Fated To My Billionaire Saviour

Chapter 10: The Auction

Ella

Over two hours. Victor would definitely have noticed my absence by now.

"I have to go back," I said, as panic rose in my throat. "If he finds out I discovered this place..."

"Take this." Maya pressed a small piece of paper into my hand. "It's a way to contact us if you need to. Also, there's a loose floorboard under your bed. Leave messages there if you can't get back down here safely."

"And Ella?" Jon caught my arm as I moved toward the corridor. "Be careful who you trust. Victor has informants throughout his staff. Have this in mind: not everyone working here is a prisoner."

I nodded and hurried back through the narrow corridor; I could hear my heartbeat popping through my chest as I raced down the dark corridor. I wasn’t scared of falling this time; all I cared about was getting to the studio before Victor. As I reached the hidden door, I heard Victor's voice in the main studio; it was sharp and filled with annoyance.

"Where is she? She should be working, not wandering around the house."

I quickly closed the hidden door and grabbed my sketching materials. I arranged myself and moved quickly to the work table.

The studio door burst open, and Victor entered with two men I didn't recognize. They were well-dressed, and they wore expensive watches. Their eyes held an anticipated look in them; they looked just like the people Maya had talked about.

"Ah, there she is," Victor said, as he gestured towards me. His voice still carried that familiar threat. "Gentlemen, meet Ella Devereaux. She's one of the best."

The two men didn’t take their eyes off me as they studied me intensively. With the kind of horror looks on their faces, I realized that tomorrow's auction had already begun.

One of them strode slowly to my work table. He stared at the sketches I made of my mother's design, then gave a slight nod.

“This is excellent,” he said in accented English. “Her work looks very promising. When did you say she would be ready for transfer?”

At the mention of the word "transfer," I jolted. I quickly turned; my eyes flashed from my design to the wall. I didn’t want to look at their face so that they wouldn’t notice how shocked I was. Maya talked about selling me, but she didn’t mention it would be this early.

“Shit.” I cursed under my breath, steadying my shaky fingers on the sketch board.

“After tomorrow’s exhibition,” Victor replied smoothly. "Assuming all the paperwork is finalized, of course."

"My client will be very pleased. He's been looking for someone with her particular... style and brilliance for quite some time." The second man’s voice echoed behind me

“Yeah, I provide nothing but quality; you can always count on me for that,” Victor proudly said.

As they left the studio, discussing logistics in low tones, I sat defeated at my work table as I looked from my trembling hands to the sketch and from the sketch back to my trembling hands.

Their client? Who is their client? What did I do to deserve this treatment? Who did I ever wrong? So many questions flooded my mind.

My rights were not just stripped from me; I am now being sold as artistic labor. I didn’t know where the tears came from, but I felt drops of liquid flow down my chin.

The next day, the estate erupted into controlled chaos before dawn. Through my window, I watched as an army of caterers, florists, and security personnel transformed Ravenwood into something that resembled a high-end gallery opening.

"Miss Devereaux?" Alice appeared at my door. She looked very exhausted from the numerous chores. "Mr. Dane wants to see your progress on the textile piece."

Without uttering a word, I followed her through the hall that was now filled with people carrying out different activities. People I'd never seen before hurried past; I think they were all trying to beat time. The scent of expensive cologne and fresh paint hung heavy in the air as we strode past them.

"Alice, what exactly is happening tonight?" I asked as we walked.

"It's Mr. Dane's quarterly acquisition event." She replied politely. "It is usually very exclusive and private."

"Acquisition of what?"

"Art, of course," she said, but there was no conviction in her words. "Please, Miss Devereaux, just focus on your work today. Don't ask questions." She added.

I wasn't surprised at her behavior; she has always been this way ever since I stepped foot in here. I just looked away and focused on the

In the main hallway, I overheard a few talks as well-dressed men and ladies looked at the artwork that was already in the mansion.

They spoke in Russian accents, and their words made my blood run cold.

