After a brief rest, Marcella called her son, Alejandro, and savored a long, heartwarming conversation, her maternal love overflowing. Though the call eventually ended, the day still stretched out before her, and she was determined to make the most of it.
Together, Marcella and Beatrice decided to explore the beautiful Beverly Garden Park, capturing memories through photos beside the stunning sculptures. Beatrice then took Marcella on a tour of the breathtaking sights in Beverly Hills, showcasing the area's grandeur.
Marcella's joy was palpable as she reveled in the fun-filled day, her heart overflowing with gratitude for this unexpected respite. She wished the day would never end, savoring every moment with her dear friend in this picturesque setting.
Marcella's eyes fluttered open, the first light of dawn creeping into her room, casting a soft glow on her troubled face. She lay in bed, her mind racing with thoughts of Ambrose, her heart fluttering like a bird in her chest. She couldn't shake off the feelings that had been plaguing her, no matter how hard she tried. Every time she saw Ambrose, her pulse quickened, her palms grew sweaty, and her thoughts became a jumbled mess.
She tossed and turned, her sheets tangling around her legs, as she wished with all her might that these feelings would dissipate, that she could simply switch them off like a light. But they only seemed to intensify, growing stronger with each passing day. The memory of Ambrose's piercing blue eyes, his chiseled features, and his charming smile haunted her, refusing to let her go, her thoughts were a jumbled mix of emotions, her mind a battlefield where reason and passion clashed. She felt like a prisoner in her own body, unable to break free from the chains of her desires. But then, like a beacon of light in the darkness, she thought of her son Alajandro , her precious child who depended on her, and her priorities came flooding back. She knew she had to keep her job, no matter what, for her sons sake, and that meant no distractions, no diversions, no indulging in frivolous feelings.
She pushed aside the thoughts of Ambrose, shutting them away in a locked
box deep within her mind. She couldn't afford to let her emotions get the better of her, not now,not ever .So She had to be strong, for her son's sake, and that meant keeping her focus on her work, and nothing else.
The next day, Marcella headed to work, eager to tackle her tasks. She hastily changed into her uniform and made her way to the kitchen, where Rosella was already busy preparing the day's meals. As they worked together, they chatted about everything and nothing, their conversation flowing effortlessly.
Just as they were getting into the rhythm of things, a knock at the door broke the spell. "I'll get it," James said, hurrying to answer it. On the other side stood Trisha, looking every bit the confident beauty. "Hi, I'm Trisha. Ambrose is expecting me," she announced with a smile.
"Of course, let me just check with him," James replied, ever the diligent butler. He popped into Ambrose's study, leaving Trisha waiting in the foyer. "Sir, Trisha is here to see you. Shall I let her in?" he asked, his voice low and discreet.
Ambrose's response was immediate. "Ah, yes. Allow her in, James."
James returned to the foyer, his eyes locking onto Trisha's. "Right this way, please," he said, gesturing for her to follow him. Trisha swept past him, her presence commanding attention as she entered the mansion.
Trisha sauntered into Ambrose's room with a seductive swagger, her eyes locked onto his with a fierce intensity. She slowly began to lift the hem of her dress, her fingers tracing the curves of her body as she revealed her tantalising physique. Ambrose's eyes widened in anticipation, his breath catching in his throat as Trisha's lips crashed onto his, her kiss fierce and passionate. Her hands roamed his chest, her fingers dancing across his skin as she caressed him with a tender yet urgent touch. The air was electric with tension, their bodies entwined in a sensual embrace that seemed to defy the very fabric of time and space.
As Trisha and Ambrose were on the precipice of surrendering to their desires, a sudden knock at the door shattered the tension. Ambrose's voice boomed through the room, "Who is it?" he demanded, his irritation palpable.
Marcella's timid response echoed through the door, "It's me, Marcella. I came to see if you needed anything."
Ambrose's anger flared, but as he opened the door and laid eyes on Marcella, his ire dissipated, replaced by a begrudging calm. He hadn't seen her since the previous day, and his concern for her well-being momentarily eclipsed his frustration. "Get us some wine, Marcella," he requested, his tone softening.
