Trapped By The Lycan King

The night breeze was gentle, neon lights flickering like stars.

Still holding onto the address her bestie gave her, Camila Harrington hopped in a cab straight to Meridia's busiest commercial hub.

She got out in front of the Imperial Crest Hotel-seriously high-end, luxury every inch, the kind of place where only the ultra-rich could afford to hang out.

After paying the fare, Camila took a deep breath at the entrance before making her way inside the ridiculously fancy six-star hotel.

She took the elevator straight up to suite 3288 on the top floor.

Room 3288-aka, the presidential suite at the very top of Imperial Crest's 32nd floor. Over-the-top luxury packed with taste.

It wasn't just expensive, it was invitation-only. Even billionaires couldn't just book their way in.

Soft music played in the suite, flowing like a slow stream.

On the couch, a man with long legs casually crossed sat like he owned the place-tall, lean, every inch lounging into the plush cushions.

The lighting hit his face just right, deep set features, sharp lines, absurdly good-looking. Honestly, it was almost unfair-like someone hit jackpot on the "perfect face" generator.

He sat there without moving, relaxed but commanding. Those long, narrow eyes had this cold, bottomless look, like staring into some dark ocean. One glance and you could feel the pressure. The man radiated "don't-mess-with-me" energy.

Across from him, a couple of guys in tailored suits stood stiff as boards. They looked like kids about to get scolded, all nervous glances and not one having the guts to make eye contact with the guy on the couch.

Outside the door, Camila had just arrived.

She hesitated, debating how to step in-only to realize the guy hadn't even bothered to lock the door.

A sliver of light spilled through the gap. The music drifting out only made it weirder.

Camila frowned. Who the hell sets up a hook-up and doesn't even lock the damn door? She let out a slow breath and reached to push it open.