chapter 5

Marcella had just completed her task of serving Ambrose and Trisha, and as she made her way back to the kitchen, she couldn't help but indulge in a moment of self-reflection. "How utterly absurd," she thought to herself, "to harbour feelings for one's employer, especially one as esteemed and sophisticated as Ambrose. It's not as if she's even a woman of his calibre, and worse still, she's merely a humble maid.

"Really, Marcella, how stupid can you be?" she thought to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're actually developing feelings for your boss, of all people! What's wrong with you?"

She sighed inwardly, her eyes rolling in exasperation as she replayed the moments she'd spent in Ambrose's presence, her heart skipping a beat at the memory of his charming smile and piercing gaze.

"Why do you even bother, Marcella?" she asked herself, her inner voice laced with frustration. "You know it's never going to happen. He's your boss, for crying out loud! And even if he wasn't, he's way out of your league. Just focus on your work and forget about these silly fantasies."

But despite her stern self-admonishment, Marcella couldn't shake off the lingering emotions, her heart still fluttering at the mere thought of Ambrose.

Just then, Trisha sauntered into the kitchen, requesting a bottle of water. Marcella promptly retrieved it from the fridge and presented it to Trisha with a courteous "Here you are, ma'am."

But to Marcella's astonishment, Trisha took the water, gazed at her from head to toe with a condescending smirk, and then callously poured the remaining water onto the floor, discarding the plastic bottle at Marcella's face before nonchalantly strolling away. Marcella's eyes widened in shock, her eyes welling up with tears as she struggled to contain her emotions.

Rosella, who had witnessed the entire ordeal, was equally flabbergasted by Trisha's brazen behavior. Marcella, meanwhile, mechanically grabbed a mop and cleaned up the spill, her movements fueled by a mix of hurt and humiliation. After completing her task, she retreated to the garden, seeking solace in the serene surroundings.

Ambrose strolled downstairs, enjoying the warm sunshine streaming through the windows, when he spotted Marcella sitting in the garden, her body shaking with sobs. He quickly made his way towards her, concern etched on his face.

"Marcella, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle, as he drew closer to her.

Marcella hastily wiped away her tears with her hands, trying to compose herself. Ambrose stood nearby, his curiosity piqued, waiting for her response.

"Nothing, sir," she replied, her voice trembling, her eyes cast downward in respect.

Ambrose's curiosity was not satiated. He sensed that something was amiss, and his mind raced with possibilities. He gently prodded her again, his tone encouraging.

"Marcella, please tell me what's bothering you. You can trust me," he said, his eyes locked onto hers, searching for a glimmer of truth.

Despite his gentle coaxing, Marcella remained tight-lipped, her face a mask of restraint. Ambrose's curiosity turned to frustration, but he didn't press the issue further, respecting her boundaries. For now, the mystery of Marcella's tears remained unsolved.

Ambrose's face fell as he witnessed Marcella's tears, his concern evident in his furrowed brow. "Marcella, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. But Marcella, despite her obvious distress, refused to divulge the reason behind her tears, leaving Ambrose frustrated and perplexed.

Determined to uncover the truth, Ambrose summoned James to his study, demanding an explanation for Marcella's distress. James, privy to the details, relayed the entire incident, including Trisha's cruel behavior. Ambrose's anger was palpable, his face reddening with indignation. He attempted to contact Trisha, but she ignored his calls, further fueling his ire.

The next day, Ambrose summoned Marcella to his room, his tone gentle as he asked her once more to reveal the reason behind her tears. Marcella, still hesitant, remained silent, prompting Ambrose to reassure her, "Don't be afraid, Marcella. Trisha is not my girlfriend. I want you to know that." Marcella's curiosity was piqued by this unexpected declaration, wondering why Ambrose felt the need to share this information.

As Ambrose continued to apologize for Trisha's behavior, his words dripping with sincerity, he gestured for Marcella to sit, his eyes locked onto hers with an unmistakable flirtatious glint. Marcella's mind raced as Ambrose drew closer, his hand reaching out touching her shoulder in a flirty way . It was then that she realized her grave mistake - Ambrose was not the caring employer she thought he was, but a charming playboy with ulterior motives.

Disappointment washed over her, and she swiftly rose to her feet, requesting permission to leave, citing her duties. Ambrose, still smiling, nodded, and Marcella beat a hasty retreat, her heart heavy with 

disillusionment. 

