Falling For The Maid

Ella opened her eyes as the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over her modest room. The cool morning air carried a sense of quiet serenity. Stretching her arms, she pushed off the thin blanket and got up, her mind already on her morning tasks.

The scent of fresh ingredients filled the kitchen as she moved with practiced ease, gathering vegetables, seasoning, and noodles. Cooking had always been her solace—a familiar rhythm she could rely on in this unpredictable household. Just as she was about to start chopping, a deep voice broke the silence.

"Good morning."

The unexpected voice made her jump, the knife slipping dangerously close to her fingers. She spun around, her heart racing, to find Marcus standing at the entrance. His tousled hair and slightly groggy expression hinted at a recent wake-up, but even in his disheveled state, he exuded an effortless magnetism that made her stomach tighten.

"Please prepare heated noodles for me," he said, his voice surprisingly warm yet firm.

Ella swallowed, trying to steady her nerves. She had grown accustomed to his unpredictable moods, but this gentleness was unfamiliar, almost unsettling. Forcing a polite smile, she nodded.

"Yes, sir. I'll prepare it immediately. Please have a seat and wait."

Marcus held her gaze for a moment before shaking his head. "Bring it to my room. I'll wait there." His tone left no room for argument, and with that, he turned and disappeared back upstairs.

Ella exhaled softly, forcing herself to focus. She moved with precision, boiling the noodles to perfection, adding just the right balance of flavors. When the dish was ready, she arranged it neatly on a tray and took a steadying breath before heading toward his room.

Standing before the door, she hesitated. Knocking softly, she waited, her heartbeat oddly quickened. The door swung open almost immediately, and to her surprise, Marcus seemed... pleased.

"Oh, that was quick," he said, stepping aside. "Come in and put it on the table."

Ella stepped inside cautiously, her eyes sweeping over the room. It was larger than she had imagined—elegantly furnished, purely quiet luxury.. The scent of cologne and faint traces of sandalwood filled the air. The expansive window provided a breathtaking view of the estate's gardens, a sight she had never been privileged to see up close.

Marcus observed her quietly before speaking again. "You can go now. Continue with your work."

Ella quickly lowered her gaze and nodded. "Ah, yes, sir."

As she exited, a sharp, mocking voice sliced through the tranquility of the house.

"Well, well, Ms. Maid. No respect at all, huh? Can't even greet your boss's future wife? How rude."

Ella's steps faltered. That voice. She turned slowly to find Celine standing near the staircase, arms crossed, a cruel smirk curling her lips. Beside her, Rima, the mansion's cleaner, shifted uncomfortably, her eyes filled with silent pity.

Ella inhaled sharply, willing herself to remain composed. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she murmured before quickly retreating to the kitchen.

The moment she entered, Eden leaned in, whispering with a conspiratorial grin. "That woman is a nightmare. I swear, Sir Marcus won't last a day with her attitude."

Ella shook her head, lowering her voice. "Shh... Let's just focus on work."

Meanwhile, Celine walked toward Marcus's room, knocking sharply. When he opened the door, she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, settling onto his bed with an air of ownership.

Marcus's brows furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Celine pouted. "Babe! You opened the door, so I assumed I could come in." She smiled sweetly, though there was an underlying edge in her voice. "After all, I am the future wife of the room's owner, aren't I?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, his patience thinning. Without responding, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving her sitting there. Undeterred, Celine followed, draping herself onto the sofa beside him.

"Let's go out for breakfast! I'd love your company," she invited, her fingers lightly brushing his arm. "I can't bear to eat alone."

Marcus refused. "No. You can go if you want. I prefer to eat here."

Celine clenched her fists discreetly, her nails digging into her palm. She glanced toward the kitchen, the realization dawning. Is that why? Because of that cook? A slow, simmering resentment curled in her chest. You'll regret this, poor maid.

Just then, Eden entered the room, her bright voice breaking the tension. "Sir, breakfast is ready."

"Call Mom," Marcus instructed, barely glancing her way. "I'll wait for her before eating."

Celine's forced smile returned. "Marcus, can I eat here too?"

"Do whatever you want," he replied indifferently.

Before she could respond, Aya entered the dining room, her expression lighting up upon seeing Celine. "Oh, darling! What a lovely surprise!"

Celine mustered her most pleasant smile. "Of course! Just stopping by for a visit."

But as she took her seat, her gaze flickered toward the kitchen—where Ella remained, oblivious to the storm brewing in Celine's mind.

"Let's eat!" Marcus declared, leading the group toward the lavishly set table. His voice carried an edge, his expression unreadable as he adjusted his napkin with deliberate precision—almost as if preparing for battle.

Across from him, Celine's lips curled into a saccharine smile, her eyes glinting with something far less innocent. "Lady cook," she called out sweetly, "could you prepare a bowl of chicken soup for me?"

Ella met her gaze, reading the subtle challenge beneath the request. But instead of reacting, she offered a composed nod. "Yes, ma'am," she said politely before turning toward the kitchen.

Within minutes, the rich aroma of chicken broth filled the air as Ella carefully ladled the soup into a bowl. She placed it on a tray, ensuring every detail was perfect before stepping back toward the dining area.

Just as she neared the table, Celine suddenly shifted, stepping directly into Ella's path.

The action was calculated.

