

"N-no, that's okay." She instinctively flinched, quickly pulling her hand back as if burned. At the same time, her slender frame leaned away from him in a messy retreat. "I didn't mean to... it wasn't on purpose," she mumbled, her eyes staring at her shoes, lips barely moving.

Oh no. He must think she did that on purpose. Could she just disappear now?

Camila, at this point, desperately wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

Goodbye, self-esteem.

Prescott's eyes stayed locked on her, those inky pupils sharp and unmoving.

And as he watched her, all embarrassed, ducking her head like some shy critter, he couldn't help but find it amusing.

Interesting.

He hoped she'd stay this amusing.

As that sly smile pulled at his lips, he took another step toward her. His tall frame-he had to be around 6'1"-slowly leaned in again, gradually blocking out the light above her, casting his shadow right over her.

His sharp, dark eyes locked right onto her flustered gaze, voice low and even, "You thought I went through your bag just now?"

Camila's heart gave a hard thump under the weight of that stare, and her mouth went dry for no reason at all.

But she wasn't about to back down-no way. This was a matter of pride.

Clenching her fist quietly, she met his eyes head-on, those clear eyes of hers like glass catching the light. "...Didn't you? How else would you know my name?"

She had definitely suspected Prescott might've looked into her.

But come on, it'd only been one night. Even if he really had people digging, how could they have found something so fast?

This was Meridia, and she was an Elaris citizen. Trying to track someone down in a country this size overnight? Not likely.

Though... Camila wasn't that confident in her own logic either.

People like him, the kind who could casually pull someone's background out of thin air-she'd never actually run into anyone like that before.

Maybe she really was too inexperienced.

"Camila, you're underestimating me. It's just a name-stuff like that means nothing. If I wanted to know more, trust me, you wouldn't have any secrets left. Digging through your bag? I wouldn't even bother."

His tone was calm, but his eyes held a quiet depth that made her feel uneasy again, like he could see straight through her.

Camila's gut screamed that staying here wasn't safe.

She blinked, suppressing the emotion in her eyes, then lifted her head with a smile that was sweet, polite-and totally fake.

"So, I just wanted to say thank you and head out now. Could you possibly have someone drive me into the city? Or if that's tricky, maybe just help me call a cab? Oh, and about my bag-I heard one of the staff say you took it. Do you think... maybe someone could bring it over?"

Her voice was extra soft now, even added a respectful tone just for good measure.

She figured she'd already shown enough humility-surely even if he didn't care to have her escorted, at least he'd arrange a taxi. That wasn't asking too much... right?

Turns out reality has a way of smacking people in the face.

Right the next second, Camila got smacked hard-Prescott's gaze turned downright dangerous, lips tugging into a cold smirk.

"Who told you you could leave?"

"Huh?" Camila was dumbfounded, blinking in confusion at him with a face full of disbelief. "I can't leave? What do you mean?"

Her heart was thumping like crazy. This guy brought her back to his estate-did he never plan on letting her go in the first place?

Camila suddenly remembered that look he gave her in the elevator last night. That gaze... weirdly intense.

Maybe he really did mistake her for someone else?

And now he was stopping her from leaving... could it be related?

Her brain felt like it couldn't keep up anymore. Ever since that elevator broke down, it's like she got caught in some bizarre trap.

Nope, she couldn't stay here. No matter why this man was trying to keep her in, she had to get out.

Her gut was screaming danger-big, flashing red light kind of danger.

Trying to collect herself, she swallowed hard and forced her voice to steady. "Look, I really do have stuff to take care of. Not messing with you-I need to go. See..."

"I'm not joking." Prescott cut her off coldly.

His sharp features were tense, and the icy look in his dark eyes locked onto her like a threat. There was this quiet pressure about him, intimidating even when he wasn't saying a lot.

He leaned in slightly, eyes skimming her tense face. His voice was smooth but carried a dangerous undertone.

"I suspect you're a hitwoman sent by one of my enemies. So tell me-how could I possibly just let you leave?"

The way he said it, so casual, like discussing the weather-but to Camila, it was a bomb straight to the face.

She froze. Eyes wide. Completely stunned.

What. The. Hell?

A hitwoman? Seriously?

Was he out of his mind?

She thought he might make up some random excuse, but this? This was a whole new level of insane.

Fighting to keep her cool was pointless now. She looked at him like he'd grown another head, voice rising in disbelief.

"Me? A hitwoman? Do I look like one to you? Look at me! If I were really a killer, don't you think I'd have done something to you last night? Your enemy must've hit their head if they sent someone like me-I'm so weak I probably couldn't even win in a pillow fight. And you saw with your own eyes-I couldn't even handle a gun! If I'm an assassin, then the whole world's got superpowers."

