Lin Wei had a sinking feeling the moment her supervisor called her into the staff office.
Usually, this room meant two things:
You were getting a new assignment.
You were in trouble.
Judging by the way her supervisor nervously twisted her pen and avoided eye contact, Lin Wei suspected it was number two.
"Lin," the woman began carefully, "there's been… a special request."
Lin Wei's brow furrowed. "A request?"
"Yes. From… His Highness, Prince Hamdan."
Every muscle in Lin Wei's body stiffened. "No."
The supervisor blinked. "Excuse me?"
"No," Lin Wei repeated firmly. "I refuse."
Her supervisor winced. "Lin, this isn't optional. The prince has specifically asked that you be assigned to his suite only. Effective immediately."
Lin Wei's jaw dropped. "That's not how rotations work."
"Normally, no," the supervisor admitted. "But he's… well, he's royalty."
Lin Wei pinched the bridge of her nose. "So because he has a crown, I lose my sanity?"
The supervisor gave her a sympathetic look. "Consider it an honor."
"Consider it a nightmare," Lin Wei muttered.
When she pushed open the door to Suite 2703 that afternoon, she wasn't surprised to find Hamdan waiting like a cat expecting cream.
"Cinderella," he drawled, rising from the couch. "Welcome back. I was afraid the hotel might assign me someone dull."
Lin Wei marched past him, cart rattling. "Congratulations, sir. You've successfully downgraded my career into babysitting your chaos."
Hamdan grinned, clearly delighted. "Oh, I like that. Chaos babysitter. Should I put it on your name tag?"
Lin Wei gave him a flat look. "Do that, and I'll clean your mouth with disinfectant spray."
He laughed, the sound annoyingly warm. "See? You're wasted on vacuuming. You should be my personal staff."
"I'd rather mop airport bathrooms," Lin Wei shot back.
"Don't be dramatic," Hamdan said, following her as she attacked the coffee table with a cloth. "Think of it—me, ordering chaos. You, enforcing order. A perfect partnership."
"More like a doomed experiment," she said, scrubbing harder.
Ten minutes later, Hamdan flopped onto the couch, watching her work with open amusement.
"You know," he said, "I could just hire you privately. Pay you ten times your salary. Move you into the palace."
Lin Wei froze mid-swipe. Slowly, she turned her head, eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Hamdan said casually. "Live-in consultant. You'd keep me organized. In exchange, I give you money, comfort, and… perhaps some excitement."
Lin Wei's jaw tightened. "That's not a job description. That's a kidnapping with extra steps."
Hamdan laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. You'd love the palace."
"I love my dorm room," Lin Wei said flatly.
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? That shoebox with peeling paint and a broken fan?"
Her eyes widened. "How do you—"
"I made inquiries," he interrupted smoothly. "A prince must know his staff."
"That's not staff," she snapped. "That's surveillance."
Hamdan leaned back, smirk widening. "And yet you're not denying the fan is broken."
Lin Wei opened her mouth, closed it again, then scowled. "That's not the point."
The banter might have ended there—if not for the "incident with the shoes."
As Lin Wei bent to vacuum beneath the sofa, her hand brushed against something soft. She pulled it out and froze.
A pair of glittering high-heeled shoes. Women's size small.
Her eyes flicked to Hamdan.
He had the audacity to look unbothered. "Ah, yes. Those belong to a… friend."
Lin Wei raised an eyebrow. "A friend who leaves without her shoes?"
"She was… in a hurry."
"In such a hurry she forgot her feet?"
Hamdan winced, then chuckled. "You really don't miss anything, do you?"
"Not when it's sparkly evidence on the floor," Lin Wei said, tossing the shoes onto the couch. "Perhaps your Highness should invest in a lost-and-found box."
He grinned. "Why, Cinderella, are you jealous?"
"Jealous?" Lin Wei barked a laugh. "Of what? Someone else's poor taste in footwear?"
"Ouch," Hamdan said, clutching his chest. "That's cold."
"Cold is disinfectant. You could use some."
By the time Lin Wei finished the suite, she was ready to collapse. She grabbed her cart and headed for the door, but Hamdan's voice stopped her.
"Wait."
She turned, weary. "What now?"
Hamdan's smirk had softened, replaced by something more serious. "I meant what I said earlier. Come work for me. At the palace."
Lin Wei blinked. "You're insane."
"Maybe," he admitted. "But I can't sleep. Haven't for months. My rooms are always too quiet, too empty. But when you're around, with your fussing and lecturing and rules—" He hesitated, the words awkward on his tongue. "I actually rest."
For once, Lin Wei was speechless.
She stared at him, searching for the punchline. But there wasn't one. His eyes, usually dancing with arrogance, looked oddly earnest.
"You're saying," she managed finally, "that my nagging cures insomnia."
Hamdan shrugged. "Miracles come in strange forms."
Lin Wei let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet," he said softly, "you believe me."
She opened her mouth to retort—but shut it again. Because the truth was, last night when she'd left, she had noticed something strange. The suite had been quiet. Peaceful. As if the stormy prince had finally exhaled.
And that worried her.
Because the last thing she needed was to matter to a man like him.
Later that night, back in her dorm, Lin Wei tossed and turned on her narrow bed.
She told herself she was imagining it. That the prince's insomnia wasn't her problem. That she should keep her head down, earn her salary, and stay out of royal business.
But her mind kept drifting back to his words.
"When you're around, I actually rest."
The memory of his sketch surfaced too—the waves, the word Mother.
Lin Wei pressed a pillow over her face. "Absolutely not," she whispered into the darkness.
But her gut told her otherwise.
The next morning, her supervisor called her in again.
"Lin," she said nervously, "the palace has sent an official request. You're being transferred to His Highness's service, effective immediately."
Lin Wei's eyes widened. "What?"
Her supervisor spread her hands helplessly. "It's out of my control. Orders from above."
"No," Lin Wei said firmly. "I refuse."
"You can't refuse," the supervisor said, almost apologetic. "It's royal protocol."
Lin Wei sank into the chair, head in her hands.
Somewhere, she was sure, Prince Hamdan was smirking.
And she hated—absolutely hated—that a tiny part of her already knew she was about to lose this battle.