Ella's foot caught against Celine's, and in an instant, the tray tipped. Steam and scalding liquid splashed onto her hand as the bowl crashed onto the floor.

"Ahh!" Ella gasped, pain searing through her palm.

Marcus shot up from his seat in an instant. His body moved before his mind could catch up, his hands finding her waist to steady her. "Ella," he murmured, his voice tight with concern. He quickly guided her toward the sink, turning on the faucet and letting the cool water rush over her reddened skin.

She exhaled sharply, the soothing contrast dulling the sting. "Thank you, sir," she murmured, her voice soft, grateful.

Marcus, still holding her wrist under the water, glanced at her with concern. "This helps reduce the pain and swelling. We should go to the hospital—"

"No, sir," Ella interrupted gently. "It's just a minor burn. I've had worse while cooking. I can handle it with home remedies."

Marcus didn't seem convinced. He remained close, his grip still protective, the tension in his shoulders evident.

That was when Celine entered.

Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she took in the sight before her—Marcus, standing too close to Ella, his hands still on her waist, her delicate fingers resting under the running water.

Her expression twisted.

"What exactly does this mean?" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to slice through the tension in the room.

Before Ella could react, Celine stormed forward, seizing a handful of her hair.

Ella gasped, her injured hand too weak to fight back as Celine yanked viciously.

Marcus didn't hesitate.

His grip on Celine's wrist was firm as he shoved her away. The force sent her stumbling, her heels failing her as she tumbled onto the floor.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Marcus's voice was dangerously low when he spoke. "Touch her again, and you'll regret it."

Celine, momentarily stunned, looked up at him in disbelief. "Are you insane?" she hissed. "I'm your fiancée, Marcus! And you're choosing her over me?"

Marcus's gaze burned with something unreadable. "Get out," he ordered coldly.

Tears welled in Celine's eyes—not of sorrow, but of frustration. She scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off before fixing him with a glare. "You'll regret this," she said. "I'm the heiress of Belaycon Company—your grandfather's most trusted business partner. If I walk away, I take everything with me."

Marcus's expression didn't waver.

"Do whatever you want. Just leave."

With one last look of fury, Celine turned on her heels and stormed out of the mansion, her rage echoing in the heavy slam of the door.

Aya, who had been listening from the hallway, emerged as soon as the commotion settled. Panic flickered in her eyes. "Marcus," she urged, "go after her and fix this. Your grandfather cannot find out about this!"

Marcus ignored her completely. Instead, he turned back to Ella, his voice softer. "I'm taking you to a clinic."

Aya clenched her fists as she watched her son walk away, his focus entirely on that woman.

This isn't good, she thought. If Dad finds out about this, he'll strip Marcus of his position. I can't allow that to happen.

But she knew firing Ella wouldn't be enough. Marcus wasn't the type to let something go once his mind was set on it.

No. She needed to be smarter.

And then, suddenly, an idea struck her. A slow smile spread across her lips.

Yes. I know exactly what to do.

The clinic visit was brief. The doctor applied a cooling ointment and wrapped Ella's hand carefully, assuring Marcus that she'd recover quickly.

On the way back, Marcus glanced at her. "How's your mother?" he asked.

Ella hesitated before answering. "She's doing better. She'll be discharged tomorrow."

Marcus nodded, bringing his attention to the road.

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the mansion.

Aya was waiting.

"How's your hand, darling?" she asked the moment they stepped inside, her voice warm—too warm.

"It's fine now, ma'am. Thanks to Sir Marcus for taking me to the clinic," Ella answered humbly. "I'm sorry for my carelessness earlier."

Aya smiled, feigning kindness. "It was just an accident. What matters is that you're okay." She sighed dramatically. "But Ella, hands are so important—especially for a cook like you. It might take weeks for you to fully heal. As your boss, I want to support you."

Ella's brows knitted slightly in confusion.

"I insist you rest for two months before returning," Aya continued smoothly. "Don't worry, I'll pay your full salary—and a bonus."

Marcus immediately stiffened. "Mom, it's just a minor burn. She doesn't need two months."

Aya tilted her head. "Marcus, she needs time to heal, and her mother needs her." She turned back to Ella. "This will be best for you, dear."

Ella's lips parted slightly, understanding dawning.

Aya wasn't being kind. She was pushing her away.

But before she could refuse, Aya smiled again. "Eden, help Ella pack her things. Carlos will drive her home."

Marcus looked at his mother. "I'll go with them."

Aya's smile faltered, but she nodded. "Fine. But come back quickly. We need to visit your grandfather before he hears about what happened."

The drive to Ella's house was silent. The car stereo played a slow, haunting tune that only seemed to amplify the weight pressing on Marcus's chest.

Two months.

The thought of not seeing her for two months unsettled him more than it should.

Before he could stop himself, he reached for her hand.

Ella flinched in surprise and instinctively tried to pull away. But he held firm, his grip steady—not forceful, just… unwilling to let go.

He didn't look at her. He just held her hand, absorbing the warmth of it, grounding himself in the only thing that felt real in that moment.

She swallowed, unsure of what to say.

But before she could speak, he slowly—reluctantly—released her.

The car rolled to a stop.

They had arrived.

And as she stepped out, Marcus felt something he had never felt before.

A sense of loss.

A feeling he couldn't quite name.

And it unsettled him more than anything else.