Marcella was counting down the days until Sunday, eagerly anticipating her day off and a chance to escape the mansion's suffocating atmosphere. But little did she know, fate had a surprise in store for her. As she was going about her duties, she heard a familiar voice chatting with James outside - it was Beatrice, her dear friend!

Marcella's face lit up with excitement as she hurried to join them, her feet moving swiftly across the floor. "Beatrice! Oh my goodness, it's so great to see you!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with joy.

The two friends exchanged warm hugs and caught up on each other's lives, their conversation flowing effortlessly. But all too soon, Beatrice glanced at her watch and announced, "I'm so sorry, Marcella, but I have to run. I promised my mom I'd help with some errands."

Marcella nodded understandingly, her face falling slightly. "Yeah, of course, I totally get it. But promise me you'll be home on Sunday, and we can spend the whole day together?"

Beatrice grinned and gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. "Absolutely, I promise! Sunday can't come soon enough!"

As Beatrice departed, Marcella couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Why did her friend get to leave whenever she wanted, while she was stuck in this gilded prison? But she pushed aside those thoughts and focused on the bright side - she'd have Beatrice all to herself on Sunday, and that was something to look forward to.

Meanwhile, Ambrose was still reeling from his encounter with Marcella. He couldn't fathom why she seemed so immune to his charms, why she didn't melt like all the other women he'd wooed. It was a puzzle he was determined to solve, and soon.

Marcella couldn't shake off the feeling of unease as she watched Ambrose drive away, his luxurious Rolls-Royce disappearing into the distance. She hoped against hope that his frosty demeanour wasn't a result of their encounter the other day, when she had rebuffed his advances. "Please, don't let it be about that," she thought to herself, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Meanwhile, Ambrose arrived at the office, his mind already focused on the task at hand. He gathered his team around the conference table, and they delved into a lively discussion about the company's future prospects. Ambrose's fashion empire already had a strong presence in Italy, Paris, and London, but he was determined to expand even further.

"We need to think beyond Europe, team," he emphasized, his eyes scanning the room. "We've conquered the fashion capitals of the world, now it's time to take on new markets! I'm thinking Dubai, Tokyo, New York - the possibilities are endless!" His team nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting a mix of excitement and trepidation.

As the meeting progressed, Ambrose's mind kept wandering back to Marcella, her refusal to succumb to his charms still grating on him. But he pushed aside his personal vendetta and focused on the task at hand - making his company a global powerhouse, with a presence in every major fashion market around the world. Little did he know, Marcella was struggling to keep her job.

After the meeting, Ambrose, Philip, and Stephen decided to unwind at a trendy lounge, sipping on craft cocktails and swapping stories. Ambrose, still smarting from his encounter with Marcella, confided in his friends about her rebuff. "Guys, I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head. "I tried to make a move, and she shut me down cold!"

Philip and Stephen burst out laughing, teasing Ambrose about his failed attempt. "Dude, you're used to getting what you want, aren't you?" Philip joked. "Marcella's got you rattled!"

Philip leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "So, Ambrose, what's the real story with Marcella? You're not just trying to crack some code or win a challenge, are you?"

Ambrose smirked, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "Let's just say I appreciate her... assets, Philip. And I want to get to know her a lot better. Intimately, if possible."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "You're just looking to add another notch to your belt, aren't you?"

Ambrose shrugged, unapologetic. "Hey, I'm a man who enjoys the company of beautiful women. And Marcella is definitely a stunning specimen. I want to see if I can persuade her to join me for a night... or two."

Philip and Stephen exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions a mix of amusement and disapproval. "Ambrose, you're such a womanizer," Philip said, shaking his head.

Ambrose just grinned, unfazed. "Hey, someone's got to keep the tradition alive."

Ambrose chuckled, feeling a bit better. "Yeah, I guess I am. But seriously, what do I need to do to get her to open up?"

Stephen leaned in, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Take her to Dubai, man. That's where the magic happens. With the luxury and romance in the air, she might just let her guard down."

Philip nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and who knows, maybe you'll finally get your way."

Ambrose raised an eyebrow, considering their advice. Dubai, huh? Maybe that's just what he needed to win Marcella over. He made a mental note to book those tickets ASAP. The game was on!