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?"

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?"