The next morning.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow across the spacious white bed where a woman lay motionless.

Her long hair was spread out messily over the pillow. Under the warm light of dawn, her delicate, fair face seemed to shimmer with a golden hue. She looked calm and beautiful, with a touch of elegance.

Camila slowly opened her eyes, frowning slightly.

As soon as she saw the unfamiliar surroundings, she froze for a second. Where... was she?

The room was huge and tastefully decorated. Subtle greys blended with pale pinks, giving off a cozy, soothing vibe. Every little detail screamed luxury and deliberate design.

This definitely wasn't a hotel room. So where the hell was she?

Camila pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying hard to remember.

Right. Last night Kendall had called her out to catch a cheating boyfriend at a hotel. Then everything spiraled into one big messy misunderstanding, and somehow she'd crossed paths with a dangerously mysterious man.

She even remembered him pulling a gun on her in the elevator... and then? Her memory just blanked.

Did someone come to her rescue?

Or-horrifying thought-did that creepy man take advantage of her after she passed out?

Her heart jumped at the thought and she flung off the covers in a panic. When she saw that she was still wearing the same clothes from last night, she let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Still, something didn't sit right. Not reassured, she quickly got off the bed and headed to the bathroom.

After checking herself over thoroughly, Camila finally relaxed for real. Nothing had happened. She was still unharmed.

She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face before stepping out. Just then, a knock came from the door, jolting her nerves again.

"Who is it?"

"Madam, sorry to disturb you. I'm the housemaid. I brought some clothes for you."

It was a woman's voice. Camila immediately felt less tense.

"The door's open. You can come in."

An older maid walked in, balancing a tray. On it were a brand-new dress and a full set of undergarments-all clearly designer and worth a small fortune.

"Madam, these are fresh clothes Mr. Ellington asked me to prepare for you. Please feel free to get cleaned up first. He'll be waiting to have breakfast with you."

Camila frowned. "Sorry, but... where exactly am I? And who is this 'Mr.' you're talking about? Do I know him?"

"This is Mr. Ellington's private estate. He's the owner here. It's getting late, Madam, you should freshen up first. Mr. Ellington doesn't like to wait."

Clearly, the maid wasn't planning on spilling anything else. Seeing that she wasn't getting any answers, Camila gave up and silently took the clothes.

She turned and stepped into the bathroom.

Inside, everything was laid out neatly-premium toiletries, warm towels, the works. After a quick shower and some grooming, she felt a lot more human.

Looking down at the outfit-a fitted Chanel suit that hugged her just right-she couldn't stop her mind from spinning. Who was this mystery man the maid kept referring to?

And how the hell did he know her size? Even the undergarments fit like a glove.

The thought made her skin crawl a little. She patted her cheeks, trying to shake off the unease before opening the bathroom door.

"Madam, this way please," the maid greeted her with a polite smile, motioning for her to follow.

"Wait," Camila called out before they started walking. "Did you happen to see a bag? Dark blue, about this big, crossbody style?"

She gestured with her hands to show the size.

That bag meant everything to her-phone, passport, license, wallet, ID cards, pretty much her entire life was in there. If she really was still in Meridia, losing that stuff would be a nightmare.

"Don't worry, ma'am. Mr. Ellington had someone take care of your belongings. Everything's untouched."

Camila let out a quiet breath. "Thank you."

The maid led the way, and she followed, taking in the extravagant interior with every step. The hallway was insane-expensive paintings on the walls, antique decor hanging from the ceiling, even the carpet underfoot looked handcrafted and stupidly expensive.

As she walked, her slender brows furrowed unconsciously.

Who exactly was this man?

Her mind flashed back to the night before-that dangerously charming guy she'd clashed with.

Could it... be him?

Top floor, sky garden.

The air was crisp, the setting elegant. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, curling lightly from the pot.

Prescott lounged lazily on a wicker couch, morning light casting a golden hue across his features. Under the sun, his light-reflecting eyes looked even deeper, like the sea-distant, mysterious, and impossible to look away from.

From a distance, Beckett Fraser walked over. The relaxed look on Prescott's face made Beckett think he was in a good mood-must have something to do with the young woman he brought back last night, right?

After all, when everyone saw him carrying her out of the car, the whole place practically buzzed. It was the first time in two years he had ever brought a woman home. Naturally, people got curious and started whispering guesses about her identity.

"Sir, I've got the file on the lady here. Everything's been looked into; you might want to take a look."

Beckett approached with a folder in hand and passed it over respectfully.

Prescott took it, flipped through casually, his slender fingers brushing over the pages, skimming quickly.

"Camila Harrington. That's quite the name."

"Yes, sir. Very unique. Her mother named her after a girl who saved her life during an accident-someone who showed up like a guardian angel and disappeared without a trace. Later, when she found out she was pregnant, she chose the name Camila-after a figure in Latin folklore known for purity, grace, and protection."

"Huh. That's actually kind of interesting." Prescott handed the file back, took a sip of coffee, and asked, "The doctor's been notified?"

"Yes, sir. All the doctors are on standby. As soon as Miss Harrington arrives, they can start the examination."

"Good." Prescott set the cup down. "Tell Paul Hartwell to stop looking for another candidate-it's her."

