Lin Wei had never seen ceilings that tall.
The palace foyer was less a room and more a cathedral of marble, gold, and echoing silence. Even the air smelled expensive, like sandalwood mixed with something ancient.
Her suitcase wheels rattled nervously against the polished floor. She felt like a trespasser in a museum, certain any second someone would shout intruder! and drag her back to her dorm.
Instead, Hamdan's voice rang out cheerfully.
"Welcome, Cinderella. Your kingdom awaits."
Lin Wei spun. There he was—leaning casually against a column, all smug grin and tailored suit.
"This is not my kingdom," she said tightly. "This is a trap."
"Same thing," Hamdan said with a shrug. "Come, I'll give you the grand tour."
"I'd rather mop bathrooms," she muttered, trailing after him.
The tour was overwhelming: gilded hallways, gardens with fountains that looked stolen from fairy tales, and guest suites larger than entire hotels. Everywhere they walked, staff bowed or curtsied to Hamdan.
And everywhere they walked, Lin Wei felt the weight of eyes on her. Palace maids whispered. Guards frowned. Advisors stared as if she had wandered in wearing pajamas.
By the time they reached the west wing, her nerves were fraying.
"Relax," Hamdan said, noticing her stiff posture. "They'll get used to you."
"They look at me like I smuggled contraband into the palace."
"Did you?"
She shot him a glare. "Only disinfectant spray."
"Deadly weapon," Hamdan said solemnly.
They turned a corner—and almost collided with a man coming from the opposite direction.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in flowing white robes with gold trim. His features were sharper than Hamdan's, with eyes like polished obsidian—steady, watchful, commanding.
"Lin Wei," Hamdan said quickly, "this is my uncle, Prince Omar Al Rashid."
"Uncle?" Lin Wei blinked. The man looked maybe a year older than Hamdan.
Omar gave a faint smile, bowing his head slightly. "Technically, yes. My father remarried late. The family tree is complicated." His gaze lingered on her, curious. "And who might you be?"
Before Hamdan could speak, Lin Wei straightened. "Housekeeping staff, sir."
Something flickered in Omar's eyes—amusement, maybe admiration. "Housekeeping? And yet you walk beside my nephew as if you belong here."
Hamdan stiffened. "She's under my employment. Personal consultant."
Omar ignored him, still watching Lin Wei. "And how do you find our palace so far?"
Lin Wei hesitated. "Intimidating. Like a museum where you're not allowed to touch anything."
Omar chuckled. "A fair description. Though most people pretend to be dazzled."
"I don't pretend well," Lin Wei admitted.
Omar's smile widened, genuine now. "Good. We have enough pretenders here."
Hamdan's jaw tightened. "We should continue the tour."
"Of course," Omar said politely. But as Lin Wei followed Hamdan, she felt Omar's gaze linger a moment longer.
That evening, Lin Wei was summoned to assist with arranging flowers in one of the reception halls. She knelt by a vase, carefully adjusting stems, when a shadow fell over her.
"Do you always work with such precision?"
She looked up. Omar again.
Lin Wei straightened, brushing her hands on her uniform. "Habit. My job is to make messes disappear."
"And yet you notice details most people overlook," Omar said, studying the arrangement. "You placed the lilies slightly apart so the fragrance doesn't overwhelm. Clever."
Lin Wei blinked. "Most people wouldn't notice that."
"I notice everything," Omar said simply. "It's necessary, in this family."
His tone carried weight, and for a moment she glimpsed the steel beneath his calm exterior. But then he smiled again, softer this time. "You have an artist's hand. Not a cleaner's."
Heat rose to her cheeks. "I used to study art. Before… life got in the way."
"Life often does," Omar murmured. His gaze was steady, warm, without the mocking edge Hamdan always carried. "But sometimes, life gives second chances."
Lin Wei looked away, unsettled. No one had ever said it like that—not as pity, but as recognition.
Across the hall, Hamdan stormed in.
"Cinderella! What are you doing here?"
Lin Wei frowned. "Arranging flowers. Obviously."
Hamdan's eyes darted to Omar, then back to her. "With him?"
Omar raised an eyebrow. "She was doing her work. I merely observed."
Hamdan's jaw flexed. "Observed a little too closely."
Lin Wei crossed her arms. "Are you jealous?"
"Jealous?" Hamdan scoffed. "Of him? He's practically ancient."
Omar chuckled. "One year older, Hamdan. Hardly ancient."
Lin Wei bit back a smile.
Hamdan noticed—and his scowl deepened. "Cinderella, you're coming with me. Now."
Lin Wei sighed, setting down the flowers. "You're unbearable, you know that?"
"Unbearable but effective," Hamdan muttered, dragging her away.
Later, in the suite prepared for her, Lin Wei unpacked her modest belongings: a few clothes, sketchbooks, a framed photo of her mother.
A knock sounded at the door.
When she opened it, Omar stood there, holding a book.
"For you," he said simply.
Lin Wei blinked. "What is it?"
"A collection of Persian poetry. You mentioned art. I thought you might appreciate beauty in words as well."
She accepted it, startled. "Thank you. That's… very thoughtful."
Omar inclined his head. "Thoughtful is easy, when someone deserves it."
Before she could reply, Hamdan appeared down the hall, eyes narrowing at the sight of Omar outside her room.
"What's this?" he demanded.
"A gift," Omar said calmly. "Poetry."
"Poetry?" Hamdan repeated, incredulous. "What are we, in the twelfth century?"
"It endures longer than Rolex watches," Omar said smoothly.
Lin Wei smothered a laugh behind her hand.
Hamdan glared at both of them. "Unbelievable. My own uncle, stealing my—" He stopped abruptly, catching himself.
"Your what?" Omar asked lightly.
"My… consultant," Hamdan finished lamely. "She works for me."
"She speaks for herself," Omar countered. He turned back to Lin Wei. "Enjoy the book."
With a polite nod, he walked away.
Hamdan stared after him, fuming.
Lin Wei looked at him dryly. "What's wrong, Your Highness? Afraid of competition?"
"Competition?" Hamdan scoffed. "Please. He's—" He waved vaguely. "—Omar."
Lin Wei raised an eyebrow. "And you're rattled."
"I am not rattled!" Hamdan insisted. But his voice was too sharp, his posture too rigid.
Lin Wei smiled faintly, opening the poetry book. "Funny. You sound rattled."
That night, Hamdan paced his chambers, restless. For the first time in his life, chaos wasn't comforting.
Because chaos might actually cost him something he wasn't ready to lose.