I Saved My Fiancé Before He Became a Billionaire Chapter 03
I’d only heard stories about upscale Manhattan bistros where a single meal cost half an ordinary person’s monthly salary.
Now Grace Carter was redefining what it meant to spend money like water.
With that cursed 1:1000 multiplier, Elias Blackwood wasn’t eating food—he was eating solid gold bars.
I only ordered him a bowl of warm oatmeal, a plate of soft scrambled eggs, and two pieces of pale soft toast.
Elias’s expression was utterly miserable, like a puppy denied its favorite treat.
He didn’t complain out loud, not a single word.
He just kept glancing hesitantly toward the restaurant window, his eyes fixed on the roasted chicken shop next door.
The bright golden sign glowed warmly, and the rich, savory smell drifted through the small crack in the door.
He stared at it with obvious longing, but tried his best to stay restrained.
Still, his Adam’s apple bobbed once heavily, betraying his hunger.
I tapped the table gently but firmly at once.
“I told you, we have to heal your damaged stomach first. No exceptions.”
“The doctor explicitly said only mild, gentle food right now.”
“I promise I’ll buy you that roasted chicken next time. Just be good for me.”
At that single promise, Elias’s eyes snapped back to me immediately, lighting up like stars.
He stared at me with bright, eager focus, exactly like a well-behaved dog waiting for its owner to say “eat.”
I held out one hand gently, signaling that he could finally start.
“Go ahead. Eat slowly.”
What happened next was like a storm hitting a plate.
His grip on the spoon was unsteady, his thin fingers shaking slightly.
But he ate at a terrifying, almost frantic speed.
The oatmeal went down his throat almost without any chewing at all.
The soft toast was torn into tiny pieces and vanished in just two or three quick bites.
I couldn’t wrap my head around the contrast.
The Elias I met later in life was polite, calm, and graceful—manners drilled into his very bones.
He ate slowly, deliberately, carefully.
Even the angle he cut his steak at seemed carefully calculated.
He was a completely different person from this ravenous little wolf cub who looked like he hadn’t eaten in three full days.
We’d meet for real in just three short years.
What in the world had happened to Elias in those three years to change him so completely, so dramatically?
I pushed the confusing thought away and watched him eat, my heart aching fiercely with love and sorrow.
I swallowed the words that hovered on my tongue.
It didn’t matter.
We had plenty of time.
I’d teach him slowly, gently, patiently.
I held out a clean napkin to Elias softly.
He dabbed his mouth carelessly and tossed the napkin aside immediately.
Then he looked up at me again with that eager, longing stare and whispered just two small words.
“I’m hungry.”
A mischievous idea hit me right then.
“Are you being good for me?”
Elias stared at me, completely confused, like he didn’t understand the question.
He didn’t hesitate even for a second—he surrendered immediately, all for food.
“Good. I’m good.”
“You said I’m sick. I’m sick. I didn’t argue, not even once.”
In that moment, I could clearly see the future him in this young, fragile face.
The man who planned perfectly, handled every crisis, won without fighting.
The words Elias said to me most often in the future were always the same. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”
I always trusted him completely, without a single doubt.
And he always fixed everything, no matter how bad it was.
Found the safest, gentlest way that never let me get hurt.
This teenage version of him was just as good at wrapping me around his finger.
Sitting there quietly, obediently.
Agreeing with everything I said, no matter what.
I smiled sweetly at him, my heart melting.
“Good. Then you’re not hungry anymore.”
“No more food for now. Let’s go.”
Elias’s expression shut down instantly, like a switch being flipped.
He went completely still, picked up his medicine bag and clothes bag wordlessly, and trailed behind me like a lifeless ghost.
Wow.
His usual blank, empty face was probably just a way to save energy.
I held back a soft smile and stepped outside the restaurant.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you back to school.”
Thinking about the horrible scene I’d witnessed that day, I corrected myself immediately, worried.
“Or… do you live in the school dorm? How are your roommates? Do they treat you well? Are they nice to you?”
Elias shook his head slowly, his movements dull and delayed from years of hardship.
“Off-campus apartment. Alone. No roommates at all.”
He answered every question obediently, then lifted his eyelids slowly and glanced up at me.
“You’re nice to me. No one’s ever nice to me.”
I couldn’t speak at all, my throat tight with emotion.
It shouldn’t be like this.
Elias Blackwood—how could he have a past this dark, this painful?
I asked carefully, my voice soft with care, “What about your mom? Where is she?”
Elias rarely talked about his family, never volunteered anything.
In the future, when I asked, he only said his parents were gone, passed away.
I’d looked at him with deep pity then, only for him to tap my forehead gently with his finger.
“What are you thinking? I’m not as miserable as you think.”
“Actually, I’ve been given more than enough in this life.”
He was so gentle, so endlessly tolerant.
I’d naturally, foolishly assumed he’d grown up loved, cherished, safe—only lost that love later.
That he’d been cared for properly, deeply.
That was why he rarely resented life, never turned bitter.
But now I knew the truth—it was all a lie.
Elias pressed his lips together tightly, his long eyelashes trembling slightly.
“The woman who gave birth to me—I never knew her. Never met her.”
Before I could ask more questions, he went on quietly, his voice empty.
“The one now is my stepmom.”
“My birth mom was young, too young. She had me and left me on the street.”
“My dad found me, took me in, raised me as his own.”
“After he died, my mom married into the Blackwood family to survive.”
Only a few short sentences, but they held a lifetime of pain, abandonment, and struggle.
My chest felt tight, heavy with sorrow for him.
Elias watched me quietly for a long moment.
Then he bent down suddenly, moving so quickly I jumped.
Our eyes met, so close we almost touched, our noses nearly brushing.
My breath caught in my throat, my heart racing.
In a low, rough, deadly serious voice, he asked, “Grace. Do you feel sorry for me? Do you pity me?”
I could barely hold myself together, my resolve crumbling.
“What? Why would you ask that?”
I forced my heartbeat steady and acted casual, like it didn’t affect me.
Elias smiled then, a small, fragile, heartbreaking smile.
His beautiful, dark eyes curved slightly, softening.
“I’m hungry.”
Those two words felt like a cruel, endless spell.
I covered his mouth with my hand quickly, stopping him.
“I decide what’s true. And I say you’re not hungry.”
Elias wilted instantly, like a flower dried out and killed by the hot sun.
He made a small, unhappy, disappointed sound.
Then hung his head and hugged his medicine bag tightly to his chest.
As if even the last tiny bit of fight in him had been taken away along with his food.