As Marcella turned to leave, Ambrose's gaze followed her, his eyes lingering on her retreating form. Trisha watched in astonishment, perplexed by Ambrose's uncharacteristic restraint. The Ambrose she knew would have summarily dismissed Marcella, yet he had tempered his anger, revealing a glimmer of vulnerability. She couldn't help but wonder what had prompted this unexpected display of self-control.
After the extravagant party at Ambrose's mansion, his friends, including the lovely Trisha, found themselves unable to leave due to the indulgent celebrations that had gone late into the night. As the evening drew to a close, Trisha accompanied Ambrose to his bedroom, while James, the ever-efficient butler, showed Philip and Stephen to their guest room.
Ambrose's three friends, Stephen, Philip, and Charles, were all close companions, despite Charles's absence from the party due to his residence in Italy. Stephen and Philip, who lived in Beverly Hills, worked alongside Ambrose at his fashion company, while Charles oversaw the Italian branch. Ambrose's reputation as a fashion mogul spanned across Beverly Hills, Italy, London, and Paris, making him a sought-after figure, especially among the ladies. His wealth and success had made him a magnet for attention, and he reveled in the admiration.
The following Monday morning, Ambrose awoke with a pounding headache, attributing it to the excesses of the previous night's drinks and passion with Trisha. He summoned the kitchen and requested Rosella to have Marcella bring him two cups of hot tea, hoping to alleviate the throbbing pain. However, Rosella informed him that Marcella had already left for the day, having been granted a day off by James due to her extra efforts at the party.
"I'm so sorry, sir," Rosella said apologetically. "But I'll send Lucy to bring the tea immediately."
Ambrose's response was swift and irate, his voice booming through the intercom as he called James to his room to demand an explanation for Marcella's absence without his prior knowledge.
"James, what's going on here?" Ambrose asked gruffly, his headache exacerbating his irritation. "Why did you let Marcella leave without my approval?"
James apologized profusely, explaining that Marcella had been scheduled to have the day off but had stayed to assist with the party. "I thought it was the right thing to do, sir, given her hard work last night," James said, his voice laced with contrition.
Ambrose's rebuke was stern, his words dripping with displeasure. "Next time, James, please ensure that I'm informed about Marcella's whereabouts. I don't pay you to make decisions without my input." James was taken aback by Ambrose's sudden concern for Marcella's schedule but promptly acknowledged his mistake.
As Trisha prepared to leave, she promised Ambrose she would return the next day, which he agreed to, his mind still preoccupied with the annoyance of Marcella's absence. Ambrose then saw off Philip and Stephen, who had been waiting downstairs, before returning to his room, still pondering his unexpected irritation regarding Marcella's day off. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he was so bothered by it, but something about it rubbed him the wrong way.
Lucy, the other maid, arrived promptly with the steaming tea, which Ambrose sipped gratefully, hoping to alleviate his headache and his lingering annoyance.
After indulging in the soothing tea, Ambrose succumbed to a prolonged nap, his body reeling from the lingering effects of the previous night's excesses. Later, he emerged from his slumber, feeling somewhat revitalized, and made his way to the serene garden, where he settled into a comfortable chair. As he basked in the warm sunlight, he attended to his business matters, his fingers deftly navigating his laptop's keyboard.
As he worked, his thoughts drifted to Marcella, and he found himself consumed by a deep longing to have her by his side. He couldn't quite grasp the nature of his feelings for her, but he was certain of one thing - he craved the warmth of her body close to his. Ambrose had no interest in pursuing anything serious with any woman, despite his parents' persistent urgings to settle down and marry. His motto was simple: satisfy his desires, then move on.
In his mind, Ambrose was convinced that every woman he encountered was drawn to him because of his wealth and fame. He saw himself as a prize catch, and his arrogance knew no bounds. Yet, beneath his confident exterior, a glimmer of vulnerability flickered, a sense of uncertainty that he couldn't quite shake. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline that came with pursuing something he couldn't quite have Marcella.