Fated To My Billionaire Saviour

Chapter 6: The Watchers

Ella

That wasn’t all; Victor's strange comment about Lucy Devereaux having a "distinctive and valuable" style hit my brain.

What if my presence here wasn't random? What if Victor had planned everything all along? Marcus's betrayal, the fraudulent contracts, and even my desperate situation, just to get me here? Just to get me in his web.

“Damn!” I muttered as I closed my fist around the recording device, and I could feel its sharp edges bite into my palm. Whatever game Victor was playing, whatever he wanted from me, I was going to find out.

But first, I needed to understand exactly what kind of prison I was in.

I moved to the window and looked down at the carefully smoothed ground. In the fading daylight, I could see figures moving through the gardens; there were too many figures for a normal estate staff.

“How many people are watching me, and how many ears have been listening to my every word?” I murmured silently.

I thought about Adrian's promise that he'd be back, and I thought about the way his eyes had held mine when he spoke about my mother. He must have risked something by telling me what he did. But would it be enough?

As darkness fell over Ravenwood, I sat at the desk with the photograph of my mother's corrupted work staring at me from the desk. Tomorrow, Victor would expect me to begin recreating this bastardized version of her art. Tomorrow, I would have to desecrate her memory with my own hands.

But tonight, all I felt was the need to escape. And if Victor Dane thinks he can break me the way he'd broken my mother's beautiful patterns, he is about to learn how very wrong he is.

I placed the recording device on the desk and made sure I didn’t make a sound as I tiptoed and lay quietly on the bed.

I barely slept. Every creak of the house and every whisper of wind against the windows made me wonder if someone was coming to check on me. When dawn finally broke, I was already awake. I continuously stared at the ceiling and tried to formulate a plan.

The recording device sat on my nightstand like a spy. I'd spent hours debating whether to destroy it, trash it, or leave it exactly where I'd found it. Finally, I'd decided to carefully replace it in the settee cushion. If Victor suspected I'd discovered his device, my situation would undoubtedly become much worse.

At exactly 8:00 am, I heard a subtle knock on the door.

“Who is it?” I asked as I stretched lazily on my bed.

“It’s Alice; I brought your breakfast.”

“Ohh, come in please.” I invited her in.

When she entered, I tried to study her composure, but I noticed she was much more reserved than she had been the evening before.

"Good morning, Miss Devereaux. Mr. Dane expects you in the studio in thirty minutes."

"Alice," I said carefully, watching her face as she arranged the silver service on the small table. "How long have you worked here?"

She paused, and her hands stilled for just a moment on the coffee pot. "Three years, miss."

"Do you enjoy it? Do you enjoy working at Ravenwood?"

This time, her pause was longer. She glanced toward the door, then back to me.

"It's... stable work. That's useful in these uncertain times.” She replied calmly, but I could see it in her eyes; I saw fear. Those eyes told a different story.

"Alice, yesterday you mentioned that some things are better left unquestioned. What did you mean?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to, miss. Will there be anything else?" She answered abruptly as she straightened up almost immediately.

The denial was very clear as the day, which made me even more confused, but as she moved toward the door, she glanced back at me with an expression I couldn’t read clearly. Probably a warning? Sympathy? Or maybe I just saw what I wanted to see in a desperate situation?

After she left, I took a shower, dressed quickly, and made my way to the studio. As I walked down the hallways, I found myself paying closer attention to details I'd missed before.

I noticed the placement of mirrors that could reflect activity from around corners and the strategic positioning of decorative vases that might conceal cameras.

Ravenwood wasn't just a mansion. It was a well-planned network for monitoring.

In the studio, I spread the photograph on the work table and began preliminary sketches of my mother's tempered design. I couldn’t believe I was doing this; every line I drew felt like I was betraying my mom, but I had to continue. I needed to buy time and understand more about what Victor wanted from me.

Throughout the morning, staff members zoomed in and out with suspicious movements. A woman cleaning windows in the adjacent corridor spent an unusually long time on the panes that provided the best view into my workspace. A man who delivered supplies to other parts of the mansion seemed to have gone the farthest path beyond the studio doors.

By noon, I'd identified at least three different people who'd found reasons to monitor my movements. And those were just the obvious ones.

When Alice brought lunch, I decided to test how far I could go.

"Alice, I was wondering if I might take a walk in the gardens after lunch. The morning light is beautiful, but I'd love to see how it looks outside.”

"I... I don't think Mr. Dane would approve of you leaving the studio during work hours, miss," she stammered.

"Just a short walk. Perhaps you could accompany me? I'd enjoy the company."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, miss. I have chores..." She trailed off and glanced nervously toward the door.

"Of course. I understand." I nodded.

After Alice left, I continued my sketches, but my real focus was on understanding the house. Who moved where, and when? Which routes seemed most heavily monitored? And where the blind spots might be.

Then suddenly, in my thoughts, I noticed something disturbing. The other studios I could see from my windows were empty but looked alive, like somewhere that was recently used. Easels with incomplete paintings and worktables with abandoned projects.

“How many other artists had been brought to Ravenwood? And where were they now?” I thought to myself.

Around three o'clock, I heard voices in the hallway. Victor and someone else were talking in low tones. I moved closer to the door as I pretended to examine the natural light from that angle with the work in my hands.

"...the Blackwood situation needs to be handled carefully," Victor said. "I think he has an interest in the girl, and that’s an issue."

"Should we accelerate the timeline?" The second voice asked.

"Not yet. But increase surveillance. I want to know if he attempts any contact. And make sure she understands the consequences of talking to outsiders."

Their footsteps moved away down the corridor as they left me with a chill that had nothing to do with the AC.

Adrian had been right to be concerned about me. But his interest in me had apparently painted a target on both our backs.

I returned to my work, but I couldn’t concentrate. Every sound in the hallway made me tense.

It was nearly evening when I heard it. I heard a sound that made me freeze completely.

I heard a distressed, muffled cry. It was faint, but I could tell it was human.

I listened carefully and noticed that the sound was coming from behind the wall. I pressed my ear to different parts of the wall, and the cry grew stronger near the bookshelf.

I ran my hands on the shelves, and behind a section of books on textile arts, my fingers touched a lever. I quickly held my hand to my now-beating chest as I looked around the studio.

The afternoon light was fading, and I could see James still moving through the gardens. If I were going to investigate, it had to be now.

I pulled the lever, and with a soft click, a section of the bookshelf swung inward and revealed a hidden door.

The crying was clearer now; it came from somewhere in the darkness. Then I heard footsteps approaching from behind me.

Someone was coming.

I had perhaps thirty seconds to decide whether to close the hidden door and pretend nothing happened or go forward and risk being caught.

The footsteps grew closer.

The crying grew more desperate. The voice was weak and frightened beyond the hidden door.

"Please... is someone there? Please help me..."

It was a female voice, and it sounded young and completely terrified.

It sounded exactly like my mother.