Rise of the Maid

Chapter Two

I swallowed in fear. I didn't know what to say to satisfy the young master's rage. I didn't mind his mocking and belittling. If I could endure the other housekeepers' bullying, then I could brush off the young master's sharp words even more. They did hurt me, but I didn't mind at all.

I was about to apologize again—and that's the only thing I could do. To apologize. I didn't have the means to pay for the young master's thousand-dollar shirt that I just messed up. All I could do was apologize and hope he would forgive me and let it slide this time. Then I would go on living, wishing that each passing day I wouldn't cross paths with him again.

"Loraine?"

Before I could open my mouth—or even lift my eyes to meet the young master's—I caught the head housekeeper's sharp gaze. My breath hitched. I felt a small sense of relief… but not entirely. She was yet another obstacle.

The young master turned around as Mrs. Coleman appeared behind him. She was looking at me furiously, but her eyes softened the moment she realized it was Young Master Logan whom I was facing.

I finally had the chance to breathe a little and stand properly on my feet. My head lowered again—and I kept it that way.

"Young master! May I help you? Do you need something from Loraine?" she asked, her voice suddenly gentle, almost like she was singing a lullaby.

I didn't dare to look at them. I waited—for my dismissal or my doom.

If Mrs. Coleman found out that I was the one behind the dirt on the young master's bright, clean shirt, I would be dead for sure.

"Nothing. I just wanted to get some air," he answered coldly, as always—sounding completely disinterested and bored.

"I see. She wasn't bothering you, was she?" Mrs. Coleman's tone turned apologetic.

My heart beat rapidly. I braced myself, expecting him to expose me—expecting endless scolding from Mrs. Coleman.

But the young master only said, "No."

And then he walked away, leaving me alone with Mrs. Coleman.

I was a little surprised by what Young Master Logan just did. He didn't expose me. He didn't turn me in to Mrs. Coleman. That made my eyes follow his figure as he walked away—elegant and firm.

He does know how to hurt with words, and I clearly felt how much he hated me… but why protect me?

My thoughts followed him so completely that I forgot about Mrs. Coleman—that I was in a hurry, that I was almost late in tending to the master's medicine, and that she had just caught me in this perilous situation.

Her eyebrows nearly rose to her forehead as she stepped closer, her face nearing mine, snapping me back to my senses.

I was startled and took a step back. Mrs. Coleman's arms were on both sides of her waist.

"What are you still standing here?" You reek of mud and you're so dirty! It's almost time for the master's medicine, and you're still standing here like an i***t! Go now! And make sure to clean yourself completely!" she shouted in my face.

I panicked, bowed to her, then left in a hurry.

"Tsk. So lousy!" I heard her shout again.

I exhaled deeply as I ran to my quarters and washed myself, taking almost triple the normal time required for such a routine.

I wore my housekeeper dress, a black A-line dress with a white collar and white sleeve hems. It's quite modern for a maid dress, unlike those usual ruffled black-and-white maid dresses with aprons. Ours doesn't have that kind of design. It's simple, clean, and modern—no body-hugging fit, no short lengths, just enough to breathe and move comfortably.

Finally, I knocked on the door of the master's bedroom, the trolley at my side, carrying food, snacks, and teapots in case he wanted some.

“Come in,” I heard him answer from inside—an old, frail voice. He had been weakened by multiple health conditions, which was why his medicines had to be taken on time and never neglected. He needed constant care throughout the day, and that responsibility seemed to fall entirely on me.

My chest tightened a little. I didn’t mind working for the master. Honestly, he treated me well—he was kind. He never harmed me, nor spoke with ill intent. Quite the opposite. He always showed concern for me, spoke as if he genuinely cared, and that, in a way, made things complicated.

This was why I got bullied. He had specifically asked for me to care for him personally—no one else, only me. Even knowing the difficulties and criticisms I faced, he didn’t dismiss me. That’s the reason I kept my distance, despite his kindness. I still didn’t understand why he kept choosing me when it only made my life here harder.

I found him sitting on the balcony, with a table and chairs set up. The balcony was wide enough for his wheelchair to move freely. He was looking out over the huge front yard. I walked toward him and stopped behind him.

“Good afternoon, Master. I wanted to make sure you’re not hungry before you take your medicine. Or would you like to eat something?” I asked.

He turned his wheelchair to face me, and the first thing I noticed was his warm smile. His wheelchair was automatic, allowing him to move around the bedroom freely.

I didn’t smile as brightly, only gave a small one and lowered my gaze. I knew he was aware of my feelings—that my work didn’t particularly amuse me—and I think he understood, without taking it to heart.

“I ate enough. Give me my medicine,” he ordered.

I nodded and did as he asked, handing him his pills with a glass of water. I stood in front of him as he took them, then returned the glass to the trolley.

“I’ve brought some snacks if you want some,” I said, showing him what I had brought.

“No. I don’t like to eat. Just serve the teapot and sit here. I’d love to have a few conversations with you,” he replied.