Fated To My Billionaire Saviour

Chapter 13: Highest Bidder

Ella

"You clever little b***h," Victor's words still rang in my head as I pressed myself against the cold stone wall of the secret passage Maya had told me about earlier. My heart kept beating fast and loud; nobody must see me.

Through the small ventilation grate at the top, I could see into the main auction room. There were already a lot of guests seated in the neatly arranged velvet chairs. They chatted and clinked champagne glasses.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this evening's acquisition event," Victor's excited voice could be heard clearly through the room. "I hope you're all settled in and happy because tonight, we're offering something truly special. When I say special, I'm not referring to just an artwork; I'm referring to full access to the creative minds behind the artwork."

I could tell how happy the guests were from their thunderous applause.

"Our featured program offers collectors the opportunity to acquire exclusive artistic partnerships," Victor continued; his tone was smooth as silk. "These arrangements provide you with dedicated creative talent, available for your private collections and personal or specialized projects."

"What exactly does 'exclusive partnership' entail?" A woman with a thick German accent called out.

Victor smiled widely. I bet it could have sold ice to an Eskimo. "Complete dedication, madam. Our artists work solely for whoever gets them. They are obliged to create pieces that will never see public auction or gallery walls. Think of it as… paying not just for art, but for the artist themselves."

"For how long?" another voice asked.

"The standard contract is indefinite, with performance reviews conducted annually. Of course, should an artist prove... unsuitable... we do offer replacement services."

"Replacement services?" I felt a lump rise in my throat. He was talking about human beings like we were trash.

"Now, let me present our currently available talent."

The side door opened, and my heart shattered as Jon, Maya, and Sophia were led onto a small platform. They stood there like broken dolls; their eyes were empty of the fire I'd seen just hours ago.

"Jon Mark, twenty-six, specializes in digital art and graphic design," Victor announced like he was auctioning livestock. "Extremely adaptable, excellent work ethic, and he's already been pre-trained in our program for six months."

"Has he given you any trouble?" a man in the front row asked.

"None whatsoever," Victor replied with satisfaction. "Jon has learned to appreciate the stability our program provides. Haven't you, Jon?"

Jon nodded mechanically. Whatever they'd done to him, they'd broken his spirit completely.

"Maya Rodri, twenty-three, our sculpture specialist. She's particularly skilled with both traditional materials and modern installations." Victor gestured toward Maya like she was a prize heifer. "Maya has shown remarkable... creativity... in adapting to her new circumstances."

"I'd like to examine her work more closely," Madame Volkov called out. "My client requires someone who can handle large-scale projects."

"Of course. Maya, show them your piece."

Maya moved like a sleepwalker to an easel that was covered with a gold cloth. When she pulled it away, I gasped. It was a sculpture of chains wrapped around a bird. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. All I saw was a cry for help that these monsters couldn't recognize.

"Exquisite technique," someone murmured approvingly.

"And Sophia Wells, our third offering tonight," Victor continued. "Twenty-two, mixed media specialist with particular expertise in conceptual work. Sophia has been with us for eight months and has shown exceptional... compliance."

Sophia didn't even look up when her name was called. She stared at the floor like she'd forgotten the world existed beyond this room.

"Now, for tonight's special presentation," Victor's voice took on an almost reverent tone. "I'd like to show you something extraordinary."

An assistant wheeled out an easel displaying my mother's textile piece, the corrupted version I'd been forced to recreate.

"This is the work of Lucy Devereaux, a talented artist who unfortunately passed away several years ago. But her daughter, Ella, has inherited not only her mother's exceptional skill but also her... unique insights."

What the hell did that mean?

"This particular piece," Victor pointed to the textile, "contains information that certain collectors find invaluable. Notice the pattern here…" He traced a section with his finger. "And the way these elements intersect."

"Is that...?" A man in the third row leaned forward, squinting at the design.

"Indeed it is," Victor confirmed with a smug grin. "Lucy Devereaux was quite clever in how she documented her design. And her daughter has proven equally... gifted... at interpreting these visual codes."

Visual codes? My mother had hidden information in her artwork?

"Where is this daughter now?" One of the guests demanded.

"She's completing her final pieces as we speak. Ella Devereaux will be available for acquisition within the week, once we've extracted all relevant information from her mother's archives."

"I want first viewing rights," a man with a British accent called out.

"As do I," another voice added.

"Gentlemen, ladies, please," Victor raised his hands. "Ella's acquisition will be handled through private bidding. Her particular... talent... makes her extremely valuable. The starting price will reflect that."

"What's the starting bid?" someone shouted.

"Two million."

Two million dollars? I thought he said $500,000 earlier. I'm now being priced like a slut.

"That seems reasonable for someone with her bloodline," the British man mused. "Assuming she's as cooperative as these three."

"Oh, she will be," Victor's voice carried a dark promise. "We have very effective training methods."

I thought about Jon's empty eyes, Maya's broken spirit, and Sophia's complete withdrawal from reality. That's what they'd done to them. That's what they planned to do to me.

"Now, shall we begin tonight's bidding?" Victor gestured toward the platform where my friends stood like broken marionettes.

"Actually," Madame Volkov stood up, "I'd like to inspect the Devereaux piece more closely before we proceed."

"Of course."

As she approached the textile, I pressed closer to the grate, straining to see. She pulled out a small magnifying device and examined specific sections of the pattern.

"Fascinating," she murmured. "The coordinates are definitely here. And these symbols..." She looked up at Victor. "You're certain the daughter can interpret all of this?"

"Absolutely. Lucy trained her well before her unfortunate accident."

Accident, my ass. And coordinates? What coordinates had my mother hidden in her work?

"Very well," Madame Volkov returned to her seat. "I'm prepared to make a substantial offer for the daughter. My client has been searching for someone with exactly these qualifications."

"Excellent. Now, let's begin with Lot 48, Jon Mark."

I couldn't watch anymore. As the bidding began, I crawled back through the passage toward the basement; my mind reeled so fast. My mother hadn't just been investigating art forgeries. She'd been documenting locations, hiding coordinates in her textile designs. And Victor knew exactly what those coordinates led to.

But what was at those locations? More artists? Evidence of crimes? Money?

I had to find out. And I had to figure out what my mother had really discovered before Victor's buyers got their hands on me.

As I reached the basement, I could hear the auction continuing above, voices calling out numbers, Victor's smooth commentary, and the sound of my friends being sold to the highest bidders.

"Sold to bidder number seven for eight hundred thousand!"

Eight hundred thousand for a human life. The casual cruelty of it made me physically sick.

I heard footsteps above. Heavy, purposeful footsteps heading toward my studio.

Victor was coming to check on me.

And from the tone of his voice during the auction, I had a feeling our next conversation wouldn't be nearly as civilized as our previous encounters.

I had maybe three minutes to get back to my studio and pretend I'd been working all evening.

Three minutes to prepare for whatever hell Victor was about to unleash.