Trapped by the Devilish King

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!"