I Saved My Fiancé Before He Became a Billionaire Chapter 01
I traveled back in time to the year my boyfriend was in prep school.
He was beaten until his head was bleeding, his fingers trembling violently, yet he still bent down to pick up the dirt-stained dinner roll from the ground.
I told him, “I’m your future wife.”
He pressed his pale, colorless lips together.
His voice was so soft it might break at any moment.
“Then say you love me.”
“Say you’ll never leave me.”
…
The night before our wedding, I traveled back to his high school years.
In the narrow back alley, Elias Blackwood was pinned by his neck and slammed hard against the brick wall again and again.
He didn’t fight back.
He didn’t struggle.
It was as if he’d long grown completely used to this kind of violence.
His face was deathly still and empty, letting fresh blood trickle slowly down his temple and drip onto his uniform.
The boys surrounding him laughed loudly and mockingly.
I knew exactly who the attacker was.
Noah Blackwood, Elias’s stepbrother.
“Noah, look at him,” one boy jeered loudly. “He’s just like a stray dog.”
“Pathetic. He’ll never be a threat to you, not in a million years.”
Noah only smiled coldly.
He lifted Elias’s face roughly, patting his cheek contemptuously, like teasing a helpless dog.
“Bark for me. Go on.”
I kept my voice low and steady, spoke quickly into the phone displaying 911, gave the exact details and location, then hung up immediately.
The cruel taunts continued behind me.
“Your mom’s son is just as low-class and worthless as she is.”
That line burned through Elias’s last nerve like fire.
His empty, lifeless expression snapped completely.
Like a small, wounded animal finally provoked to the edge, he twisted suddenly and lunged fiercely at Noah.
But he was badly outmatched, weak from hunger and repeated beatings.
As the others moved in to kick and hit him together, I rushed out without thinking, reckless and brave.
“What are you doing?”
“I already called the police. 911 is on the way.”
“Leave, now. Get out of here.”
I glanced deliberately and sharply at the shining school emblem on their dark uniform jackets.
“Is this how students of St. Raven Preparatory School behave? Like hooligans?”
Noah scoffed in disdain.
“Damn. Such a busybody.”
He shoved Elias away violently, spat a harsh threat, and left with his group quickly.
As he passed me, he sized me up from head to toe slowly and provocatively.
I knew he was judging my family background and social status by my tailored coat and expensive handbag.
Luckily, the clothes and valuable things I’d brought with me from the future were still completely intact.
A well-fitted, elegant wool coat, a noticeable luxury handbag—enough to make someone like Noah hesitate and weigh the risk.
That was exactly why he’d left so quickly and without further trouble.
I stared at Elias, dazed and heartbroken.
Across countless years of time, I’d stepped into this dark, lonely part of his life I’d never known or witnessed.
He didn’t seem to care about what had just happened at all, as if it meant nothing.
He only reached shakily, desperately for the dirty dinner roll on the cold ground.
Even wrapped in a paper bag, the mud stains and dirt made me frown hard.
Worse, the bread inside was clearly smudged with mud and grime.
I stepped over quickly, knelt down in front of him, and held his cold hand firmly to stop him.
Elias lifted his head expressionless, his fingertips trembling slightly and uncontrollably.
That was when I truly noticed how ice-cold his hands were.
How painfully, frighteningly thin he was, like a single gust of wind could break him.
His face was pale, almost bloodless, like a sheet of white paper.
“Don’t eat it. It’s dirty, full of mud and germs.”
I always kept packaged snacks in my bag for emergencies.
Perfect timing, perfect use.
I pulled out two wrapped, clean small buns and held them out gently to him.
Elias didn’t take them.
He just stared at me silently, his dark eyes empty and hollow, almost eerie.
I tore one package open myself, took a small, clear bite to show him.
“Clean. Completely safe.”
“No poison. I promise.”
Before I could offer again, Elias snatched it roughly and stuffed it into his mouth greedily.
He barely chewed at all, his jaw working quickly.
Just swallowed hard twice, forcing the food down his dry throat.
Regaining a tiny flicker of strength, he leaned weakly against the wall and reached again for the paper bag on the ground.
I moved quickly and pulled the dinner roll toward me sharply, keeping it out of his reach.
Elias’s hand closed on empty air.
At last, a spark of real emotion flickered in his empty eyes.
He stared at me, confused and hurt, like he couldn’t understand why I’d stop him.
“It’s dirty. You can’t eat it. It will make you sick.”
Elias glanced at me with a dull, stubborn look.
“I eat it.”
“You don’t.”
He was tall for his age, but so impossibly thin.
Like an underfed, bony long-armed creature, all sharp joints and no flesh.
He reached for the bread again, stubborn and desperate.
I stood up immediately, held the bag by the corner firmly, and headed straight for the nearby trash can.
A small, scruffy dog suddenly darted out of nowhere from the side of the alley.
It circled me excitedly, tail wagging wildly, begging for food.
Its fur was dry and matted, with ugly bald patches—hardly better off than Elias himself.
I opened the bag gently, broke off a relatively clean piece without mud, and gave it to the hungry dog.
The rest, muddy and stained beyond saving, went straight into the trash can without hesitation.
When I turned around, Elias was staring at me with clear accusation and hurt in his eyes.
I sighed deeply, my heart aching for him.
“Let’s go to the urgent care clinic.”
“I’ll buy you all the food you want on the way, okay?”
Elias had suffered from severe, chronic stomach problems for years.
When we first started dating, my friends teased him softly, calling it the classic workaholic CEO stomach issue.
So young, but living like he never ate properly, never slept enough, surviving only on black coffee and painkillers.
He’d only shaken his head with a gentle smile and warned me softly, his voice full of care.
“So you have to eat properly, no skipping meals.”
“It hurts so badly.
You couldn’t stand it, not even for a day.”
I’d thought it was just from irregular eating habits back then, a simple lifestyle mistake.
I promised him confidently, full of determination.
“Don’t worry.
I’ll eat well, every single day.”
“And I’ll watch you eat well too. I won’t let you hurt like this.”
But I never knew this was how he’d truly lived in high school, starving and hurt every single day.
When I asked about his old school life gently, he always talked only about college.
About meeting me later, the best day of his life.
About the days that finally had light and warmth after years of darkness.
He never, ever mentioned high school, not a single detail.
When I pressed him gently, curious and worried, Elias would say lightly, forcing a small smile, “It wasn’t good. Not at all.”
“I’d rather not talk about it. It’s in the past.”
