Luna's pov -
"Do I look okay?" Luna asked for the third time, adjusting the collar of her ivory blouse in front of the standing mirror.
The early sunlight filtered softly into the neatly kept bedroom she shared with her best friend, Bella. Though small, the room had a gentle charm—floral curtains, a few handmade decorations.
With an oval face, fair skin, and a slim figure, Luna looked effortlessly graceful—like a gentle breeze in human form. Her long, straight hair flowed neatly down her back, and her warm eyes held a quiet determination, even if nervousness fluttered behind them.
"You look more than okay," Bella replied, lounging on the bed with her legs crossed, casually scrolling on her phone. "You look like you're about to take over that hotel and run it better than anyone else."
Luna gave a nervous chuckle, brushing down the creases in her skirt. "I just need to get through the interview without tripping over my own feet or spilling something."
Bella finally looked up and smiled. "You'll be fine. You're smart, kind, and you've worked harder than anyone I know. Plus, you look beautiful—like always."
Touched, Luna flashed her a grateful look. "Thanks, Bella."
"Now go knock 'em dead. And don't forget to bring our lunch when you're done, nobody is making food at home today!"
The taxi ride through the morning rush was nerve-racking, her mind racing through everything she'd rehearsed the night before. When she finally arrived at the Walton Regency Hotel, the towering glass and steel building seemed to stretch into the clouds. She stepped out carefully, smoothing her skirt and calming her nerves.
But just as Luna turned toward the entrance and stepped into the lobby—
Crash!
She collided with someone, and a tray of coffee cups wobbled dangerously before one tilted and splashed down the silver surface.
A sharp voice sliced through the air.
"Watch where you're going!"
Luna staggered back, eyes wide. A female employee stood before her, lips curled in annoyance, clutching the half-spilled tray.
The woman glanced toward the plush lobby seating, eyes narrowing.
"These were for the VIP guests..." She trailed off, catching herself. Her tone sharpened as she added, "Do you have any idea how important the people sitting out there are?"
"I—I'm so sorry," Luna stammered. "It was an accident—"
But the woman was already striding off, heels clicking furiously against the marble floor, leaving Luna frozen in place and burning with embarrassment.
Luna looked down. Her heart sank.
A light coffee stain had bloomed near the collar of her blouse—just enough to show.
She rubbed it gently, her hands shaking a little. Not now. Please not now.
As she stood there, struggling to keep calm near the elevator, a soft, kind voice reached her ears.
"Here, sweetheart."
A middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair and a warm smile approached, holding out a neatly folded lavender scarf.
"I saw what happened. This might help cover it."
"Oh… I couldn't—" Luna began.
But the woman insisted gently. "You've got an interview, don't you? Go in there feeling your best."
"I promise I'll return it. Washed and everything."
The woman chuckled. "Just pay it forward someday."
With a grateful smile, Luna accepted it and wrapped the scarf carefully over her collar. "Thank you… so much."
Moments later, she stepped into the manager's corridor, scarf in place, heart beating fast.
The revolving doors of the Walton Regency Hotel spun like a portal to another world.
Luna A'velair stood just outside them, clutching her thin folder of documents to her chest. Her long black hair was neatly brushed and tied in a low ponytail, her simple beige blouse tucked into her only pair of decent slacks. She'd polished her shoes three times the night before and sewn a missing button on her sleeve by candlelight—because their old generator had sputtered out again.
She drew in a breath. You've got this.
The moment she stepped into the lobby, her breath hitched.
Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead like floating constellations. The floors were so pristine she was afraid her shoes would leave a mark. A quiet melody hummed in the background—something orchestral, expensive-sounding. Hotel staff glided across the lobby like practiced dancers, every one of them sharp and composed.
Luna felt like a sparrow in a room full of swans.
She swallowed hard, nerves fluttering in her stomach, and stepped up to the gleaming marble front desk.
"E-Excuse me," she said, her voice gentle but clear. "I'm here for an interview—for the Guest Relations Officer position. My name is Luna A'velair."
The receptionist—polished, professional, not unkind—offered a quick smile. "Yes, Miss A'velair. Please have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly."
Luna nodded, clutching her folder tighter as she sat down on the edge of a velvet armchair that probably cost more than her family's monthly income. She kept her back straight, feet together, hands folded over the resume she had printed at a local library two towns over.
She didn't want to mess this up.
This job meant everything.
Back home, her parents still worked 14-hour days at their roadside eatery, serving noodle bowls to passing drivers. Her little sister dreamed of university, but even high school fees were hard enough. Luna had promised herself she'd lift them all out of that life. Slowly, if she had to. One step at a time.
And today was the first step.
The assistant opened the office door—and someone walked out.
She glanced around again, eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and anxiety. Her gaze landed on a tall man walking through the far end of the lobby, surrounded by people in suits.
He was tall, effortlessly poised, and surrounded by the kind of quiet authority that made people instinctively step aside. Alex Walton, though Luna didn't know it yet.
He passed her by without a second glance, already focused on his phone.
Luna looked up for a moment, curious… but their eyes never met.
And just like that, she unknowingly crossed paths with the boy who once caught beetles with her under the summer sun.
Only now, he was a man.
And he didn't remember her.
Not yet.
He moved with ease, like he owned the space—and maybe he did. There was something sharp about him. Handsome in a cold, sculpted way. His navy suit was flawless, his shoes practically glowing, and even his hair seemed immune to the laws of frizz or gravity.
Luna blinked.
Why… does he seem familiar?
She tilted her head slightly, frowning as a strange warmth tugged at her chest. But just as quickly, he disappeared into the elevator, and the moment passed.
She shook her head. Focus, Luna. You're here for the interview, not to daydream about rich men.
Still, as she waited—heart pounding, hands slightly damp—she couldn't shake the odd sense that something was shifting. That she was standing at the edge of something she didn't quite understand yet.
Like the way summer air felt right before a storm.
Or the shimmer of green and blue on a beetle's wings.