Maxwell was perplexed by Isadora's unexpected hug, as she had always kept her distance. He returned the hug, thinking that she might be seeking comfort and support after the challenges she had faced while he was away.
Isadora's gentle whisper pleaded with him, "Show mercy, spare her from further punishment." Her words were a balm to his soul, soothing his anger and easing his heart. He nodded, his head moving almost imperceptibly, as he relented, his expression softening with compassion.
As Isadora's eyes met Maxwell's, her mind went into overdrive. She realized that, unlike Marcus, Maxwell was more discerning and would probably notice if she tried to take something from him.
Maxwell's gaze drifted from Isadora's eyes to her lips, and he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. As he leaned in closer, he expected her to pull back, but instead, she remained still, her lips parted slightly. Encouraged, Maxwell pressed his lips to hers, and they shared a passionate kiss.
As the intensity grew, Maxwell's thoughts became muddled, and he lost himself in the moment. But just as he was swept up in the passion, Isadora suddenly broke away, pulling back and stepping out of his embrace.
"I'm sorry," Isadora said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Maxwell began to speak, but she cut him off, her words spilling out in a rush. "It's my fault. What happened between us in the past was a mistake, and it should stay that way. You're married." The words hung in the air like a challenge. "Can I be alone now?" she asked, her voice firm but gentle.
Maxwell nodded, his face a mask of understanding, and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Isadora locked the door and released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
In the bathroom, she rinsed her mouth with water and wiped her lips with a tissue, trying to erase the memory of the kiss. She couldn't believe she had done it – all for Antonio and that stupid key. Her anger and hatred towards Maxwell flared up once more, and she vowed never to compromise herself like that again.
Maxwell returned to his private lounge, his mind consumed by thoughts of Isadora. His thoughts drifted back to the first time he laid eyes on her, a day that stood out vividly in his memory.
He had visited the Lighthouse Hotel, one of his business ventures, to inspect the premises. As he approached the reception desk, he was struck by the beauty of the receptionist.
After she checked him in, he couldn't shake off the image of her from his mind as he continued with his day. It had been a while since he last visited the hotel, and he had left the management to his team, so he didn't recognize any of the staff. But there was something about Isadora that captivated him, and he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of her.
Still on that same day, he sat in his hotel room, curious to know more about the captivating receptionist. He picked up his phone and dialed the manager's number.
"Hello, sir," the manager answered.
Maxwell got straight to the point, "There's a girl at the reception desk, who is she?"
The manager replied, "She's one of our employees, sir."
Maxwell pressed for more information, "What's her name?"
The manager responded, "Isadora, sir."
Maxwell paused, his mind racing, before speaking again. "I need some extra towels in my room. Send her to bring them to me."
The manager hesitated, "Uh, sir, that's not typically her role..."
Maxwell cut him off, his tone firm, "I don't care. Find a way to convince her. I expect her to bring the towels to my room." With that, he ended the call.
As Maxwell waited, a alcoholic beverage he had requested was delivered to his room. He took a sip, and soon, his inhibitions began to fade.
He heard a knock on the door, and he stood up to opened it, not revealing himself, "Hello, I brought the extra towels you requested," he knew it was her. Part of him wanted to shut the door, to regain control of the situation, but he found himself unable to do so.
Maxwell's actions that night were a blur, but he remembered pulling Isadora into his room, despite her pleas and protests. He had intended to talk to her, but his desires got the better of him, and he took advantage of her.
The next morning, she was gone, and as the memories of the night before flooded his mind, he realized he had made a grave mistake. Though his recollection was hazy, one thing stood out - Isadora had been a virgin. Overwhelmed with guilt, Maxwell couldn't bear the thought of returning to the hotel, a constant reminder of his misdeed.
Maxwell's thought was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He answered the call from Marcus, and with a brief exchange, he said, "I'm coming." As he stood up, his thoughts were still lingering on the past.
He couldn't help but feel remorse for what had transpired between him and Isadora. He had thought that after the incident with the children's former nanny, he had learned his lesson, but history had repeated itself, leaving him with a deep sense of regret.
Maxwell had always been expecting Isadora's call, knowing she had his contact information. When she finally reached out three months later, he was prepared. His enemies might try to use her against him, and he couldn't let that happen.
