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27. The Chef From Paris

Chapter Twenty Seven

Maya’s POV

The maid mistress, a stern figure with a cruel demeanour, poured dirty water over me, drenching my clothes. The shock of the cold water seeping through my attire left me shivering. "Stop wasting time and get to work Maya," she barked, her tone devoid of compassion. I tried to apologise, but my words were drowned out by her indifference.

Ignoring my plight, she stomped her feet, her steps resonating with authority as she led the way towards the maid quarters. The scent of rotten fish clung to me, a reminder of the humiliating dousing I had endured.

Beneath my breath, I whispered a mantra, a feeble attempt to find solace amidst the adversity. "At least I won't be a sex slave. It's better to be a maid than to let the devil touch any part of my body," I murmured, the words a fragile shield against the harsh reality unfolding around me.

The head maid, an imposing figure with an air of authority, greeted us with a disdainful look. "Start work now. We have a
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