I Saved My Fiancé Before He Became a Billionaire Chapter 04
It wasn’t at all what I imagined.
Elias’s place wasn’t bad, not even close.
A nice, tidy off-campus apartment near the school, bright and clean, with a full kitchen, bathroom, washer, dryer, and all modern appliances.
There was even a clean, neat wooden desk by the window, perfect for studying.
But it was too clean. Too empty.
Too clean to feel like someone actually lived there, laughed there, loved there.
“You live here, in a place like this, but you don’t have money for food? How is that possible?”
Elias didn’t answer right away, taking his time.
He set the medicine bag gently on the table and carefully laid out each box one by one, arranging them exactly by the doctor’s written instructions.
His movements were slow, but precise, deliberate.
“Uncle’s. Not mine.”
As if afraid I wouldn’t understand, he added softly, “Noah’s dad.”
Now I finally understood.
That was why the apartment felt so lifeless, so cold when I first walked in.
It didn’t feel like a long-term home, a place to belong.
Just a temporary, impersonal spot the Blackwood family dumped him.
So he wouldn’t die outside on the streets.
So he wouldn’t cause trouble, draw attention to the family name.
Beyond that, no one cared if he lived well, ate well, felt safe.
He just needed to be alive. That was all.
I was silent for too long, lost in thought.
Elias looked at me seriously, his eyes sharp with concern.
“Hand.”
He stepped toward me in three quick, long strides and held out his hand firmly.
I could see his entire hard, painful life just from that one hand.
His nails were cut short, neat, clean.
But I caught the dark, ugly bruises underneath the nails, clear as day.
Like they’d been crushed, slammed, beaten hard repeatedly.
His palm had fresh, rough, angry scars cutting across his skin.
“Your hand.”
When I didn’t move, frozen in shock, he explained again gently.
He gently, carefully pried my clenched fingers open one by one.
I realized then I’d been digging my nails into my palm without noticing, leaving small, deep crescent marks in my skin.
I looked up automatically, my eyes meeting Elias’s dark, steady gaze.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
His voice was soft, quiet.
I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me, or to himself, trying to convince his own heart.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not as miserable as you think. Not really.”
Memories blurred together, overlapping and twisting.
Until they finally settled on the present moment.
I looked at the boy in front of me—little more than skin and bones—and my throat tightened painfully, unable to speak.
“Not miserable? Elias, look at you. This is not okay.”
Elias Blackwood was kind. Always. In the past, in the present, in the future.
I’d never thought differently, never for a second.
“I’m still alive. That’s more than some people get.”
He said calmly, without emotion.
“I get an education. I go to school. No one owes me anything.”
“No one?” I repeated softly, disbelieving.
From where I stood, everyone around him was cruel, selfish, blind.
His family must have known exactly how he was treated, how he was suffering.
They just chose not to care. Pretended not to see. Let it happen.
Elias lowered his eyes, staring at the floor.
“I was abandoned at birth, but I don’t have the right to resent her. My dad said she was very young, scared, alone.”
“She couldn’t take care of me, wasn’t brave enough. I understand. I really do.”
“My dad took me in. He loved me, treated me well. I had a good life with him.”
“After he died, my mom raised me alone, worked so hard.”
“I still go to school. I still have a future. It’s not that bad.”
Elias spoke as if telling someone else’s story, completely detached.
When he finished, he turned and poured me a glass of water slowly.
“It’s still warm. Drink. It’ll calm you down.”
I took the glass. It was warm to the touch, a small comfort.
Elias went on, his voice still flat.
“As for Noah and the others… I can’t say I don’t resent them. Of course I do.”
“But my mom already has it so hard. I can’t make it worse for her. I just… can’t resent them.”
I drank the water in one big gulp.
It was warm, gentle.
But I felt dizzy, sick to my stomach.
Maybe Elias didn’t need me to save him.
He had his own world, his own rules, his own quiet way of surviving.
He wasn’t incapable of fighting back.
He understood hardship, fear, survival better than I ever could.
He knew how impossibly hard it was for a woman with a child to marry into an old money family, to survive.
His mom didn’t not love him.
But she didn’t love him deeply, fiercely, the way he deserved.
But…
I loved him. More than anything.
I couldn’t stand to see him hurt, to see him suffer alone.
“Why are you telling me all this? Why share this with me?”
I hung my head, my gaze unfocused, empty.
My fingers traced the glass aimlessly, a nervous habit.
I still had the video on my phone, safe and sound.
The bullying in the back alley, every single face clear, unmistakeable.
If I sent it out, leaked it, Noah might be punished, expelled.
Or he might not—his family had too much power.
But Elias and his mom would definitely pay the price, be punished by the Blackwood family.
Elias didn’t answer my question. Instead, he asked softly, “Why are you being so nice to me? No one’s ever nice to me.”
I looked back at his face, my eyes soft with love.
His dark, clear eyes were full of stubborn confusion, desperate for an answer.
I said softly, simply, “Because I want to. Because I care about you.”
I moved my fingers, feeling the small, warm comfort through the glass.
“Elias.”
I held the glass with both hands, clinging to the small warmth.
I tilted my head and smiled, trying to sound playful, light.
“You might not believe it. It sounds crazy.”
“But I’m your future wife. Yours, someday.”
Crazy. Nonsense. Insane.
I’d fully expected him to laugh, to call me crazy, to walk away.
But Elias’s eyelashes flickered, his breath catching.
He looked at me, his eyes wide, and asked quietly, “How far in the future?”
He didn’t react how I thought he would. I froze completely.
I wanted to say three years from now. Just three short years.
When he was a sophomore in college, I a freshman.
We’d meet properly, for real, in the university library.
He’d wear a clean white shirt, sit by the window, golden sunlight falling gently on his face.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t say the exact time.
Some unspoken rule of this timeline, some invisible force stopping me.
I couldn’t tell him the date, the year, the exact moment.
So I said softly, gently, “Not too soon. But not too far away. Soon enough.”
Elias smiled suddenly, a real, genuine, bright smile.
A smile that reached his eyes, lighting up his entire face.
Like iced mint tea on a hot summer day—clean, bright, alive, perfect.
I’d always thought his life should be like that.
Bright. Open. Free. Bathed in warm sunlight every single day.
But it always seemed to be raining in his world. Nonstop.
Sometimes heavy, violent thunderstorms.
Sometimes endless, cold, gray drizzle that seeped into your bones.
