Undercover Heiress: The Ruthless CEO's Trap

Eleonore sat perfectly still in the center of Bradley's Manhattan penthouse studio, a space her mentor generously allowed her to use after hours.

She could have worked from the empty penthouse her grandfather had left her – it was only twenty blocks north – but she preferred the clutter of this workshop. Here, no one knew she was a Pierce.

Her fingers gripped the thin silver handle of the engraving knife. The metal was warm against her skin.

Underneath her heavy protective goggles, her eyes were locked onto the rare blue sapphire clamped in the steel vise.

The stone was no larger than a thumbnail, but it held the depth of an ocean.

She held her breath. Her chest stopped moving completely.

She rotated her wrist just a fraction of a millimeter. She prepared to make the final cut. This single line would determine how the light refracted through the entire gem.

A violent, explosive pounding erupted against the heavy oak door of the apartment.

The noise was deafening in the dead silence of the room.

Eleonore's shoulders jerked upward. Her hand flinched.

The sharp tip of the engraving knife slipped off its intended path.

A faint, sickening sound, like a tiny bone snapping, broke the silence.

A jagged white scar appeared straight across the flawless surface of the sapphire. The stone was ruined.

Eleonore closed her eyes. She could have saved it – there were a dozen ways to redirect the refraction – but not after that jerk of her hand. Not without starting over. She let out a long, heavy exhale that deflated her lungs. She buried the frustration. The stone was a rare loan from Bradley, a test of her patience, and failing it because of a noise made her want to scream.

She set the knife down on the wooden desk. She pulled the goggles off her face and rubbed the corners of her eyes. The bright work lamp was burning her retinas.

The pounding on the door turned into a high-pitched scream.

"Eleonore! Open the door!" Kierra yelled from the hallway.

Eleonore pushed her chair back. She stood up and walked across the thick carpet, stepping over scattered design blueprints.

She reached out and twisted the deadbolt. She pulled the door open just a few inches.

Kierra shoved her way through the gap before the door was fully open.

She was wearing a loud, sequined dress that caught the light like a disco ball.

"Are you kidding me?" Kierra shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "You are still wearing that disgusting apron? You are covered in rock dust!"

Kierra's eyes darted past Eleonore's shoulder. They landed on the workbench. She saw the ruined sapphire clamped in the vise.

Kierra sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth.

"Oh my god," Kierra whispered. "Did I just ruin that?"

Eleonore shook her head slowly. She forced her facial muscles to relax.

"It is just scrap material," Eleonore said softly. "I was just practicing."

Kierra's face fell with guilt for exactly one second. Then, she grabbed Eleonore's dust‑covered wrist.

"Come on," Kierra demanded, pulling her forward.

Kierra dragged Eleonore out of the studio and down the hallway toward the massive walk‑in closet.

Kierra ripped a garment bag off the rack. She pulled out a champagne‑colored velvet haute couture gown.

She shoved the heavy fabric into Eleonore's chest.

"Put this on. Right now," Kierra ordered.

Eleonore took a step back. The velvet felt suffocating against her hands.

She bit down hard on her lower lip.

"I hate these charity galas, Kierra. They are fake. I do not want to go."

Kierra planted her hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes.

"Bradley is going to be there tonight," Kierra said.

Eleonore froze. Her fingers tightened around the velvet dress.

Hearing her mentor's name changed the air in the room. Bradley Michael rarely attended public events.

Eleonore let out a defeated sigh. Her shoulders slumped.

"Fine," Eleonore muttered.

She turned around and walked into the changing room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Kierra leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you planning to die alone with your little knives?" Kierra teased loudly through the wood. "Your love life is a blank piece of paper, El."

Inside the small room, heat rushed to Eleonore's cheeks.

She turned her head away from the full‑length mirror, refusing to look at her own flushed face.

She pulled the dress over her head. Before zipping it up, she walked to the vanity, opened the top drawer, and slipped her custom sketching pen – the one Bradley had given her – into the inner pocket of the small clutch that lay there. Then she reached back, zipping the dress up in one swift motion.

She pushed the folding door open.

Kierra gasped loudly, her eyes wide.

"You look incredible," Kierra said, clapping her hands together.

Kierra grabbed the small clutch from the vanity and hooked her arm through Eleonore's.

"Let's go," Kierra said.

They walked out of the apartment side by side and headed straight for the elevator.