THE PLAYBOY'S THREAT

Camille's limousine ride came to an end as the vehicle pulled up to the General's grand estate. The imposing structure loomed before her, its intricately designed black gate a testament to the General's wealth and power. As if she had just stepped into a horror film, the fearsome gate swung open – welcoming her to hell.

The limousine drove through the iron gates, its tyres crunching over the gravel drive. Camille pressed her palms to her thighs, willing herself to remain composed and not break down before the General.

The limousine slowed to a stop, and a man in uniform opened her door. She stepped out, her eyes taking in the beauty of the General's grand estate. Camille didn't get a chance to complete her tour, as a soldier said to her, "Come with me."

She inhaled sharply and followed him into the main residence. Then she was escorted to the General's study.

The soldier knocked on the study door. "Your guest has arrived, sir," he announced.

"Bring her in," General Landon bellowed from inside his study, his voice gruff.

That is not a good sign, Camille thought, praying earnestly in her heart that the meeting she was about to have with the General would go well and in her favour.

The soldier opened the door, and Camille walked in. Only when she was halfway in, did she realise that her escort did not follow her in.

Camille steadied her breathing as she stood before the General, who was seated behind a massive oak desk. His piercing gaze took in every detail of her body language.

"Ah, Camille Owens," the General let out, his gaze softening, but his voice firm and controlled. "I've heard a lot about you. Specifically, that you're carrying my grandchild."

Camille gripped the side of her dress. "That's correct, sir."

"Okay," General Landon said, nodding as he returned to his seat. "A DNA test will be conducted, and we'll have our discussion afterwards."

Camille hadn't expected the General to react the way he did. Yes, she knew he was desperately looking for a grandchild, but she didn't expect him to be so relaxed about a criminal charged with the death sentence, now claiming she was pregnant with his son's child.

"That's fine by me," Camille responded, her grip on her gown loosening.

The General's gaze lingered on her for a moment – before he pressed a button on his intercom. "Ms Elizabeth, please report to my study."

Minutes later, a middle-aged woman with a kind yet firm demeanour entered the room. "Yes, sir?"

"Ms Elizabeth, this is Camille Owens. She'll be staying with us for a while. Please show her to her room and ensure she has everything she needs."

Ms Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with warmth as she smiled at Camille. "Follow me, dear."

But as Camille rose to her feet, General Landon's voice cut through the air, "If the DNA test proves that the child isn't my son's. I'll make you wish for death, because it would be a better option."

Camille gulped, her fingers tightening on her dress once more. She knew that the child was indeed Pierce's child, but still... what if? Camille fingers shivered at her sides, her mind pushing the thoughts away.

"Come with me," Ms Elizabeth said, and Camille gave her a tight smile, then followed her out of the General's study. His threats still freshed in her head.

As they walked through the estate, Camille noticed the beautiful decor and impeccable cleanliness. But, her mood shifted when Ms Elizabeth walked her through a long hallway with pictures of General Landon and the generals before him. She felt uneasy – their heated gaze seemed to be judging and shaming her for the choices she had made. She swallowed.

Ms Elizabeth led her to a cosy room with a plush bed and a large window overlooking the gardens. It was larger than her prison cell, and sincerely, she was just grateful to be out of there.

"Get some rest, dear," Ms Elizabeth said. "We'll go shopping for clothes tomorrow morning. Please wake up early."

Camille's eyes lit up at the prospect of new clothes. "Thank you, Ms Elizabeth."

Ms Elizabeth smiled, her heart constricting with pity for the young lady. She didn't know the full story, but she knew the girl had lost her father and was accused of killing him. Ms Elizabeth could tell a good person when she saw one, and she knew the moment she laid eyes on Camille that she wasn't capable of committing such an atrocity.

Ms Elizabeth left the room, and Camille immediately fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

****

The next morning, Camille woke up early, just as Ms Elizabeth instructed. She'd grown to like the lady and didn't want to disappoint her.

Ms Elizabeth arrived to collect Camille and led her through the intimidating hallway, and into the secondary living room.

Camille gasped. Rows of designer dresses stood before her. If she didn't know better, she might have thought she'd entered a boutique. "I thought we were going shopping?" she whispered to Ms Elizabeth.

Ms Elizabeth chuckled. "I never said it would be outside the estate."

Ms Elizabeth clapped her hands. A fair-skinned woman, with blue dyed hair, draped in designer wear from head to toe – waltzed in, her high-pitched voice somehow offered Camille solace that she was indeed back in the real world.

"Wow, you must be Camille?" the lady asked. "My name is Gloria, and I will be your stylist for the day."

