Fated To My Billionaire Saviour

Chapter 5: Secret

Ella

My hands trembled as I stared at the photograph; the edges looked blurred through the tears I fought to hold back. I can’t mistake my mother signature style; the textile piece had it all around it. All her flowing patterns and the master use of space flashed at me. But something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Where did you get this?" My voice came out as barely a whisper.

Victor's smile stretched wider as he stared at me; he looked just like a predator who just sensed wounded prey.

"It was an estate sale, years ago. Let’s just say the previous owner had excellent taste for upcoming artists." He spoke with pride as he circled me slowly; in my distress, I could hear his footsteps echo loudly in the spacious studio. "Your mother was quite talented, wasn't she? Such a shame about the accident."

The way he said 'accident' gave me goosebumps; I could literally feel something off, and a lot of memories about my mom flooded into my head. Plus, there was something in his tone; it carried a satisfaction that made me want to scream.

"Why did you give this?" I asked as I forced myself to meet his gaze. "How did you know it was hers?"

Victor stopped circling around me as he positioned himself directly in front of me. "I make it my business to know about all the artists whose work passes through my collection. Lucy Devereaux had a... unique style," he said as his eyes shone with something cruel in them. "Unique and valuable."

“Did Mom work for Victor? This is strange,” I murmured to myself, still in a pool of confusion.

I held up the photograph to the light that streamed through the studio windows and studied it more carefully. The patterns were definitely my mother’s, but as I traced the lines with my eyes, I noticed little differences.

Someone had altered her original design; the person must have been skilled enough to have tampered with her design without causing much damage. But since I know a lot about stuff like this, I knew that whoever modified the key elements changed the entire meaning of the piece.

"This isn't right," I frowned as I pointed to a section where some elements intersected. "My mother never would have placed these patterns here. Someone changed her work."

"Miss Devereaux or whatever you call yourself,” Victor's expression darkened. I need you to recreate this piece exactly as shown in that photograph. A private client has specifically requested this version. Your... personal opinions... are not required."

"But it's wrong!" I protested, as my voice rose slightly. "These alterations completely destroy the harmony she was trying to create. It's like... like someone deliberately corrupted her vision."

“Look here, young lady, I don’t f*cking care,” his voice sounded like thunder. "You will recreate it precisely as shown in the photograph. I don’t care how you intend to go about it, but there should be no corrections or deviations.” His breath was hot as he leaned towards me. “Do I make myself clear?”

His words stung like a bee sting as the photograph shook in my grip. Every instinct I had as an artist screamed against what he was asking. It felt like I was about to desecrate my own mother’s memory; it felt like I was turning her beautiful work into trash, but what could I possibly do? Nothing.

"I understand, Victor." I whispered; the words tasted bitter, but I had to let it out.

"Excellent." Victor straightened as he replaced his angry face with a wide grin. "I expect the preliminary sketches by tomorrow evening. Alice will provide you with the necessary materials."

As if summoned by his word, Alice appeared in the doorway, but her usual pleasant expression wasn’t there; she looked strained, and she also avoided making direct eye contact with me.

"Alice will escort you back to your room," Victor continued. "I trust you'll spend the evening getting familiar with the piece. Study every detail, Miss Devereaux. Every single detail." He said as he stormed off.

I followed Alice through the mansion's corridors with the photograph clutched against my chest. This wasn’t the first time I walked through these corridors, but I felt the walls were closing in around us; the artworks that were lined across the walls now felt like watching eyes.

We walked in silence until we reached an area of the hallway that was very quiet and a bit dark. Alice suddenly slowed her pace and glanced around nervously and turned to face me.

"Miss Devereaux," she whispered; her voice was so low I had to strain my ears to hear it. "Some things in this house are better left unquestioned."

"What do you mean?" I asked as I stopped walking abruptly.

"I can’t say more than this, ma’am. The walls have ears here, the pictures have eyes, and Mr. Dane..." she shuddered slightly. "Mr. Dane has a very long, hurtful memory for those who disappoint him." Alice said as she continued moving, her posture was so tense and it got me all confused

"Alice, what are you trying to tell me?" I asked with a shaky voice. “Please talk to me,” I pleaded. But she just shook her head and quickened her pace until we reached my suite.

"I'll bring your dinner in an hour," she said in her normal voice, which was loud enough for anyone listening to hear. Then, immediately, barely moving her lips, she added, "Be careful what you keep in your room."

The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone with the photograph and a thousand unanswered questions. First, Adrian, the strange man who claimed my mother was murdered; second, Victor gives me a photograph of her tempered work to recreate; and now, Alice is acting like a spy coming for a rescue. I don’t even know who to trust anymore.

“What is wrong with everyone?” I screamed as I flung the photograph across the room. I guess I needed to scream out so my brain wouldn’t blow up in my tiny skull. Tears rolled down my frail face as the fire I felt burnt from inside of my chest.

“I can’t do this anymore, I can’t do this anymore,” I cried uncontrollably as I slid my back down the wall.

I stayed there for what looked like an hour before I regained my strength. Deep down I knew I was alone in this, and planning and executing my escape was the only way out of this mess.

I picked up and set the image on my desk, then I began examining every detail under the lamp's bright light. The more I studied it, the more certain I was that someone had deliberately sabotaged my mother's work. But why? What purpose could it serve?

Without getting any answers to my endless questions, I quietly dropped the photograph on the desk and moved to where my suitcase was. I pulled out the few personal belongings I'd managed to salvage from my life with Marcus. My mother's old sketchbook, a small jewelry box she'd given me, and a ceramic figurine she'd made in one of her pottery classes.

As I arranged my mother's gifts on the dresser, something felt unusual. The items weren't exactly where I'd left them. The sketchbook's bookmark had been moved, and the jewelry box was turned slightly to the right. I know I shouldn’t be too inquisitive, but it was clear that things were not as they were supposed to be.

Then my heart began to race instantly. Someone had gone through my belongings. I swung into action immediately. I searched every corner of the room, and I also made sure to run my hands along every surface and check behind every piece of furniture. I examined the artwork on the walls, and I also checked the bathroom frantically, but I found nothing. Nothing at all.

“I think I’m just too bothered,” I mumbled to myself, but I was still curious. Then I decided to move the cushions on the elegant settee; my fingers brushed against something that felt odd, it was small and hard. I lifted it to my face.

It was a recording device. I gasped immediately when I recognized it. I stared at the tiny device in my hand as I flipped it over and over again. How long had it been there? Had it been recording everything since I arrived?

My mind quickly raced through every conversation I'd had in this room. Thank goodness, I hadn’t had one except for the tears I had shed earlier, I thought to myself.

Victor wasn't just keeping me prisoner; he was also documenting every aspect of my captivity. But why? What could he possibly gain from monitoring my private moments?

“Unless…”

The thought hit me like a physical blow. Unless this wasn't just about my debt to Marcus. Unless this wasn't just about my art knowledge...

At that instance, Adrian's words echoed in my memory.

"Your mother's death wasn't an accident."