Trapped by the Devilish King

Prescott narrowed his dark eyes slightly. He didn't say a word, but deep down, he admired how Camila had endured the pain without a sound. He had no patience for women who were fragile and clingy-it bored him to death. The infirmary was well-equipped, so the results came out quickly. "Miss Harrington's wrist isn't fractured. With regular treatment, it should heal just fine." "Thank you, doctor." Camila tilted her face slightly, a soft and polite smile appearing on her clean, delicate features. Prescott had been watching her the whole time. The look in his eyes deepened, locked onto her face like he couldn't tear himself away. That burning stare was impossible to ignore. Camila felt uneasy under it. Her hand moved stiffly as she brushed a strand of hair back, head slightly lowered. Prescott finally pulled back his gaze a touch and casually said, "I'll be away for a while." He's leaving? Her head snapped up, her wide eyes lighting up with a glimmer of excitement. As long as this guy was out of the picture, it'd be way easier for her to make a run for it... Prescott definitely caught that flash of joy in her eyes, and it didn't sit well with him. He lifted her chin with his long fingers, his voice low and cold, "Camila, don't even think about running. You haven't seen me truly pissed off-you couldn't handle it." He was never known for having a gentle temper. "Noted," Camila replied, frowning as she brushed his hand away. She hated how he always liked to grab her face like it was nothing. But knowing just how overbearing he could be, she wasn't dumb enough to push him right now. As for what she was secretly thinking? He didn't need to know. Prescott looked at her with a satisfied smirk as she kept her eyes lowered obediently. "You're free to move around all you want here at the estate. While I'm gone, if anything comes up, talk to Beckett or Willa. They'll handle it." Willa? Who's that again?Even though Camila had her doubts, she didn't ask anything. Honestly, she just wanted Prescott gone as soon as possible. "Got it," she responded half-heartedly. Her long, shiny black hair fell softly over her shoulders, perfectly shielding her expression. Prescott cast a look down at her from above, catching a glimpse of her slender, graceful neck peeking out from behind her hair-fair and delicate, like something out of a painting. His gaze grew a little too intense. Leaning in slightly, his tall frame shadowed hers, and his long fingers moved in almost a trance as he brushed against a strand of her hair. A soft, clean scent drifted up from her hair-barely noticeable, but oddly calming, just like her. Somehow, she always managed to hush the chaos in his mind, quiet the pain he'd grown used to carrying. This woman, Camila, was different. If only she kept playing nice, he could give her everything-everything except love. "Be good and wait for me," he murmured, his low, raspy voice grazing the tip of her ear like liquid smoldering against skin. Camila's body stiffened up, her back held ramrod straight. She bit her lip, wanting to shove him away, but her clenched fists refused to budge. Don't act out. Don't be stupid. Keep calm. That was her mantra. He'd be gone soon. There was no need-zero-for her to piss him off now. But headspace was one thing-her body had a mind of its own. Caught in his overwhelming presence, she simply couldn't settle herself. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her face flushed in an instant, like someone had smeared rouge across it. The sight made Prescott's eyes darken, his throat tighten. Damn it. Why the hell was he reacting to her like this? Was he really that starved for affection? All this time keeping himself in check... and yet the moment he was around her, it all came crashing down. His expression turned a bit stormy. Prescott stared at her for a beat, then spun around and walked off without a word. Look closely and you'd see it-his proud, brisk steps were a little too stiff, like even he wasn't sure what the hell just hit him.