Trapped by the Devilish King

"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.