"The brunette from last season looked great," one of the women told her partner. "However, I do hope that this group has more… endurance.”

"Victor assures me the quality has improved," her male companion replied as he adjusted his diamond cufflinks. “According to him, the screening process is much more thorough now."

Endurance? Screening process? These art collectors weren't discussing paintings; I'm certain of that.

"Ah, there's my rising star." Victor's voice made me almost jump out of my skin. He approached me with two men who looked like they could afford to buy small countries.

"Gentlemen, this is Ella, the artist I mentioned earlier."

The taller man stepped closer and studied me with the same eyes I'd seen him look at a Ming vase in the entrance hall. "Exceptional talent." He said as he rubbed his clingy tongue round his lips. It looked disgusting. "And you said she specializes in textiles?" He continued rubbing his two hands against each other.

"Among other things," Victor replied as he grinned from chin to chin. "She's very adaptable and very... trainable." He said slowly as he searched for the best whack word to use.

The word 'trainable' hit me like a physical blow. Isn't that the word used for livestock?

"Well said, Victor; we'll need to see her work, of course," the second man said. "My client is very particular about technical skill."

"Of course. Ella has been working on a very special piece. Haven't you, my dear?" Victor smiled sheepishly as he placed his filthy hands around my shoulder. I felt disgusted, but I had to compose myself in front of the guests.

I gave a slight nod without saying a word, my throat was too tight to speak.

"Excellent then. We'll review it this afternoon." The man said, and Victor nodded multiple times with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Ella,” he called sharply as they turned to leave. "I need you to remain in your studio today. You are not permitted to wander around the estate, as we have many important guests arriving to inspect your work.” He gave the warning look.

As they walked away, I caught the tail end of their conversation: "...transportation arrangements to Dubai should be finalized by Monday..."

Dubai? I'll be shipped to Dubai like a piece of cargo?

Back in my studio, I tried to focus on the textile recreation, but my hands shook so badly I could barely hold my pencil. Through the windows, I watched as black sedans and limousines arrived in a steady stream.

By noon, Alice brought me lunch on a silver tray. The meal looked richer than any meal I'd been served here at Ravenwood

"Is this how condemned prisoners eat their last meals?" I asked, trying to pique her to talk.

"Please don't joke about that, miss." She replied sharply with a crumpled face.

"Alice, what's really happening here?"

She glanced toward the door; seeing that nobody was close, she then leaned closer to where I sat.

"Mr. Dane has arrangements with certain... collectors. They pay premium prices for exclusive access to talented individuals."

"Exclusive access to do what?"

"Whatever they want," she whispered. "Some artists get purchased for private estates in places where labor laws don't... apply. While others disappear into private collections where no one will ever see them again, some are used as s*x slaves too.”

"What?" My stomach twisted. “How long have you known?"

"I've worked here for three years, miss. I've seen twenty-six artists come through these doors." Her eyes filled with tears. "Only four have ever left alive."

"Why haven't you reported this to the police?" I asked in bewilderment.

"With what evidence? Victor owns half the local police force, and the other half wouldn't believe a housemaid over a respected and influential man." She straightened up as footsteps approached in the hallway. "Stay in your room tonight, and no matter what you hear, don't leave your room."

The afternoon brought more visitors; each of them looked more unsettling than the last ones. I watched from my window as a woman in a fur coat examined what looked like photographs while speaking animatedly with Victor. Another man arrived with an entourage that included what appeared to be personal security and a translator.

"Miss Devereaux?" A voice at my door made me jump. It was James, but his usual kind demeanor was replaced by cold professionalism. "Mr. Dane requests your immediate presence in the main gallery."

In the main gallery, Victor stood before a small audience of potential buyers, my mother's recreated textile piece displayed prominently on an easel beside him.

"As you can see, the technical skill is exceptional," he was saying. "But what makes this piece particularly valuable is its... provenance."

I froze. What was he talking about?