FROM HIS MAID TO HIS QUEEN

Chapter 1 Lily's pov I saw myself standing in the center of a grand room, surrounded by people carefully dressing me like a queen. Their hands moved with precision, draping me in rich fabrics, adorning me with jewels. I was shocked, yet amazed, as one of the servants bowed and said, "My queen." Then, suddenly, I woke up. A loud knock shattered my dream. Who dares disturb my sleep, especially when I was having such a beautiful dream? The knocking continued, heavier this time, like someone trying to break the door down. My heart pounded as I checked the time—2 AM. A wave of unease settled over me. Who could be knocking at this hour? I hesitated before checking the spyhole. My breath hitched. My mom? What was she doing outside so late? Then I remembered - she hadn’t come home before I fell asleep. She usually stayed out late, but never this late. I unlocked the door, and the moment she stepped in, the sharp stench of alcohol hit me. She was wearing a bathrobe, her hair a tangled mess. "Mom, where are your clothes? And what happened to your hair?" My voice wavered with shock and confusion. She didn’t respond. Without a word, she walked past me, heading straight to her room. My eyes trailed to the pile of clothes she had just thrown onto the floor. A short, off-shoulder bodycon dress-sexy, stylish but now torn. I knew what had happened. She had been in a fight, but not the kind fought with fists. I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked to my room, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I had cried over this too many times, but how could I stop? How could I be okay with this? Being the daughter of a prostitute was a burden I carried every day. A bastard. A one-night mistake. A shame. Could things have been different? Maybe if my mom hadn’t slept with him. Maybe if my dad had accepted me. Maybe - But I couldn’t blame him. He was Charles Whittemore, a powerful businessman, the owner of two major companies, a man who stood out among the elite. How could I expect someone like him to accept my mother or me, a child born from a single reckless night? I let out a shaky breath. Wishing wouldn’t change anything. A quote I once read echoed in my mind: Your past and background don’t set your limits, your choices and determination do. Focus on where you're going, not where you started. So, I wiped my tears, picked up my books, and read until exhaustion pulled me into sleep. The next morning, I was on my way to school when I heard them ,The Hot Gang. Five of them. Two girls, three boys. Their leader, a girl, was known simply as The Queen. "Hey, bastard!" A mocking voice rang out. I sighed. Here we go again. I turned around. "Stop calling me that." "Oh? And what are you then? Because that’s exactly what you are a bastard. A one-night mistake." The others burst into laughter, their cruel amusement hitting me like a jolt of electricity. I clenched my fists. Were they wrong, though? Even my own mother reminded me of it sometimes. "Here," The Queen tossed some money at me. "Get us fried chicken and waffles." I glanced at the cash. "This isn’t enough. Add more." "Not my problem. Just get it." "I can’t," I said firmly. Smack! A sharp slap landed on my cheek. My skin stung as I instinctively touched the spot. "When The Queen speaks, you listen," one of the boys sneered. "And you do as she says." Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wished I had the power to fight back. But even if I told my mother, she wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t dare tell her anyway. "Who gave you the right to bully others?" A strong, authoritative voice cut through the tension. It was laced with confidence, undeniable and commanding. The gang turned sharply. "And who the hell are you?" A tall figure stepped forward. "I am the Young Master. And I will not stand by while you mistreat my queen." Shock rippled through me. Me? His queen? The Queen scoffed. "Your queen? And who the hell is that me?" "No," he said firmly. "Her." My heart pounded. No one had ever called me that before. I didn’t know whether to blush or hold onto my pain. "Who slapped my queen?" he demanded. "I did," The Queen said, defiant. A swift movement—one of his bodyguards struck her back. I flinched, feeling the impact as if it had been me, but the slap itself felt… empty. Not like hers. Just a warning. "You call yourself a queen? Then act like one," he said coldly. "A real queen respects her people. And from now on, she will be treated as one. If anything happens to her, you will answer me. Apologize." The gang hesitated, but his presence alone had them trembling. One by one, they muttered forced apologies before scattering like rats. I stood there, staring at him, unsure what to say. "H-Hi. Thanks for helping me. What’s your name?" "Young Master." I burst into laughter. "You mean that’s your real name?" "Hey!" his bodyguard barked. I stiffened. Maybe I had crossed a line. But the Young Master only smirked. "Yes. And you are Queen." He stepped closer. I could feel his warmth, smell his scent, a mixture of something rich, fresh, intoxicating. My heartbeat quickened. Can you stop that?! "Aren’t you late for school?" he asked, amusement in his voice. Oh, thank God. Finally, an excuse to escape his intense gaze. "Oh! Yes, I am!" I blurted. "Hmm. Thank you for today. I really appreciate it, Young Master." He raised a brow. "That’s all?" I hesitated before smiling. "Alright. I’ll treat you to a meal. Meet me at Lovely Restaurant by five. I’ll be expecting you, Young Master." "Bye, my Queen," he said, a rare smile gracing his lips. I held back a blush. A guy must never know you’re feeling him. I had heard that somewhere before. But what was with all this Queen nonsense? My name was Lily. Then again… he didn’t even know that yet. And for the rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. No one had ever stood up for me before. I had no friends to defend me. But this stranger did. And the way he looked at me… Damn. He was hot. Not just handsome—dangerously attractive. Like an angel carved from fire and shadows. I couldn’t wait to see him again. But a thought lurked at the back of my mind. What if he changes when he finds out about my past? No. I could never let him know. It was already 7 o'clock, and he still hadn't come. Frustration and disappointment filled me, a sinking feeling in my chest. It felt like waiting for a love that never arrived, each passing minute stretching longer than the last. I glanced at the clock again, then at the door, hoping for some sign of him. But there was nothing. When I got home, I saw my mom getting dressed in a hurry. "Why are you home so late?" she asked, her voice sounding a bit strained. "I had a task as the class rep," I replied, trying to sound calm, though the weight of the evening still hung over me. "Okay, your food is in the fridge. I’m going to the hospital. I’ll be back soon." The word "hospital" froze me. "Mom, are you sick?" I asked, my heart racing. "I’m fine," she reassured me, but her voice was unconvincing, a slight tremor that made me uneasy. "It’s just a minor thing." Her appearance didn’t help; she looked pale, sluggish, as though she was forcing herself to go through the motions. My worry deepened. I was still upset about the young master not showing up. Was that how rich people behaved? Was it typical for them to miss appointments without a word? I tried to calm myself, telling myself that he might just be busy. "Maybe he had something come up," I reasoned, staring at the empty door. "I’ll wait again tomorrow." A few hours passed in silence, and I sat, lost in my thoughts. The disappointment gnawed at me, yet I pushed it aside. I couldn’t understand it, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was waiting for something that would never come. Was I expecting too much? Then, the landline rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Hello?" "This is Geneva Hospital. Mrs. Diana Seren fainted on the road. We need your attention." My heart stopped. My hands trembled. What happened? She was fine when she left. I grabbed my coat, panic rising in my chest. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. My mind raced, but only one thought echoed: She’s all I have. She can’t be hurt.