"But sir, she hasn't even been cleared yet. What if-"

"There won't be a 'what if.'" Prescott cut him short. "The background check's already thorough enough. If there were health issues, they'd be in the file."

"Understood. I'll get it done right away." Beckett gave a nod and backed out.

Meanwhile, Camila was being led upstairs by a housekeeper just as Beckett came down.

She didn't know who he was, but seeing how respectful the staff were around him, and how well put-together he looked-tailored suit, refined demeanor, clean-cut good looks-she assumed he was the owner of the place.

Beckett noticed the assumption in her eyes and smiled knowingly.

"Miss Harrington, welcome. I'm the steward of this estate. If you ever need anything, just let me know. The master's been waiting for you upstairs-best not keep him too long."

Camila was caught off guard. A steward this refined? Just how influential was the man who owned this estate?

She felt a flicker of nerves, though she kept them hidden. Offering a polite smile, she said, "Thank you for the heads-up, sir."

The housekeeper led her to the top floor.

The smell of coffee hit her first, rich and inviting. The garden was beautifully arranged with all kinds of plants, the breeze rustling through them filling the air with freshness-it was the kind of peace that made people want to just take a deep breath and soak it all in.

Clearly, whoever lived here had a serious taste for the good life.

While Camila was taking in the space, the housekeeper slipped away quietly.

Because of the angle she was standing at, Camila hadn't noticed the dining table set up on the high platform. Just as she turned around, a deep, smooth voice came from behind.

"What are you spacing out for? Come over here."

She jumped a little. That voice...

She quickly turned around. "It's you!"

Prescott was lounging at the far end of the elevated dining terrace, about ten meters away, looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting a soft glow around him. That sharp, dangerously handsome face of his looked even more striking in the light, as if it had been airbrushed for a shoot.

Compared to the cold and lethal aura she'd seen on him last night, this version of him felt a little more... human. Chill, even. Almost domestic.

Camila quietly observed him and thought, Okay, maybe he does seem kind of normal now.

Yeah. Normal. Like an actual person.

Which was a complete upgrade from last night when he came off more like some devil incarnate. The kind of dangerous that makes your lungs freeze up.

Camila didn't take a step forward. Her lashes fluttered as she cautiously asked, "So... where exactly am I? And last night, you..."

Passing out in the elevator for no apparent reason-her number one suspect? The man right in front of her.

She'd always been in top shape, hardly ever got sick, and with over a decade of horseback riding under her belt, fainting out of nowhere was just not in her script.

Seeing her hang back, Prescott closed the gap himself, walking toward her.

"This is my private estate," he said smoothly. "You fainted in the elevator last night. I brought you back. You should be thanking me, you know. If I hadn't stepped in, you'd probably be waking up somewhere nasty, crying your eyes out."

There was a casual edge to his tone, but that lazy confidence held a kind of swagger that made it impossible to ignore.

Camila's thoughts tensed. He clearly dodged her actual question-the precise location of the estate. He was deliberately vague. What was he hiding?

She instinctively stepped back a bit, keeping some space between them. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Even when she was skeptical, her voice was naturally soft and gentle. No edge could completely harden the graceful tone she was born with, making her sound slightly doubtful rather than confrontational.

Prescott leaned lazily against the railing, hands in his pockets, his intense gaze locked on her.

"You were drugged last night," he said calmly. "Don't tell me you didn't feel anything?"

She definitely felt it-didn't need anyone to tell her she'd been drugged. No way she'd just collapse out of the blue, not with how healthy she's always been.

But the real question was, who would drug her?

And this kind of sedative wasn't something just anyone could get their hands on, right?

Thinking about it, the only shady person who'd do something like that was that spoiled brat Jack.

But he shouldn't even know she was in Meridia, should he?

Camila's head was a mess. She looked up without thinking and-bam-locked eyes with Prescott's intense, probing stare.

Her heart skipped a beat. Before she could stop herself, the words just flew out. "Was it you? Did you drug me?"

The moment the question left her lips, Camila immediately regretted it. Seriously, of all the people to accuse, why him?

He clearly wasn't the type to have a good temper, and calling him out without proof? Not her smartest move-especially when she was still on his turf...

Before she could spiral further, a hand grabbed her chin, hard. She winced from the pain and shot the man a glare.

What the hell was wrong with this guy? Couldn't he just talk like a normal person? Why always gotta get physical? So annoying.

She was just about to slap his hand away when Prescott's voice came, low and cold-like someone turned the AC all the way down and it was running through her veins.

"Camila, don't flatter yourself. You really think you're that irresistible? You're not even close."

He let go right after that, turned around like he couldn't be bothered to waste another second on her.

Even just looking at his back gave her chills-he had this aloof, dangerous vibe, like a storm brewing right under the surface. Camila couldn't help but shiver.

This man was legit terrifying. When he got upset... yeah, definitely not someone you'd wanna mess with.

Wait, hold up. Did he just call her by her name?

That immediately set off alarms in her head. She didn't even care if he was still pissed-she rushed up to him, trying to catch up with his long strides and grabbed a fistful of his shirt in panic.

"...How do you know my name? Did you go through my stuff?"