Fated To My Billionaire Saviour

Chapter 9: The Others

Ella

The cry from behind the wall grew stronger as I stepped through the hidden doorway; I was so tense I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs. The corridor in front of me stretched ahead; I could barely see to the end due to the dim fluorescent light that kept coming on and going off.

I tried to creep like a ghost, but the sound of every step I took echoed back at me due to the confined empty space.

"Hello?" I whispered with a barely audible voice. "Is someone there?"

There was no response, but I noticed that the crying stopped abruptly. The sound of rapid, hushed conversation replaced it. I could hear multiple voices, and they were whispering things I couldn't quite make out.

I moved forward carefully, and in order not to fall in the dark, I used one hand to trail along the cold wall for guidance. Suddenly, the corridor opened into a larger space, and what I saw made my jaw drop.

It was a basement level I never knew existed; well, I don’t think anyone who’s not directly involved with Victor would know. The place was transformed into a number of temporary studios. The room was filled with painting equipment, worktables, and easels, but something was still off; everything looked wrong, and the place felt like a prison.

I moved a step further and froze at the sight of three figures who stood and stared at me with terror in their eyes. There were two women and a man; the slim lady must have been the one crying all this time. Her eyes were red, and I could still see some drops of tears on her chin.

She quickly wiped the tears with her palm and fixed her gaze on me. I gulped hard as I stared back at them in shock.

"You're new," the young man finally broke the silence as he stepped towards me cautiously. His hair was black, but it looked a bit unkempt; his clothes were also rumpled, and his eyes looked like eyes that had seen too much.

"Ella. Ella Devereaux." My name was the only word I could mutter.

"Devereaux?" One of the ladies' eyes widened at the mention of my name; she moved closer to where I was and looked me in the eye as though there was some sort of mark she could use to recognize my identity. "Lucy Devereaux's daughter?"

My breath caught at the mention of Lucy Devereaux.

"You knew my mother?"

"I'm Maya. Maya Rodri. Your mother... she was investigating forgeries connected to this place before she died. She contacted me asking questions about digital art authentication."

"Jon Mark. I've been here six months." The lean young man who had earlier asked if I was new introduced himself. "Welcome to hell," he said as he gestured around the basement

"How many of you are here?" I asked, though I already dreaded the answer.

"Just us three now," Maya said. "There used to be more."

"Used to be?"

Maya and Jon looked at me, then exchanged a look that made my stomach clench.

"Victor doesn't keep artists forever," Jon explained as he moved to a dark corner and gestured for us to follow. "When he gets tired of your work, or when you become too difficult to manage..." He paused.

"What happens to them?"

"They disappear," Maya said simply. "Rebecca lasted for two years, and Tim lasted for eight months before they just… vanished. Victor told their families they'd moved abroad for higher opportunities, but that's a lie; we know better."

Maya pulled aside a canvas that had been covering what looked like a ventilation grate. Behind it was a small space where they'd hidden papers, some photographs, and something that appeared to be a temporary surveillance system.

"We've been documenting everything," she explained as she explained to my confused self. "Every visitor, every conversation we can overhear, and every piece of art that leaves this place. We felt that if something eventually happens to us, maybe, just maybe, someone will find this and understand what Victor's really doing here."

I stared at the photographs spread across the small space. It had images of well-dressed men and women examining artwork, shaking hands with Victor, and signing documents. But what got me more curious were the photos of young artists just like me having that same ‘I am trapped’ look on their faces.

"How did you all end up here?" I asked.

"Same way as you, probably," Jon said bitterly. "The same promises of helping us grow and advance in our careers that turned into debt contracts we couldn't escape." He strengthened and then continued,

"Victor finds artists who are vulnerable; if he sees you're struggling financially, or dealing with family problems, or, in my case, fighting immigration status issues, you are already prey.”

"He also targets people who won't be immediately missed in society," Maya added. "He goes for orphans, artists who aren't with their families, and people without strong support networks."

"But I had Marcus," I protested, then stopped after a rethink. Of course, Marcus had been part of the trap all along.

"Victor's network is bigger than just him," Sophia finally said. She had been quiet all this while. "He is connected to a lot of influential people in the city, and that's why he seems to be untouchable. Some of these people provide him with whatever information he needs; they also go as far as luring people into a trap and placing Victor as their only option and savior.”

Her words hit me with reality. I immediately thought about Marcus's sudden breakup and the unexplained debt he accused me of owing him, and then Victor suddenly became the only option. It all made sense now. How long had they been planning this?

“s**t! I've been used all along.” I stared at the blank wall as I mumbled the words.

“We all were used, Ella; we just didn't know until we had fallen so deep into his trap,” Jon said.

"My mother," I said suddenly. "What exactly was she investigating?" I asked Maya.

“I'm sorry.” She looked away from my gaze. I don't have full details. She just asked me about the authenticity of some works, that's all." She wasn't very comfortable answering that question; I could sense there was something off from her reaction, but I couldn’t connect the dots, so I decided not to push further.

“Victor is hosting a big event tomorrow night," Jon said.

“Seriously? No one told me."

"Well, I've told you now. Besides, you don't expect Victor to let you in on all his plans, do you?”

“What’s the event about?”

“He tagged it 'exclusive acquisition event.' We think it's an auction.”

"For artwork?" I asked.

"Hahaha." Jon laughed slightly. “Not artworks, Ella; we think it's an auction for artists.”

"For what?" I asked with a wide expression written all over my face.

"We've overheard some conversations, and we have connected the dots. So far, from what we gathered, wealthy collectors aren't just buying our art anymore. They're buying exclusive contracts for our services. They are paying for permanent contracts."

The room itself seemed to spin around me as I tried to digest the information I just heard: "You mean..."

"He's selling us," Maya confirmed. "To private collectors who want their own personal artists. People who are so wealthy and see human talent as just another luxury."

I sank onto a nearby stool, as my mind reeled. This can't be happening; this can't be true. Is Victor really preparing me for sale? I thought.

"How do you know all this?" I whispered.

"We've been listening," Jon answered as he looked up. I followed his gaze, but there was nothing up there.

“Victor isn't as careful as he thinks he is about where he holds his phone conversations,” he finally cleared my confused look.

"And tomorrow night, he is expecting multiple international buyers," Maya continued. "He's expecting people who can afford to purchase human beings, turn them into slaves, and get away with it."

"We have to escape," I said in a shaky voice. "We have to get out of here before…"

"With what money? With what identification?" Sophia interrupted. "Victor has made sure we're completely dependent on him. We don't have access to our bank accounts, we don't have any valid identification, and there is no way to contact people on the outside without his knowledge."

"And even if we could escape," Maya added, "he has legal documents that would send us all to prison for breach of contract and theft. I would advise you to forget about escape and get ready for whatever comes because the entire system is rigged against us."

I thought about Adrian, about the way he'd looked at me, and about his promise that this conversation wasn't over. Could he really help us? Or was I just grasping at false hope?

"There might be some…" I paused as I heard a sound from above, which made us all freeze on the spot. It was footsteps walking towards the studio where I work.

"s**t, it's Victor," Jon whispered. "How long have you been gone?”

"Oh my… I think it's been 2 hours." My hands trembled as I stared at my wristwatch. “I'm doomed."