Prescott Ellington sat on the couch with narrowed eyes, his face cold as ice. His tall figure suddenly loomed over Camila, the pressure practically suffocating.

"Say that again if you've got the guts."

Stuck under his shadow, Camila could feel her breath fill with his unfamiliar, icy scent. She instinctively backed up, heart pounding out of control. She completely lost her earlier fire under his severe presence.

"I-I wasn't wrong... You clearly-"

Before she could finish, Camila realized something was off. Her face stiffened slightly as her dark, lively eyes scanned the room.

The spacious suite held no other women-just a few sharply dressed men off to the side, all staring at her wide-eyed, looking like she'd just dropped a bomb.

Even if she were clueless, she'd know by now-she'd messed up big time. Seriously, what the hell was she thinking yelling at the wrong guy? And Camila wasn't even the clueless type.

Her expression froze in awkwardness. She totally embarrassed herself, jumping in without checking anything first. Stupid alcohol. She really needed to stop drinking-it only caused problems.

"Um... sorry, I think I barged into the wrong room... My bad, I'll leave right now!"

She forced an awkward smile and turned to go, but just as she took a step, a firm hand grabbed her wrist.

"Say your piece and just walk off? You think things work that easy in the real world?"

He looked down at her, voice cold and low, the kind that brings a storm with it. Nothing about him felt safe.

"Ouch, let go... you're hurting me!"

Camila struggled to break free, but the strength difference was obvious. No matter how hard she tried, that hand clamped down on her like steel.

Her mind raced, panic threatening to take over, but she forced herself to stay calm. She looked up, her clear gaze filled with remorse as she met his sharp eyes.

"It was my fault just now. I apologize. I'm sorry. Could you... would you mind letting go?"

Prescott didn't budge. His eyes, cold and deep, scanned her from top to bottom.

No doubt, the woman in front of him was gorgeous-skin flawless and smooth, features delicate, that perfectly shaped figure, and long, silky black hair down her back. Classic beauty. But still, there was something lazy and cool about her vibe, a little contradictory, but somehow all of it made sense on her.

Yet he didn't show the slightest hint of mercy. Instead, his grip on her ivory wrist tightened.

"Talk. Who are you? Who sent you?"

Her eyes... they looked too damn familiar. If her face had been covered, and only those eyes were visible, he might've really believed she was that person from his past...

Coincidence? He didn't buy it. The world's big, sure-but not that big.

"...Sir, I have no idea what you're talking about... ah!"

Camila gasped as pain shot up her arm. Her face turned pale, brows furrowed, sucking in breaths to deal with it.

He was gripping way too hard-she was starting to think her bones might actually snap.

Wait a sec... did he mistake her for someone else?

Judging by the intense, dangerous look in his eyes, she was sure-if her answers didn't satisfy him, this guy wasn't letting her off the hook.

And judging from the tone of his voice, he meant every word.

So... what now?

Prescott caught the flicker in her eyes, and it didn't take a genius to figure out she was clearly up to something. He curled his lips into a faint, mocking smile.

"I'll ask just one more time. Answer me, or else..."

His cold warning hung low in the air, sharp as a knife.

Camila was already sweating bullets. She bit her lip, trying hard to keep her cool.

"It's a misunderstanding-really! I was supposed to help my friend catch her cheating boyfriend, but I walked into the wrong room. I thought you were the jerk. I swear, I didn't lie. Not a word! I'm sorry I yelled at you-I mean it. I genuinely apologize, sir. I'm not here on anyone's orders. I didn't even know who you were before tonight..."

Prescott didn't say a word. His dark, ice-cold eyes stared her down like he was peeling her soul apart.

That gaze made her chest tighten. It was like he could see straight through every layer of her, and it left her rattled.

They were standing too close-so close, in fact, that the light scent on her skin mixed with a faint trace of alcohol hit him head-on. His sharp eyes narrowed even more.

She'd clearly been drinking. But was that weird behavior just liquid courage? Or was she putting on an act?

The tension between them got real thick real fast. The room was dead quiet. You could hear every breath.

Camila was stiff as a board. Twenty years of her life and this was the first time she'd ever been this close to a random guy-and it showed. She was clearly uncomfortable.

She shifted slightly, trying to create some space, but that only made things worse. Her movement looked suspicious in Prescott's eyes.

His expression darkened. Before she had time to react, he grabbed her wrists, twisted them behind her back, and pushed her around, pressing her down with force.

"You're brushing off my warning? Alright then-some people only learn the hard way."

His voice was low and icy, like a warning straight out of a nightmare-chilling and dangerous.

"I-I didn't mean to..."Camila jolted, frozen by the chilling intensity in the man's gaze-and even more mortified by how close he'd pressed up against her. The raw masculine presence surrounding her made her cheeks flush bright red.

Even the sharp, steady beat of his powerful heartbeat echoed against the silence around them, each pulse pounding against her back, making her involuntarily tremble.