Driven by the thought to protect himself and keep her from falling into the wrong hands, he had no choice than to offer her a job in his mansion. By keeping her close, he hoped to prevent his adversaries from exploiting their connection and using it to their advantage.
To this day, Maxwell's mind remains shrouded in uncertainty, convinced that his drink was laced with a mysterious substance that fateful night. Yet, the investigation has yielded nothing but dead ends and unanswered questions.
The truth remains elusive, leaving Maxwell with a nagging sense of vulnerability. Someone out there holds the secrets of that night, aware of the intimate details of his encounter with Isadora, but their identity and motives remain a frustrating enigma, a silent witness to the events that transpired.
Maxwell often felt like a puppet on strings, helpless to control the forces driving him. He yearned to be the master of his own destiny, but his emotions seemed to have a mind of their own. His temper, in particular, was a wildfire that threatened to consume him at any moment, leaving him feeling like a passenger in his own life.
He struggled to rein in his outbursts, but they seemed to burst forth from some deep, primal place within him. As he stepped out of the lounge, he let out a weary sigh, hoping to find a way to tame the turmoil inside and become the better person he longed to be.
As Isadora lay resting, a sudden knock at the door broke the silence. She rose wearily to answer it, and Antonio burst in, his urgency visible.
He locked the door behind him and demanded, "Did you get the key?" without preamble.
Isadora sauntered over to the table, retrieved the key, and dangled it tauntingly. Antonio's relief was evident as he embraced her, thanking her profusely.
Isadora's tone turned wry as she remarked, "I've barely set foot in the mansion, and yet you're already entangling me in your secrets."
Antonio's apology was hasty, his explanation curt: "The key is vital; I had no other choice." His concern for her well-being was evident as he probed, "What really kept you away for so long? Rumors swirled that Mrs. Adriana had taken action against you."
Isadora's denial was smooth, "I was simply ill and hospitalized."
Antonio's skeptical gaze lingered, seeking reassurance, "You're certain that's all?"
"Yes, that's all," she answered, in a convincing tone.
"Alright, I'll leave now," Antonio said, turning to go, but Isadora's words halted him.
"What's the significance of this key, and do you know what I had to do to obtain it?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Antonio's expression turned enigmatic. "That's private for now, but I appreciate your efforts. You must have gone to great lengths to get it."
Isadora shook her head, a hint of skepticism in her voice. "What if he discovers the key is missing? Clearly, it's valuable to him, too."
Antonio's response was swift. "I'll make a duplicate and return the original as soon as possible. That's why I need to hurry."
Isadora's brow furrowed, concern etched on her face. "But how will I return the key without him suspecting?"
Antonio's parting words were reassuring. "You'll figure that out later. For now, goodbye." With a quick peck on the cheek, he was gone, leaving Isadora to ponder on how to get the key back.
Later that day, when Antonio returned the key, Isadora had already devised a plan. She headed to Piper's room, knocked on the door, and was greeted by Piper's cheerful smile. The two friends shared a warm embrace, their laughter filling the air as Isadora entered the room.
With no time to waste, Isadora got straight to the point. "Piper, I need a favor. Can you return this key to your father?" she asked, her tone casual yet urgent.
Piper's response was enthusiastic. "Sure thing!" she said, taking the key from Isadora's hand.
"Just tell him you found it on the floor," Isadora instructed.
Piper's grin widened. "Anything for you, aunty Isadora!" she said, skipping out of the room with a carefree air, the key clutched in her hand. Isadora watched her go, a relieved smile spreading across her face.
Piper entered her father's room, finding him searching high and low for something.
"What's missing, Dad?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
Maxwell's response was dismissive, "Nothing, dear, don't worry about it."
But Piper was insistent, "I wanted to give you this - I found it on the floor," she said, holding out the key.
Maxwell's eyes widened in relief as he spotted the key in her hand. "Ah, that's what I was looking for! I thought I'd lost it," he exclaimed, striding over to Piper and taking the key from her. "Thank you, sweetie," he said, his expression softening, and Piper skipped out of the room, happy to have helped.
Piper went back to her room and informed Isadora that the key had been returned, and with that, Isadora retired to her own room, a smile on her face, believing the matter was now closed. However, she was unaware that someone had been observing her every move, secretly plotting a new act of revenge.