Trapped by the Devilish King

The elevator jolted for a moment before finally settling down.

Camila wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and reached out to press the button - nothing. She tried again and again, but it stayed dead.

"You've gotta be kidding me... seriously?" Camila felt like crying.

She hadn't done anything wrong lately, so why did she have to run into a freaking elevator malfunction?

Pulling out her phone, she tried calling for help, but when the screen lit up, it showed - no signal.

As she stared blankly at the screen in disbelief, the elevator doors creaked open.

Her eyes lit up. Was she saved?

Then she saw the man standing in front of her - and all the color drained from her face.

"You... what are you doing here?" Her voice trembled.

The elevator had just hit the third floor - she'd almost made it out - yet here he was, having somehow stopped the elevator at exactly this point. How the hell did he even know she was in this elevator?

There were several elevators in Imperial Crest Hotel. She'd even purposely picked one far from room 3288. For him to catch her with such precision, he had to have been watching the security feeds...

And surveillance in a place like Imperial Crest? Not something just anyone had access to.

This place was a six-star hotel chain that had exploded onto the scene in recent years, racking up locations around the world. Nobody knew who actually owned it, but its background was rumored to be powerful - like don't-mess-with-it powerful.

Which made the man in front of her all the more terrifying.

"Surprised?"

Prescott leaned lazily against the doorway, lips curled in a faint smirk that didn't reach his eyes. His whole vibe - icy and unreadable.

If he hadn't dodged in time earlier, it wouldn't have just been a splash of wine - she'd hurled that bottle hard enough to leave serious damage. And she dared to aim it at him? She had guts.

Camila's heart lurched. "D-Don't come any closer..."

Regret slammed in fast and hard. If she'd just kept her cool a little, this disaster wouldn't have happened.

She'd never actually met Kendall's boyfriend, but from what Kendall had told her, he was just some minor rich kid-no way he could have that kind of terrifying presence.

And the 3288 presidential suite? There's no way she could've mixed that up... not if she'd been paying even a little attention.

Prescott strolled into the elevator, calm and poised, as if absolutely nothing could touch him. The kind of guy who took control the moment he stepped into a room.

"Feeling scared now? Too late," he said, tone low and icy. "You're the first - and the last - person to ever throw wine at me."

His voice sent a chill through her bones.

Last person? Wait. What was that supposed to mean?

He... couldn't seriously be planning to kill her in here, right?

The doors slid shut. The small elevator was instantly filled with his imposing presence, shadows stretching with the silence.

Camila could barely breathe. The fear in her chest was growing.

"W-What are you doing? I-I already called my friend! If I'm not out of this hotel in ten minutes, they're calling the cops-"

"Cops?" Prescott let out a low, sarcastic laugh, amused by how naive she sounded.

"With that much nerve? Now I'm really starting to wonder who you are. Maybe it'd be better if I... helped you talk," he said, voice dark with teasing menace.

Before she could respond, a sleek handgun appeared in his hand like magic.

Her eyes widened in terror.

Prescott smirked, the gun pressed to her collarbone, slowly trailing downward, following the frantic rise and fall of her breathing...