Fated To My Billionaire Saviour

Ella “I just want to f**k you right now.” My fiancé said. Not to me. To Isabella. I swear, I just heard the most traumatizing words from the man I’ve loved with every ounce of blood in me. The champagne flute trembled in my hand as I watched my world crumble through the crack in the bedroom door. Marcus's laugh I had fallen in love with three years ago, sounded like shattered glass against my eardrums. The same hands that traced my sketches now traced Isabella Winters’s slim waist. Worst of all, I could see the tenderness he claimed he reserved for me all over her body. “She has no idea, does she?” Isabella’s voice dripped. The satisfaction in her voice almost made me throw up. Her diamond earrings that sparkled under the light showed how more valuable she was than I. “Poor little Ella, she thinks she’s about to become Mrs. Marcus Mason. Hahaha, so hilarious.” She said mockingly, and although I detest her, she was right. I had just been engaged to the love of my life, Marcus. This was, in fact, our engagement party, but how foolish I was to think that the all-powerful Marcus would settle for a middle-class like me. “How was I this blind?” I cursed under my breath. “Ella has served her purpose,” Marcus murmured as his lips pecked the curve of Isabella’s neck. “The hotel designs are nearly complete, and once I have everything I want from her…” “What?” My heartbeat skipped, the champagne flute in my hand slipped, and shattered against the marble floor. They froze. With the little strength left in me, I pushed the door open. The emerald dress Marcus had specifically chosen for me for the night swung behind me, and I was glad it didn’t go anywhere under my shoes as I strode quickly; otherwise, I would have fallen and made a fool of myself. “Having fun?” I scoffed. Marcus, with no trace of shame on his face, straightened, his perfectly styled hair mussed from Isabella’s touches, if for anything, he looked very relieved. “Ella. We need to talk.” He blurted. “Talk about…” the words suddenly got stuck in my throat. It's been three years of believing in us, three years of pouring my effort and soul into creating stunning designs for his luxury hotel, three years of giving up on my independent studio because he made me believe we were building something together. “How long? How long has this been going on?” I asked, my voice so low as I was trying so hard not to let down a tear, my legs were shaking beneath my dress, my heart was heavy, and I couldn’t think straight anymore. “Does it matter?" Isabella cat-walked towards me, her half-revealing maroon dress showing off her smooth, long legs. There was something about those legs; they looked so enticing, and I bet I'd fall for them if I were a man. Was that why Marcus cheated on me with her, and of all days on our engagement night? f**k. I could feel my temperature rise suddenly. “You were always temporary, sweetheart. Just a little artist playing dress-up in our world.” Isabella’s red lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and her eyes scanned me from head to toe. I could literally feel pain from her gaze. "How hilarious of you to think you were ever gonna fit in. Snap out of it, girl.” Isabella snapped her finger in my face, and my eyes, in a bid to hide their shame, blinked in reflex. “What?" “Oh yes, you heard me right." Her words hit me so hard, and at this point, I would have preferred a physical blow. Marcus promised me love, but what he just served me was high blood pressure. This is so unfair. Of course, I knew I didn't belong to their class. Growing up in a cramped apartment above my mother’s seamstress shop had taught me to appreciate beauty in little things, the texture of quality fabric between my fingers, and the satisfaction I get from creating something beautiful from nothing. But why would Marcus pick me up and make me believe I belonged to him, only for him to fling me away like trash? “The engagement is off." Marcus spilled with a firm voice, his tone was harsh. "What? The engagement is what?” My jaw dropped in disbelief. I think the AC stopped working because, why on earth was there sweat all over my face? "I think it's best if you move out tonight." He added. "Move out? Marcus, you're kidding, right? Like, this is a joke, right? C’mon, Marcus, we just got engaged, and the most sane thing you can think of right now is to break up with me?” “Do I look like I'm joking, Ella?" “Marcus, I don't know if you have forgotten, but this is my home too. My studio…” “Your studio?" He laughed, his once enticing laugh now felt like a straw, sharp enough to draw blood. “Ella darling, did you not read the contracts you signed?” At the mention of the contract, Ice formed in my veins. "What contracts are you talking about?" I frowned. "The partnership agreement. The licensing deal. The intellectual property transfer." Marcus listed with pride, and each word was a nail in my coffin. "Look here, Barbie, everything you've created for the past two years legally belongs to Mason Enterprises. Including those gorgeous textile designs for the Grandview Hotel." "The Grandview Hotel? You can't be serious, Marcus. That's My f*****g masterpiece.” "Ohh, sweetheart, I am 100% serious.” He scoffed as his fingers traced the line that formed on my face. "Get your filthy hands off me." I pushed away his finger. “That's eighteen months of work, Marcus. I've had countless sleepless nights creating that work, I've poured all my emotions into it, and you just want to steal it from me just like that? You can't," I screamed, my body suddenly went pale, and the tears I had fought so hard to prevent from falling rained down my cheeks. “I can and I have." Marcus straightened his tie, and his face had no ounce of sympathy. “You owe Mason Enterprises approximately two hundred thousand dollars." "Two hundred thousand what?" The number hit me like a punch to the gut. "That's impossible, when and how the hail did I sign such?" “Oh, poor Ella,” Marcus's mischievous grin spread gracefully on his face. He looked so satisfied playing these dirty jokes, I could tell from the satisfaction on his face. “Do I look like a toy to you? Please stop these dirty jokes you’re pulling around.” I snapped, “I just caught you cheating on me on our engagement night, and the best way you can think of apologising is to shove a two-hundred-thousand-dollar debt to my face?” “Apologise? You seriously think I, Marcus, owe you an apology? For what exactly, if I may ask?” “For cheating and accusing me falsely,” I blurted. Marcus didn’t say another word; he just turned and walked towards his drawer. He pulled out a neatly kept file and returned to where I was. “Here you go, Ella,” he said as he shoved it into my hands. When I opened the file in my hands, the agreements were clearly stated, and my signature sat boldly at the bottom staring at me. My eyes went wide open, and my hands shook as I gripped the document. “When on earth did I sign this?”