She rambled on, practically fuming. Prescott's logic was so ridiculous it made her want to laugh-and cry-at the same time.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes so hard they'd fall out. Was he blind? Seriously needed a doctor if he thought she was some threat.

Suddenly, she felt a wave of chill air bearing down on her. Her body stiffened, and when she looked up, his face was right there, up close.

And yeah, sure-he was ridiculously, unfairly good-looking. Like, to a criminal degree. But damn, the way he was looking at her right now? Terrifying.

Camila instinctively stepped back, swallowing again. "W-What are you doing?"

Prescott didn't say a word. Just closed the space between them in a flash, cornering her against the railing.

His tall figure loomed over her, arms landing on either side of her in a textbook wall slam, caging her in completely.

Camila wasn't short-she was a solid 5'5"-but next to Prescott, she looked tiny, like she could be blown away by the wind.

Her nerves were shot, the tension in the air almost suffocating. That invisible pressure coming off him? Overwhelming.

Her heart drummed so loud she could practically hear it echo, and her knees... well, they were threatening to bail on her altogether.

Pull it together, Camila! Don't let him win!

She gave herself a mental pep talk, gritted her teeth, and pushed against his chest, trying to get him to back off.

But Prescott had already seen it coming. With a swift move, he grabbed both her hands, twisted them behind her back.

She yelped, pain shooting up her arms, and instinctively tried to kick him-but before her foot could land, he locked her in place with his legs.

Camila's face flushed red with rage. "You jerk, let me go!"

"Camila, you're not going anywhere unless I say so. Got it?"

A faint scent drifted off her skin, hitting his nose. Prescott's eyes darkened, and the tone in his voice sank lower, edged with threat.

Camila's chest tightened under that stare. She turned her head away, her voice next came a little icier. "This is illegal detention. It's a crime. You're not even scared I might call the cops?"

Was he really that fearless? Or did he just assume she wouldn't dare?

"Who said I'm detaining you illegally?" he shot back, eyes full of mocking amusement. "Killers aren't exactly under police jurisdiction, you know."

Insane!

What killer? Her?!

If she were really here to take him out, would she be standing here talking nonsense with him? She would've knocked him out by now.

"Why are you even locking me up? I don't even know you. You must have a reason, right? Just tell me," Camila said, frowning, her voice quieting down into something calmer.

"I already told you-I think you were sent to assassinate me."

Seriously, what was the point of this conversation? Clearly their brains weren't wired the same way.

Prescott seemed to notice just how pissed off she was. He finally let go of her wrist and turned toward the dining table.

When Camila stayed frozen where she was, clearly stunned, his deep voice rolled back toward her. "Prescott Ellington."

"Huh?" She squinted slightly, not hearing him clearly, eyes locked on his proud, retreating figure.

"My name. Prescott. Remember it."

There was no room for argument in his tone-he made it sound like an order.

*****

After a tasteless breakfast that felt like chewing on cardboard, Prescott brought Camila to the medical wing.

Calling it that didn't do it justice-it was practically a mini hospital, massive and decked out with high-end medical equipment.

A few doctors hurried over the second they saw him, respectfully greeting, "Sir."

Prescott gave a casual nod, but his eyes landed on Camila, who was curiously looking around. He told the doctors flatly, "Check her wrist first."

Hearing that, Camila snapped out of her daze, turning toward him. Her jet-black eyes widened slightly in surprise-he was actually paying attention to that?

She hadn't expected the guy, who was all aggression and control, to suddenly show this kind of quiet concern.

Honestly, her wrist had been aching this whole time. But she'd been too busy trying to get out to really care. Her plan was to deal with it later at a hospital. Yet here he was, bringing it up first.

She parted her lips, staring at his chiseled, unreadable face, unsure what to say.

Thanks? Kind of hard to say thank you when he was the reason her wrist was hurt in the first place.

Mad at him? Oh, definitely. Being locked up here like some criminal-it would be weirder if she wasn't angry.

But... his attitude now? It might've chipped away at some of her fury. Just a bit.

"Yes, sir," one of the doctors answered.

Some of them glanced at Camila again, clearly noticing she wasn't just anyone to Prescott.

A female doctor helped her get an X-ray. When Camila's pale arm stretched out, the bruised, swollen skin around her wrist stood out harshly under the fluorescent light.

Prescott stood right by her side the whole time, glancing down at her hand-those dark eyes flickered, tension tightening at the edges.

He knew full well he was the one who did that.

He'd gone through training since he was a kid-his grip strength was way more than average. That injury had to hurt like hell.

This woman had serious tolerance. Not bad.