Anya
I lift my head. It got hit on the corner of the treadmill which kind of hurts. I held my temple softly to check if it grew a bump. I heard a voice behind me apologizing and helped me stand up. One of our maids started dusting off any possible floor crumbs on my body but I held her arms to stop her “You don’t have to, really” 
Gladly, she stopped. “I am so sorry ma’am. I shouldn't barge in while you’re doing something.”
“You did nothing wrong, but I accept your apology.” I smiled softly. “And please, You don’t have to call me princess or ma’am or miss when my mom is not around”
“Oh okay, ma’am. Oh-” she put her hand up her mouth quickly. I raised my eyebrows. “Sorry ma’am, I can’t help it.”
“It’s alright. Just not princess, please. That is soooo cringy and ridiculous!” She let out a suppressed laughter but then we burst out laughing.
It took five seconds of silence before she spoke. “Mrs. Moore wants me to inform you that your outfit for today has been prepared in your room. I can lead you to it, ma’am.”
“Oh sure sure.” I watched her turn her back and about to step out but I stopped her. She turned and I looked down, feeling flushed and thinking if I should ask this question. I breathe in deep. “Is it alright if you can give me a hug?”
I can feel her step in front of me. I look up and there she is, with her arms wide open. “You may, ma’am.’
So I did. We stayed there for a while. I hug her over her shoulder while her hands are around my waist. The hug was tight, but not too much like how my mom does. It’s gentle. It’s not the hug that kept me locked in one’s arms but it’s the hug that makes me want to stay. It felt safer. It takes me back to when I was seven. 
She lets go, but it’s not enough for me. It must have been because we need to get ready. She smiled. I smiled too, maybe even bigger than hers. “May I ask for your name?” 
She was stuttering, hesitant at first but managed to say “B-Beth. They call me Beth here.”
“Thank you, aunt Beth.”
“You don’t have to call me aunt-”
“I insist. I can’t help it.” I chuckled and so did she.
I followed Beth on the way to my room. I don’t know the names of our maids but I can recognize their faces, and Beth is the face I will never forget. Her features never changed. She has light brown skin, black hair, brown eyes, thin light pink lips, and quite chubby. She just got a few wrinkles and I got 2 feet and a few inches taller. We have Beth since the time I just turned 7. We had six maids at that time and Beth was the seventh. I thank God, and maybe mom, for giving her this job. Out of all of them, Beth is my only favorite. She’s the one who always takes care of me when mom was on a business trip with my dad. Beth would always tuck me in, telling stories, singing songs, and play with me when my sisters were doing their homework. She’s even helping me out with my homework, teaching me, and stuff. 
We arrived at my room. I see four young-looking maids—mid-30s—already there. They are trying my clothes on me, topping the hanging dresses on their bodies and the others are complementing each other. They did put them back in the closet when they saw me and Beth. They are all aligned beside each other and with a, maybe the fakest, smile, they welcome me. I also gave a fake grin back at them and went in as they led me to my dresser. 
“What’s taking you so long?” One of the maids asked Beth but I answered before aunt Beth could. 
“Oh, my bad. I was taking so long on the treadmill” I said with a smile. The maid then apologized quickly and they continued giving my hair and face make-up.
Beth and I are so close. She’s like my first ever friend. But when my mom found out how close we are—surprisingly took almost a year—she faced me to tell that I shouldn’t be close to Beth because she was just trying to get close to me so she could secretly take our riches (and that all the maids think like that, hence why we aren’t supposed to know their names). Mom then separated us and decided that a different maid should deal with me, which is not a nice maid. She’s just all “quiet” and “obedient” When in reality, she and along with the three maids—which are with me right now—are backstabbers and gossipers.
They finished my makeup and hair—a simple day look and mediumwave hair. They stood me up and grabbed the outfit that they had prepared for me. A long sleeve bodycon pencil dress with a zipper on the back. 
“Umm...It’s quite hot in here. Do I have to wear that?”
All three of them look at each other then back to me. “It’s the queen’s orders, princess,” the ‘queen’ and ‘princess’ said in an almost mocking voice. I don’t blame them. It’s so silly and cringy. But her saying it that way just makes it more cringy.
“Oh,” I said. Yeah right. My mom always picks clothes for me. I can’t do anything about it since it’s commanded by my mom. “Okay then. Sure.” I smiled at them and they started to help me change. 
I spend most of my years with them. Ever since Dad died, everything he owned went to my mom. My sisters ran away while we were on our way to the USA to jumpstart my career. We stayed in dad’s home here and while my mom was looking for connections from her fellow rich friends, I stayed inside the house with the seven maids but I am mostly surrounded by four of them fixing me up and stuff while the rest, including Beth, does most of the chores. Sometimes when Beth and I crossed paths, we would give each other hidden smiles and that’s all we have. She’s not like other maids. She’s not what my mom depicts her to be. She has the purest heart and I knew that because of the stories she told me.
I finished getting ready. I look at my reflection wearing a dress, pink pumps, and a handbag. I took a deep breath and smiled. Not sure why. I guess I just have to, for some reason.
I step out of my room and walk down the stairs. From the steps, besides my mom and two of my bodyguards, I see a brunette-haired guy standing beside them wearing a black long-sleeved turtleneck and brown jeans. He’s looking down, ruffling his hair. As soon as mom called my name, he looked up. His hair is a bit messy but that’s how he styles it all the time.
“Hey,” Kade said, staring at me with his mouth hanging like a dog who wants to play catch. “You look so beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I said, my smile didn't fade. He held my hand when I was five steps close to them and kept it like that when we stepped out. The two bodyguards are in front of us and mom is walking behind. We walk on the brick pathway to the gate to which the bodyguards open. I saw the limousine parked in front of the gate and our guards were already there holding the door for us. I went in then Kade, mom, and our bodyguards. 
I stare at the window, our front porch on display. The red brick path is surrounded by green grass and colorful flowers but some are covered by the gate and its design of vines and thorns. I keep staring at it. I just feel something about it. I just don’t know what. Maybe it’s just that I miss being here again, but is it?
I watch the vehicle drive away, showing different landscapes. Here I go again, I thought. Another day of endless practice. Sometimes I wonder if I can still hold on. Is this what being a pop star feels like? Maybe. Maybe not. Rebels are only for those who are bad, is what my mom says. If I step out of this barbie box, I won’t be who I am today and no one will ever want to see me. So I have to keep going. If this makes me a well-known and most loved singer, then I should keep going. Although I don’t feel like it’s right, I have to do anything to make sure I won’t fail as others do.
It’s better to hold back than let go.