The Little Prince Failed to Seduce and Got Hooked Instead - Chapter 2

Returning to the penthouse suite of his five-star hotel, Shen Yanci tore off his tie and carelessly tossed the ruined, expensive suit jacket onto the sofa. The wine stain on the chest had dried, but the color had deepened into an unsightly patch, a constant reminder of that disconcerting moment at the gala.

He felt a twinge of irritability. It wasn’t about the clothes; Shen Yanci wasn’t the type to fret over a single suit. It was the Little Prince who had disrupted his rhythm, and his own traitorous moment of stiffness.

Arthur Windsor.

Shen Yanci replayed the name and that excessively beautiful face in his mind. He was here for business, not to entangle himself with a member of the royal family who was clearly a “troublemaker.” That hooked gaze, those seemingly accidental yet precise touches, everything about the man screamed “dangerous.”

He walked to the bar, poured a glass of ice water, and downed half of it in one gulp. Only when the freezing liquid slid down his throat did the inexplicable heat in his chest begin to subside.

“Little brat,” he muttered in Chinese, his tone carrying a hint of helplessness he hadn’t noticed himself.

If this were back home, any business partner who dared to play such games would have been thrown out long ago. But this was England; the other party was a prince and a key figure in his important cooperation project. He couldn’t throw him out; he had to remain polite.

He looked at the suit on the sofa. The more he stared at the wine stain, the more it bothered him. He certainly couldn’t wear it again, but how to handle it.

Suddenly, an idea flashed through his mind. He picked up the internal line and summoned his assistant.

The assistant arrived quickly, standing respectfully. “Mr. Shen, you called for me?”

Shen Yanci pointed to the suit on the sofa. “Send this to the high-end laundry service designated by the Royal Household.” He paused, then added, “Send it in the company’s name.”

The assistant was stunned, clearly thinking it was overkill to use royal channels for a suit that was obviously beyond saving. However, he didn’t ask questions. “Understood, Mr. Shen. Should I include any specific instructions?”

Shen Yanci walked to his desk, picked up a fountain pen, and pulled out a memo pad. The tip of the pen hovered over the paper for a few seconds. What should he write?

‘Your prince spilled wine on this; please clean it?’ That would be too rude and beneath his status.

Finally, he set pen to paper, writing a line of Chinese in a cold, powerful hand: “I kindly request His Highness to forward this to a professional for processing.”

He handed the note to his assistant. “Pin this to the clothes.”

The assistant took the note. Though he couldn’t read the Chinese, he followed the instructions carefully, wondering to himself: Highness? Which Highness? What does this have to do with royalty? He held the suit and quietly retreated.

As the door closed, Shen Yanci’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk. Had he just successfully “kicked the ball” back to the other side? He wanted to see how the Prince would react to receiving this “gift.”

Meanwhile, in Arthur’s Private Quarters.

Arthur had just finished his bath. Dressed in a comfortable silk robe and walking barefoot on the soft carpet, he was fiddling with a pair of sapphire cufflinks on his desk. He seemed to be in an excellent mood, humming a tuneless song.

The memory of Shen Yanci’s stiffness and the sudden darkening of his eyes at the gala replayed in Arthur’s mind over and over. It was as if he had finally warmed a crack into a piece of cold jade, letting a hint of heat escape from within.

Interesting. Truly interesting. Far more interesting than his circle of friends who knew nothing but horse racing and parties. This man from the East was calm and self-possessed, radiating an aura that warned others not to approach, yet his appearance suited Arthur’s tastes perfectly. He was like a meticulously bound book with unknown contents; one couldn’t help but want to flip it open and see what was written inside.

Just then, an attendant knocked and entered, carrying a garment box with a subtle expression. “Your Highness, this was sent by the Shen Group. They said it is clothing that needs processing.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and opened the box. Inside was his “masterpiece” Shen Yanci’s black suit. It was pressed flat, but the prominent wine stain remained, silently recounting the little accident at the gala. There was also a memo inside.

Arthur picked it up, seeing a line of beautiful Chinese characters. He called over an attendant who understood the language. The attendant looked at it and translated respectfully: “I kindly request His Highness to forward this to a professional for processing.”

Arthur froze for a second, then burst into laughter as if he had just heard something hilarious, his shoulders shaking slightly.

“Hahaha… ‘Kindly request His Highness’? ‘Forward to a professional’?” He repeated the words, his gray-blue eyes shimmering with delight. “He’s truly something, throwing this mess directly back at me? And with such a business-like tone?”

He picked up the suit, his fingers precisely finding the wine stain—the exact spot he had “wiped” at the gala. His fingertips traced the slightly stiff fabric repeatedly, as if he could feel the firm, warm muscles beneath once more. The tips of his ears turned warm for no reason.

The attendant nearby kept his head down, pretending he saw nothing. His Highness’s expression and movements, were definitely not right.

After a moment, a mischievous curve appeared on Arthur’s lips. He looked up at the attendant. “Go. Tell Mr. Shen’s people that…” He drew out his words intentionally. “The Royal Laundry has a rule: valuable items must be retrieved in person by the owner for signature. Tell him to come at seven tomorrow evening, sharp.”

Attendant: “…”

The Royal Laundry has such a rule? I’ve never heard of it! His Highness clearly just made that up! However, he didn’t dare question it. “Yes, Your Highness. And where should he go to sign for it?”

Arthur smiled like a little fox that had successfully stolen a chicken. “Tell him to come here, to the side hall. I will ‘personally’ forward it to him.”

Back at the Hotel.

Shen Yanci was reviewing a document when his assistant knocked again, looking even more perplexed than when he had left with the suit.

“Mr. Shen… the Royal Household has replied.”

Shen Yanci looked up from his papers. “What did they say?”

The assistant swallowed and tried to repeat the words verbatim. “They said, the Royal Laundry has a rule that valuable items must be retrieved in person by the owner for signature. They asked you to be there tomorrow at seven o’clock sharp.” The assistant himself felt the request was absurd.

Shen Yanci’s hand, holding the fountain pen, froze in mid-air.

Retrieved in person? Seven o’clock tomorrow? A Royal Laundry rule?

He nearly laughed out of sheer annoyance. Could the excuse be any worse? What exactly was the Little Prince trying to do? This was clearly a trap, waiting for him to jump in. He could almost imagine the smug, provocative expression on Arthur’s face when he gave that order.

Childish. Pointless.

His instinct was to refuse. He could have the assistant communicate further, or simply abandon the suit entirely. But the words died in his throat. He looked at the document where a small blot of ink had blurred because he was distracted. The memory of those smiling, provocative gray-blue eyes flashed in his mind.

Fine. He would go. He wanted to see what new tricks the Little Prince could play at seven o’clock tomorrow evening.

“Understood,” Shen Yanci said, his voice devoid of emotion. He lowered his head back to his documents as if he had just agreed to a completely ordinary meeting. “Reply to them. I will be there on time.”

The assistant retreated, utterly confused. Shen Yanci’s eyes were on the documents, but he didn’t process a single word. His fingers tapped the desk unconsciously.

Tomorrow at seven, then?