Ella and the billionaire playboy

The early sun peeked through the dusty shutters, casting a warm glow over the dimly lit attic room. Emma, moaned and turned around, dragging the worn-out blanket over her head in a hopeless effort to shield herself from the persistent daylight. "Just a few more minutes," she pleaded silently.

But her fleeting hope was shattered by the booming voice of Mrs. Wilson echoing from downstairs. "Young lady! Stop being a couch potato and get up, there are tasks waiting for you!"

Emma let out a weary sigh and threw the blanket aside. "Another day of endless chores," she muttered to herself as she stood, wincing from the soreness in her muscles.

Despite being a twenty three years old woman with a full time job at a news network, you might expect her to have the weekend off to relax, but that's not the case in the Wilson household. In the eyes of the rest of her family, she was simply a household helper responsible for maintaining the house in perfect condition.

Quickly washing and dressing, Emma descended the stairs, greeting her foster parents with a cordial "Good morning." But the tired young couple barely acknowledged her presence, their worn expressions fixed on the kitchen table.

“Where the heck, is my breakfast. The old man cried out loud. His voice sending tremors throughout the house. “Is that stupid girl not done, yet. We give her food, give her a roof over her head and still, she can’t do the simplest things as cook food for the family”. Mr. Wilson said as he smacks the table top.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Wilson turned to Emma, her brow furrowed. "Do not keep my husband waiting. You've been lazy for too long, girl. It's time to get moving! I need all the laundry in the backyard taken care of before sunset, and don't you dare try to be lazy about it. I'll be monitoring your progress."

“Of course, ma’am. I will get on it right away”. She said in a timid voice. As she nodded silently, her heart sinking as she retrieved the overflowing wicker basket and headed outside. As she carried the heavy load, she listened to her foster brother, John, shouting sarcastically, "Make sure you don't overexert yourself, we wouldn't want you keeling over from the strain!"

The sun beat down mercilessly as Emma scrubbed and beat the clothes against the washboard, her hands growing sore and blistered. By noon, her back ached with each movement, but she trudged on, determined to complete the task.

A gentle nudge at her leg caused her to look down, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight of the neighbor's friendly dog, Carl, wagging his tail hopefully. "Oh, Carl," she sighed, scratching behind his ears. "If only I could run away with you to the countryside and never look back."

But the moment was fleeting, for soon the looming figure of Mrs. Wilson appeared, her arms crossed sternly. "It's about time you completed it, you lazy girl. Bring the basket in and start supper before relaxing your tired arms."

When they got inside Emma took a deep breath and called mrs. Wilson attention “ma’am I was hoping to get some few cash to buy some cloths. You see I only have office cloths and my normal cloths are all worn out”.

Mrs. Wilson laughed out loud “cloths, what the heck do you need cloths for, you don’t have a boyfriend nor do you have friends. How have your chores become too easy for. That you think you have time to lazy about.

Emma answered trying to assure her “No, that not what I meant”.

“Enough!” Mrs.Wilson said, “remember all your salary goes to our account, we took you in after your wretched parents abandoned you, so you should be grateful for the home we have given you, you sorry excuse for a woman. Now go make supper ”.

Emma felt the world coming down on her, ever since she stated working, she had to give her hard earn salary to her foster mom. It was torturous. But she dare not say anything about it. “Yes ma’am”. She answered as she scurry on along into the kitchen.

As Emma finished preparing the stew, the booming voice of Mrs. Wilson echoed from the dining room. "Quickly finish cooking that stew, young lady! A man toils the entire day and expects his dinner to be served promptly." She said alluding to her husband.

"Yes, ma'am. It will only be a few more minutes," Emma replied in a hushed tone, stirring the pot with care.

John's sneering voice soon joined the fray. "I can smell something that seems to be on fire already!" he called out to his younger brother, Mark, making a show of waving his hand in front of his nose. "Five bucks says she burns it again."

Emma tried to ignore the taunting, focusing intently on her work. As she reached into the pantry for more vegetables, a sudden movement caught her eye - a small mouse scurrying across the floor. She gasped in surprise, eliciting another round of laughter from the Wilsons.

"Unable to deal with a small mouse, so weak!" John jeered. "It's not surprising that no one desired a girl who was so worthless."

Emma's fists clenched at her sides, but she remained silent, knowing any response would only make the situation worse. Just a little longer, she told herself. I can make it through this.

Finally, the stew was ready. As Emma began scooping it into bowls, Mrs. Wilson entered the kitchen, her eyes narrowed. "Show me your arms, young lady."

Hesitantly, Emma stretched out her slender, sore limbs. Mrs. Wilson firmly grasped one, pressing her thumb into a new blister and causing Emma to gasp in pain. "Not firm enough yet. We need to focus on making you stronger," Mrs. Wilson said, her voice dripping with cruelty. "Now, quickly eat your food before it cools down."

During the tense meal, Emma kept her head down, enduring the taunts and jeers from the Wilsons. As the night enveloped the world around her, she couldn't help but wonder about the uncertainties of tomorrow, and whether she had the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Suddenly, Emma's phone vibrated with a new message. Glancing down, she was greeted by an unexpected and intriguing question: "Do you want to be a billionaire?"

Ella's eyes widened in disbelief. Could this be real, or is it just a prank? she wondered, a glimmer of hope flickering in the darkness of her bleak life.