"So, when you said shopping, you meant... that the shop would come to me?" Camille asked, sitting down on the beautiful cream-coloured sofa in the living room. Ms Elizabeth offered her fresh juice. "Precisely."

"Yes," Mrs Gloria clapped her hands, bustling with excitement. The last time she was invited to the General's estate was before the General's wife passed away. She was so thrilled to be called in yesterday evening by Ms Elizabeth.

"Alright, Ms Camille, would you like to discuss your style, or shall I pick out clothes for you, based solely on my judgement? Or, of course, there's option three: a combination of your style and my fashion sense."

Camille wasn't exactly a fashion expert. She refused to dress like a heiress should, just to spite her father – but somehow she became addicted to the boyish style she'd created for herself.

Now that she has stepped into the world of the top 1% of Ventria, she needed to look the part. "Option two."

"Excellent choice!" Mrs Gloria clapped her hands excitedly, then moved with robotic efficiency, throwing out dresses onto an empty couch, muttering words like a crazy person. "Beautiful, nope – too revealing, exquisite, perfect, no, no, no – ugh, I hate it. Yes! Gorgeous."

Each dress received barely five seconds' consideration before being tossed onto the 'bad' pile or the 'good' pile.

"I'm done," Mrs Gloria announced, standing proudly as she beamed at the clothes she had put together for Camille.

"Take these clothes to Ms Camille's room and arrange them perfectly," Ms Elizabeth instructed the maids, who had been standing aside, and they immediately went to work.

Camille stared at the maids as they packed up the pile of clothes. She thought she would only get at least five outfits, but if it was this many, does it mean the General already believed she is carrying his grandson?

"May I return to my room, or is there something else you'd like me to do, Ms Elizabeth?" Camille asked politely, standing to her feet.

"Nothing else, my dear. You may go," Ms Elizabeth responded, smiling warmly at her. "I'll let you know when breakfast is ready."

Camille thanked her, then left the living room, heading back to her room. The maids were still arranging her clothes in the wardrobe, so she sat down on the bed, waiting for them to be done so she could sleep some more.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Camille jumped up in fright. A man in his twenties stormed in, his emerald eyes blazing with anger.

"Out! All of you, out!" he barked, and the maids scurried away in fear.

Camille didn't need anyone to tell her who the man was. From the anger in his eyes she could tell.

“Pierce Landon,” Camille called, her amber eyes following his every move. If she hadn’t had so much on her plate, she might have admired the man standing before her.

He gazed at her intently. “I hear you’re carrying my child?” He let out a chuckle.

Camille stood still, her body stiff. “Yes… yes, I am.”

“Ha!” Pierce’s laughter was harsh and loud. “So you’re saying I got you pregnant?”

Camille swallowed, her airways tightening. She nodded. “Yes.”

“How dare you?” he screamed, the laughter still lingering in his eyes now burning with rage as he advanced toward her.

Camille refused to move back. She had prepared herself for this moment— she was ready.

“What do you want, Pierce?” she asked calmly, sitting on the bed, afraid her legs might give way if she stayed standing.

Pierce scoffed. “What do I want? You’re pregnant with my child — one I’m a hundred percent sure isn’t mine — and you dare ask me what I want?”

Camille met his emerald gaze. The fire dancing there was intoxicating, not intimidating, as he intended. She exhaled sharply, blaming her body’s reaction to his sharp jawline, pointed nose, and sculpted frame on the hormones.

“You’re the one barging into my room, acting like some crazy clown,” she said with a shrug.

Pierce stepped back, momentarily stunned by her boldness. No one had ever dared question Pierce Landon. And yet, he found it disturbingly attractive. His stared at her keenly, her amber irises glowing like molten gold, crimson hair spilling over her shoulders, that framed her delicate features.

But he wasn’t here to admire her. If what she said was true, then she's an enemy, and not a pleasant one.

He leaned in until his face was dangerously close to hers. She could feel his hot, angry breath on her skin; their lips were almost touching.

Her stomach twisted. He was close… too close. And the look in his eyes wasn’t just anger. It was madness.

Without warning, he grabbed her by the neck, his fingers digging into her flesh. Camille gasped, her hands flying to his, trying to pry them off. But the more she fought, the tighter his grip became.

He lowered his lips to her ear, brushing roughly against her cheek. “I might have lived a promiscuous life, but I’d never be so careless as to get anyone pregnant.”

He pulled back, staring deep into her eyes. “This pregnancy had better be a lie, Ms. Camille… or I will rip that thing out of your stomach.”

He released her, and she collapsed onto the bed, choking. A tear rolled down her cheek as she fought for air.