Trapped by the Devilish King

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?