The Billionaire’s Forbidden Maid

The weight on Ama’s chest had nothing to do ce with the crowded bus. She let out a deep sigh as she stepped down, her eyes lifting toward the towering gates of the Peterson mansion. For a moment, she simply stood there, adjusting the worn-out bag on her shoulder. Her mind was still trapped at home—the cramped apartment, the clatter of iron pots, the squeaking ceiling fan, and her mother’s tired voice reminding her to hurry before she missed the bus. Every morning was a race. Wake her siblings. Get them ready. Make sure they ate. Take them to school. Then rush to work. And somehow, she was expected to do all of that while pretending she wasn’t exhausted. She couldn’t afford to think about the unpaid electricity bill, the groceries her mother had asked her to buy, or her siblings’ school expenses. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. Ama took a deep breath and pushed through the gates. Then she froze. Something was different. The usually quiet compound looked almost unrecognizable. Expensive cars lined the driveway, their polished surfaces reflecting the afternoon sunlight. Well-dressed guests moved in and out of the mansion while staff hurried around with trays of food and drinks. The air smelled of expensive perfumes and oud. Ama blinked. What was going on? She checked the time on her phone. She wasn’t late. At least, she didn’t think she was. She hurried inside and spotted another maid carrying a tray of used glasses. Ama caught her arm gently. “What is happening?” The girl stared at her. “You don’t know?” Ama shook her head. “Know what?” “The Peterson reunion is today.” Ama’s eyes widened. “The reunion?” “Yes.” The girl glanced toward the crowded parlor. “You seriously forgot?” Ama’s heart sank. Of course. The reunion. She had completely forgotten. “I’m finished,” she muttered. “What?” “Nothing.” Ama rushed to the staff quarters, grabbed her supplies, and changed into her uniform. “You better hurry,” the girl called after her. “Mrs. Peterson has been looking for everyone.” Ama didn’t need to be told twice. Within minutes, she was back downstairs and throwing herself into work. For the next few hours, the mansion became a blur of noise. Laughter echoed through the rooms as guests greeted one another. Waiters moved around with trays while soft music played in the background. Ama kept her head down. She wiped tables, collected empty glasses, refilled drinks, carried plates, and cleaned up after guests. Every time she thought she could catch her breath, someone called her name. “Ama!” She turned. “Yes?” “More glasses in the dining room.” “I’m coming.” She had barely picked them up when another staff member approached. “Ama, Mrs. Peterson needs someone upstairs.” Ama closed her eyes for a second. “Coming.” She balanced the glasses carefully and hurried upstairs. She had barely reached the second floor when she heard laughter coming from the hallway. Two young women walked past her, whispering excitedly. “They’re all here.” “I know. Even Dan came.” “Seriously?” “Yes. And Jack too.” Ama slowed. The Peterson brothers. She had heard their names before. Jack was supposedly the playful one, while Dan was different. Serious. Reserved. The eldest son. Ama had never met either of them. She had seen their pictures around the mansion, but rich people’s lives had nothing to do with hers. She continued down the hallway. By the time she returned downstairs, the mansion was even more crowded. Ama grabbed a tray of drinks and made her way toward the parlor. She was almost across the room when someone stepped backward directly into her path. She tried to stop, but the edge of the carpet caught underneath her shoe. The tray tilted. “No—” The glasses crashed to the floor. A sharp shattering sound cut through the room. One of the glasses bounced against the marble before breaking apart, while another tipped over completely. Dark berry-colored liquid splashed across the pale blue shirt of the man standing before her. Ama’s stomach dropped. