"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.

The elevator jolted for a moment before finally settling down.

Camila wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and reached out to press the button - nothing. She tried again and again, but it stayed dead.

"You've gotta be kidding me... seriously?" Camila felt like crying.

She hadn't done anything wrong lately, so why did she have to run into a freaking elevator malfunction?

Pulling out her phone, she tried calling for help, but when the screen lit up, it showed - no signal.

As she stared blankly at the screen in disbelief, the elevator doors creaked open.

Her eyes lit up. Was she saved?

Then she saw the man standing in front of her - and all the color drained from her face.

"You... what are you doing here?" Her voice trembled.

The elevator had just hit the third floor - she'd almost made it out - yet here he was, having somehow stopped the elevator at exactly this point. How the hell did he even know she was in this elevator?

There were several elevators in Imperial Crest Hotel. She'd even purposely picked one far from room 3288. For him to catch her with such precision, he had to have been watching the security feeds...

And surveillance in a place like Imperial Crest? Not something just anyone had access to.

This place was a six-star hotel chain that had exploded onto the scene in recent years, racking up locations around the world. Nobody knew who actually owned it, but its background was rumored to be powerful - like don't-mess-with-it powerful.

Which made the man in front of her all the more terrifying.

"Surprised?"

Prescott leaned lazily against the doorway, lips curled in a faint smirk that didn't reach his eyes. His whole vibe - icy and unreadable.

If he hadn't dodged in time earlier, it wouldn't have just been a splash of wine - she'd hurled that bottle hard enough to leave serious damage. And she dared to aim it at him? She had guts.

Camila's heart lurched. "D-Don't come any closer..."

Regret slammed in fast and hard. If she'd just kept her cool a little, this disaster wouldn't have happened.

She'd never actually met Kendall's boyfriend, but from what Kendall had told her, he was just some minor rich kid-no way he could have that kind of terrifying presence.

And the 3288 presidential suite? There's no way she could've mixed that up... not if she'd been paying even a little attention.

Prescott strolled into the elevator, calm and poised, as if absolutely nothing could touch him. The kind of guy who took control the moment he stepped into a room.

"Feeling scared now? Too late," he said, tone low and icy. "You're the first - and the last - person to ever throw wine at me."

His voice sent a chill through her bones.

Last person? Wait. What was that supposed to mean?

He... couldn't seriously be planning to kill her in here, right?

The doors slid shut. The small elevator was instantly filled with his imposing presence, shadows stretching with the silence.

Camila could barely breathe. The fear in her chest was growing.

"W-What are you doing? I-I already called my friend! If I'm not out of this hotel in ten minutes, they're calling the cops-"

"Cops?" Prescott let out a low, sarcastic laugh, amused by how naive she sounded.

"With that much nerve? Now I'm really starting to wonder who you are. Maybe it'd be better if I... helped you talk," he said, voice dark with teasing menace.

Before she could respond, a sleek handgun appeared in his hand like magic.

Her eyes widened in terror.

Prescott smirked, the gun pressed to her collarbone, slowly trailing downward, following the frantic rise and fall of her breathing...

"...I swear, you've got the wrong person." Camila's voice was shaking, almost about to crack as she tried to hold back her panic.

The cold barrel of the gun grazing her skin made her shiver uncontrollably. And with the guy standing so close, his dangerous, dark aura was suffocating.

Seriously, who pulls a gun out like it's no big deal? Was he some gang member or what?

She'd heard Meridia wasn't exactly the safest place, with shootings popping off left and right-but still, she never thought she'd actually run into one herself.

She was only twenty, hadn't even finished college yet-her life was just getting started. She didn't want to die here, not like this!

Prescott fixed his deep, unreadable eyes on her. Hearing the tremble in her voice, he narrowed his gaze slightly.

So, this audacious little woman did know how to be scared. He thought she wasn't afraid of anything.

"If you're scared, then behave yourself and answer my questions," he said flatly.

Even as he spoke, his hand didn't stop. The gun's barrel slowly traced across her smooth skin, making her flinch over and over. He leaned in closer, his handsome face exuding an unsettling calm. There wasn't any lust in his eyes-just a kind of cold amusement and indifferent cruelty.

What a jerk!

Camila was infuriated by his intrusive move, but with a freaking gun pointed at her, she had no choice but to swallow her anger.

She looked down, trying her best not to meet his gaze. His devil-may-care grin was driving her nuts; one more second looking at it and she might just deck him out of sheer rage.

"You ask," she muttered, voice dull. "I'll tell you what I know."

Prescott slid the gun out from beneath her collar, tilted it upward, and lifted her chin with the barrel. His half-lidded eyes locked onto hers-eyes wide and trembling like a startled deer.

Her eyes were large and impossibly clear, like spring water after a summer rain-dark, luminous, and strikingly defined. Her lashes were long, thick, and curled just right, the kind that seemed almost too perfect to be real.

And right now, they were trembling-delicately, helplessly-making her look even more fragile and heartbreakingly innocent.

Prescott paused-for a second, completely thrown off. His eyes stayed fixed on hers, caught in something he couldn't quite pull away from.

Too similar. If he didn't know for sure that Nina Quinn was living happily beside Alexander Blackwell, he'd almost believe those eyes had been transplanted straight from her.

But when you really looked, there were obvious differences.

Nina's eyes had always held nothing but wariness and hatred when she looked at him. In the end, she despised him.

But now, in front of him, this pair of eyes was filled with fear-yes-but not hate. No sharp resistance, no loathing. Just those trembling lashes brushing softly like feathers against something deep in his chest, making his long-frozen heart shudder unexpectedly.

Prescott's gaze darkened.

Maybe... this woman showing up was fate's twisted way of giving him something back.

Just when his body was hitting a breaking point, when he was desperate for a child to carry on his life, she appeared-these eyes so hauntingly familiar.

Camila felt her scalp prickle under his stare, unease crawling under her skin.

He seriously had her confused with someone else. Once was weird enough, but twice? Staring like this? She must really remind him of someone important.

No, no time for pointless thoughts. Get your head together, she warned herself. If she wanted to live, this was it. He was distracted-now or never.

Her hands were slick with sweat from pure nerves. This was her one shot, and if she screwed it up, it wouldn't just be a bad day-it'd be the last.

And she did it.

Faster than he could react, she yanked the gun from his hand. The cold metal was in her grip before he'd even blinked. She pointed it at him, heart thundering.

"Don't move. Hands up."

It was her first time holding a gun, and anyone saying they wouldn't be scared was lying. She tried to keep steady, but her hand was trembling like crazy, finger twitching dangerously near the trigger.

Prescott's face went even darker. That towering frame of his brought in an invisible, suffocating air pressure. The tiny elevator felt like it had dropped ten degrees, every breath thick with tension.

He stepped toward her, eyes like a storm brewing.

"I'm not exactly known for my patience," he said coldly. "And you, lady, you're poking the bear one too many times. That never ends well."