The vacuum roared like a jet engine, but Lin Wei didn't flinch. She'd worked in the Burj Al Arab for two years, and if there was one thing she had learned, it was this: never let the guests see you sweat. Literally or figuratively.
She pushed the vacuum nozzle under the velvet couch, humming a Mandarin lullaby her grandmother used to sing, when something sharp clicked against the metal tube.
She pulled back.
A diamond cufflink, the size of a thumbnail, rolled out from under the couch and winked up at her with smug brilliance.
Lin Wei sighed. "Of course. Just lying around like pocket change. Must be nice." She picked it up with gloved fingers and placed it neatly on the glass coffee table, beside an empty champagne flute still wearing a ring of pink lipstick that wasn't the prince's.
The suite looked like a hurricane had been trapped in here overnight. Silk ties tangled with half-opened gift boxes, empty perfume bottles lay like fallen soldiers on the marble floor, and on the grand piano, someone had scribbled obscenities in eyeliner across the lid.
Her supervisor's voice echoed in her head: Always maintain professional composure. The guest is royalty, not your roommate.
Royalty. Right.
Because only a prince could afford to trash a $15,000-a-night suite and then call it "Tuesday."
Lin Wei rolled her eyes heavenward. "Honestly, if money grew on palm trees, this guy's got an entire forest."
She bent to gather the champagne bottles, when a voice, deep and smooth as desert whiskey, rolled across the room.
"You missed a spot."
Lin Wei froze.
She straightened slowly, her heart thudding. By the balcony doors, framed by the glittering skyline of Dubai, stood the man himself—Prince Hamdan Al Rashid.
He wasn't dressed like a prince. No ceremonial robe, no jeweled dagger at his waist. Just dark jeans, a half-unbuttoned linen shirt, and a lazy smirk that made her want to both punch him and check her reflection.
He leaned one shoulder against the glass, watching her with the kind of arrogant ease that said he had never once in his life picked up after himself.
"Excuse me?" Lin Wei said, clutching the champagne bottle like it was pepper spray.
Hamdan's smirk widened. "The carpet. You missed a spot." He pointed to an invisible speck with all the seriousness of a man declaring war.
Lin Wei followed his finger, then looked back at him, deadpan. "Your Highness, if the carpet has one stain less than the number of scandals attached to your name, I'd call it a miracle."
For a split second, silence.
Then—he laughed. A low, warm sound that filled the space between them.
"Spicy," he said approvingly. "Most people bow or stammer. You—" he waved vaguely at her uniform, the gray housekeeping polo, the sensible shoes—"you sass me about stains."
"I don't sass, sir," Lin Wei said, stacking bottles with military precision. "I enforce order. Somebody has to."
Hamdan tilted his head, studying her like she was some exotic artifact unearthed in the desert. "Order. Interesting. And here I thought life was better with a little chaos."
She straightened, meeting his gaze. His eyes were a stormy hazel, like sand when the sun hit it just before a storm. Dangerous eyes. Eyes that said trouble.
"Well," Lin Wei said crisply, "lucky for you, chaos is free. Order? That'll cost extra."
Hamdan barked out another laugh. "God, you're entertaining. What's your name?"
"Staff don't give names, sir."
"Then I'll call you Cinderella."
"I don't wear glass slippers," she shot back. "Just steel-toed shoes. Very effective for kicking."
The prince's grin widened. "Even better."
Lin Wei bent down again, trying to ignore the prickling heat crawling up her neck. This was just another spoiled guest, she told herself. The kind who thought the world bent to their moods. The kind who probably didn't know what laundry detergent smelled like.
But when she reached for another crumpled paper ball on the floor, her hand stilled.
It wasn't trash.
It was a document—thick paper, edges creased, filled with sketches and handwritten notes. Her Mandarin-trained eyes scanned the messy English scribbles: "Ecological impact… coral reef destruction… alternative energy proposal…"
Lin Wei frowned. This wasn't party confetti. It was a serious government project draft.
Before she could process, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Put that down."
She looked up. Hamdan was no longer smirking. His jaw had hardened, his eyes like flint.
"That's classified," he said, striding forward.
Lin Wei held the paper protectively, her professional instinct kicking in. "It was on the floor, sir. According to hotel policy—"
"Forget policy." He stopped inches from her, the scent of expensive cologne mingling with sun-warmed skin. He was taller up close, broad-shouldered, every inch of him carved by privilege and discipline. "That paper isn't garbage."
Her chin lifted. "Then maybe Your Highness should treat it like it isn't."
Something flickered in his eyes—anger, surprise… respect?
He reached for the paper, but Lin Wei stepped back. "You can sign for it," she said briskly, pulling out the tiny hotel-issued notebook she always carried. "Guest acknowledgment of property recovery. Otherwise, housekeeping can't be held responsible for—"
Hamdan blinked. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious." She flipped the notebook open, pen poised. "Date, time, your signature."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Then the prince did something she hadn't expected.
He smiled. Slowly. Dangerously. Like a predator discovering his prey had teeth.
"Oh, Cinderella," he murmured, plucking the pen from her fingers, "you have no idea what you've just started."