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir.” She immediately crouched, reaching for the broken pieces. Her hands were shaking. “I didn’t see you. I’m really sorry.” The man said nothing at first. He looked down at his stained shirt before slowly looking at her. “Are you always this careless?” Ama’s hands froze. Slowly, she looked up. He was striking. His dark hair was neatly styled, and despite the ruined shirt, his expression remained completely controlled. Ama quickly lowered her gaze. “No, sir. I’m sorry.” His eyes moved to the broken glass. “You should be more careful.” “Yes, sir. I’ll clean everything.” Ama reached for one of the larger pieces. The glass caught her finger. She pulled her hand back with a sharp breath. The man noticed. “Stop.” Ama looked at him. He nodded toward her hand. “Go wash it.” “But the glass—” “Someone else will handle it.” “I can—” His fingers moved to his silver cufflink. “Go.” Something about the simple command made her stop arguing. “Yes, sir.” Ama rose quickly, keeping her injured hand close to her apron. “Thank you.” She hurried toward the hallway. Behind her, the man watched for a moment before looking down at his ruined shirt. He reached for his cufflink again. One turn. Then another. He glanced toward the hallway. Why was he still looking there? He shook his head. It was just a stain. Nothing more. Ama didn’t notice the curious looks following her as she disappeared. Nor did she hear the quiet whisper behind her. “That’s Dan Peterson. Ama stood in the small staff bathroom with her finger beneath the running tap. She winced as the water touched the cut. “What a way to ruin your evening,” she muttered. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still warm from embarrassment, and a few strands of hair had escaped from beneath her head covering. She couldn’t afford another mistake. Not tonight. Not when this job was the only reason there was food on their table some days. She dried her finger, wrapped it with tissue, and stepped out. Maybe he had already forgotten about her. Maybe she wouldn’t have to see him again. Ama returned to the parlor with another tray. She looked around. The man was gone. She breathed out in relief. Good. She could finally get back to work. Across the room, Dan stood beside his younger brother, Jack. Jack took one look at his shirt and burst out laughing. “You look like you lost a fight with a bottle of juice.” Dan glanced down. “Very funny.” “I thought you hated people spilling things on you.” “I do.” “Yet you didn’t yell.” Dan gave him a warning look. “Should I have?” Jack shrugged. “Usually you give people that look and they start apologizing before you’ve even said anything.” Dan adjusted his silver cufflink. Jack noticed. “You only do that when you’re irritated.” Dan glanced at his wrist. “Do I?” “Yes.” Jack leaned closer. “So, what happened?” “A maid spilled a drink.” Jack looked toward the floor. “The girl who nearly broke her neck trying to clean it up?” Dan’s eyes flicked toward him. “She cut her finger.” “And you sent her away?” “Yes.” Jack studied him. “You’re becoming soft.” Dan gave him a flat look. “Don’t push it.” Jack laughed and raised both hands. “Fine.” Dan turned his attention back to the gathering, but his gaze wandered toward the hallway again. Jack noticed. “You’re still thinking about her?” Dan looked at him. “Who?” “The maid.” “I’m not.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “You just looked toward the hallway twice.” “I was looking at the hallway.” “Which happens to be the direction she went.” Dan exhaled. “Jack.” “Okay, okay.” Dan looked away. He didn’t understand why the encounter had stayed in his mind. It had been nothing. A spilled drink. A broken glass. A small cut on a stranger’s finger. That was all. Yet he couldn’t forget the way she had tried to clean up the broken glass even after hurting herself. “She was bleeding,” he said quietly. Jack’s smile faded. “So?” Dan shook his head. “Nothing.” He picked up a glass from a passing waiter and took a sip. His eyes wandered across the room again. The maid was nowhere in sight. Good. That was exactly how it should be. He had no reason to think about her. He didn’t even know her name. And she certainly didn’t know his. Dan Peterson. The eldest son of the Peterson family. The man whose presence alone was enough to command attention in any room. But tonight, something as insignificant as a careless maid had managed to occupy his thoughts. He frowned at the realization. Across the room, Ama carried another tray, completely unaware that the man she had apologized to was one of the very people everyone had been whispering about. She had heard his name earlier. She simply hadn’t realized the man in the pale blue shirt was him. Neither of them knew that their brief encounter was only the beginning. Because before the night was over, Ama would learn something about the Peterson family that would change everything. And once she did, there would be no going back.