Falling for Mr. Full-of-Himself

Caelport City, the sprawling metropolis and capital of Lioren, buzzed with its usual chaos—cars honking, engines roaring, and crowds moving in a constant rush. From the backseat of a sleek black Bentley, Alex Walton stared through the tinted window, his chiseled jaw set in quiet irritation. His long fingers tapped against his knee in perfect rhythm. Time mattered to him. More than most things. But just as he was about to speak to his driver, a glint of light outside caught his eye. A child sat in the backseat of a nearby car, giggling as the child twirled a shiny insect-shaped pendant between his fingers. The delicate sparkle of it—gold and green—triggered a flicker in his memory. That shimmer. That summer. The Jewel Beetle. The countryside is as peaceful as usual, under the warmth of summer, a world away from the busy life of the city. The breeze rustled through wildflowers and golden fields, the air filled with the hum of cicadas and the distant clatter of an old lady restaurant kitchen. In a small roadside garden near the Walton family's secluded summer farmhouse, a six-year-old boy with neat hair and far-too-formal clothes for the countryside stood awkwardly, eyes fixed on a girl crouched in the grass. She had long, straight black hair, tied loosely with a pink ribbon, and wore a faded summer dress patched at the edges. Her hands were cupped carefully over something. "What are you doing?" the boy asked, tilting his head. The girl looked up, eyes bright with excitement. "Shhh! You'll scare it away!" He stepped closer, curiosity overtaking shyness. "Scare what?" She grinned and opened her hands just enough to reveal a shimmering insect crawling slowly across her palms. "It's a Jewel Beetle," she whispered. "Look how shiny it is! It's like a living gem." The boy's eyes widened. He'd seen many expensive things—watches, pens, even sculptures—but none had made his heart skip like the green and blue shimmer of that beetle on her hand. "Can I... hold it?" he asked. "Only if you're gentle," she said seriously. "It doesn't like loud people." He held out his hands, and she carefully transferred the beetle over. It tickled his palm. The boy's lips curved into a smile—small, rare, genuine. "I'm Luna," she said suddenly, brushing her hands off on her dress. "Alex," he replied, then after a pause, added, "My parents say I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." Luna giggled. "I shared my things with you, so we're already friends." From that day on, every summer when Alex visited his grandparents' farmhouse, he'd sneak away to meet Luna. They'd catch insects, build tiny forts, and share stories and cold watermelon slices in the shade. She never asked about his expensive shoes or why he always looked so serious. And he never told her about the pressure waiting back home. It was the only time in his childhood when he felt truly free. Over time, Alex began to develop a quiet childhood crush on Luna—but he never said a word. Everything was still too new, too undefined, for him to fully understand what he felt. But when Alex turned ten, the visits stopped. He never said goodbye. And she never knew why he never came back. Yet, in the quietest corners of his heart, the memory of the girl with the Jewel Beetle remained—his first childhood crush, untouched and unforgotten, like a summer preserved in glass. Present time. "Sir," his driver, Dave, glanced into the rearview mirror, "The traffic's clearing now. We should be moving smoothly from here." Alex glanced at his Jacob & Co. Astronomia watch, the delicate tourbillon rotating beneath the sapphire crystal. His gaze remained cool, voice calmer than his thoughts. "Good," he said simply, adjusting the cuff of his navy suit. The Bentley soon slid into the executive parking area of the Walton Regency Hotel—a grand 5-star flagship nestled in the heart of the city. Dave stepped out and circled around, but Alex had already unbuckled and stepped out himself, his polished Oxfords gleaming against the pavement. He gave his suit jacket a sharp tug, smoothing the fabric against his lean, broad-shouldered frame before walking forward with confident strides. Every movement was sharp, clean—an embodiment of the cultivated aura expected from the heir to a billion-dollar empire. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "This is the aura of a successful man," he told himself proudly. Not out loud, of course. That would be absurd. Deep down, Alex Walton was a little childish—not in any damaging way, but in a funny, quietly narcissistic way. The sort of man who occasionally admired his own reflection in passing mirrors and mentally awarded himself invisible points for pulling off the perfect look or saying the exact right thing. No one around him would ever suspect it. To them, he was elegance and control wrapped in expensive wool. But inside? He was a perfectionist who took great private joy in being—well, impressively perfect. As the glass doors slid open, the entire hotel reception team stood at attention. At the center stood Kim Han, the veteran hotel manager, flanked by senior staff members. The Walton Hotel chain operates under Walton Hotels Private Limited. With over 350 locations across Lioren, and more than 25 international branches worldwide, the brand has established itself as a global name in hospitality. The hotels are divided into three distinct categories, each named after the prestigious Walton family. The Walton Regency Hotels cater to the ultra-wealthy, offering unmatched luxury and exclusivity. The Grand Regal Hotels serve upper-class guests, blending elegance with premium comfort. The Velvet Hotels are tailored for middle-class travelers, providing quality service at accessible prices. "Good morning, Mr. Walton!" Kim greeted with a deep bow, and the staff followed in unison. Alex nodded slightly, raising a hand. "No need for formalities. Let's walk. Start the updates." Kim hurried to match his pace. "Yes, sir. We've completed the redesign of the Presidential Suite on the top floor. The feedback from last week's VIP client was overwhelmingly positive." Alex didn't slow. "What about the complaints from the spa two weeks ago?" Kim cleared his throat. "Handled, sir. We replaced the faulty sauna unit, and issued vouchers to the affected clients. I personally apologized." "Good," Alex said, his tone crisp but not unkind. He glanced at a passing server whose bowtie was slightly askew. "Attention to detail," he said quietly. The server froze mid-step, bowing deeply, "I-I apologize, sir." Alex gave a tiny nod. Kim leaned in and whispered, "I'll remind the staff about uniform checks." They entered the elevator, the team trailing behind like disciplined shadows. "How's occupancy?" Alex asked as the doors closed. "Eighty-nine percent, sir. We're fully booked this weekend due to the business summit in the city." "And staff retention?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. Kim hesitated, then answered, "Ninety-two percent. One resignation in Guest Relations Officer (GRO) — no Ideal Choice—but we've already found a replacement. She's interviewing today, actually. A fresh hotel management graduate but has experience." Alex's brow lifted slightly in curiosity. "Hmm. What's her name?" "Luna A'velair," Kim replied. "She seems promising. Her resume stood out—top of her class, multiple part-time stints in hospitality." Alex didn't react, but somewhere, faintly, a memory tugged at the back of his mind. "Make sure she's interviewed properly," he said. "We don't lower standards." "Of course, sir," Kim nodded respectfully. As the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the executive lounge floor, Alex adjusted his tie with practiced elegance, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Let's make this perfect," he murmured under his breath—half to himself, half to the perfectionist child still buried deep inside.