Camila started struggling hard. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with this guy? Who did he think she was? How could he get this touchy-feely, this flirty, without warning?

Suddenly, a hand clamped down tightly on her waist, stopping her every move. "Don't move," he said.

His voice was rough, low, and thick with a heat that didn't belong here, brushing against her ear like a spark. She didn't need any experience to know this reaction from Prescott was very... wrong.

The color instantly drained from her face.

Burning with shame and anger, she bit down hard on her lip, her voice shaking with fury. "Let me go, you... you pervert!"

"Oh, I'm the pervert?" Prescott let her go, face dark and unreadable. "Aren't you the one trying to seduce me?"

His voice was icy, like razor-edged frost. But inside, he was rattled.

For the past two years, he'd been completely indifferent to any kind of lust. No matter how seductive the women got, he'd stayed cold, untouched.

Even stranger, the changes in his body over the last six months had been bothering him to no end. And now, totally unexpected, this random woman had managed to light a fire with just one accidental touch.

Prescott's eyes dropped to Camila, scanning her deeply.

His gaze caught on her slightly open neckline, and what it revealed stopped him cold. Her skin was snowy smooth, glowing subtly under the light. Her slender neck, the soft dip of her collarbone leading to hints of generous curves - framed by her long, dark hair falling over both shoulders - the whole picture had this innocent allure that somehow hit him in all the wrong ways.

The more he looked, the harder it became to tear his eyes away. His throat dried up, and that barely contained fire inside him surged hotter.

There was no doubt - this strangely familiar-eyed woman had somehow unlocked a side of him long asleep.

And maybe, just maybe, she was the key to figuring out what the hell had been going on with him lately.

Whether she truly didn't know who he was, or was just putting on an act, didn't matter now.

He had no plans to let her walk away that easily.

"You're saying I tried to seduce you? That's insane. I don't even know your last name, first name, or where the heck you live. I'd have to be out of my mind to-"

Before Camila could finish, her words caught in her throat. She glanced down and froze; at some point, her neckline had come undone, revealing way too much. Her face flushed with rage as she hurried to button herself back up, shooting Prescott a fierce glare.

"What the hell are you staring at? Have some decency."

The men in suits around them didn't dare breathe too loud. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. They were stunned. Their boss had always avoided women like the plague-when had he ever been the one getting brushed off?

This chick must have nerves of steel.

But Prescott didn't get mad. His dark eyes locked on hers, steady and unreadable as they flickered with a strange mix of curiosity, surprise, and something hot and heavy you couldn't pin down.

Finally, he said slowly, "You're right. Maybe this really was just a mix-up. A pretty damn elaborate one."

Camila felt like every hair on her body stood on end. The look he gave her-it was like she'd accidentally poked a sleeping lion. The kind that might pounce and tear her apart at any moment.

She looked away in a panic, voice shaky but fast: "Well, since this was all clearly a misunderstanding, we're good now, right? I can go?"

She didn't bolt right away, though. She was way too close to him, and that earlier struggle had fully convinced her of one thing-this guy was insanely strong. Even if she ran, she'd be caught before she made it to the door. And let's be real, that would piss him off even more.

"Of course..." Prescott's voice was soft but carried a wicked undertone as his eyes narrowed slightly. "You can't."

Camila froze.

Seriously? Was he messing with her on purpose?

She didn't even know this guy, everything had been a total mistake, and they already clarified it. Why wouldn't he let her leave?

That unreadable gaze of his-it was like a bottomless pit-that only made her more uneasy.

Then, just as he turned away, cold and towering, something inside her snapped. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest wine bottle on the table and hurled it at his back.

The room fell totally silent.

No one expected her to go that far. Not even Prescott. Everyone was frozen for a beat.

Now or never.

Camila clenched her teeth and darted for the door. Thank God she'd done horseback riding for years-her legs might look slim, but they packed serious power-and in just seconds she was out of the room.

Inside the elevator, Camila was breathless, heart pounding. Her phone buzzed.

Kendall Garland.

She quickly picked up, and Kendall's voice came through, slightly hoarse from when she'd been crying to Camila earlier: "Camila, did you seriously go to Room 2388 at Imperial Crest?"

Camila frowned. "2388? I thought it was 3288."

Up until now, she'd been convinced she'd just waltzed into the wrong room, thinking the number was 3288.

"No, it's definitely 2388, on the 23rd floor! 3288 is on the top floor-the presidential suite. That place is exclusive, like, VIP-only territory. Oh my god, Camila, please tell me you didn't actually go into 3288?!"

Thinking about everything that had happened, Camila didn't want to drag Kendall into this mess, so she quickly denied it. "Of course not. I haven't even gotten there yet. I..."

Before she could finish, the elevator shook violently beneath her feet, jerking her into a shriek.

"Hello? Camila? What's going on?! Hello?!"

Call disconnected.