Undercover Heiress: The Ruthless CEO's Trap
Chapter 3
Cherie took a sudden, aggressive step forward.
She blocked the path just as Eleonore and Bradley were about to walk away.
Cherie shoved the heavy leather portfolio directly into Eleonore's chest.
"Since the Master thinks so highly of you," Cherie said, her voice dripping with venom, "why don't you give me some advice?"
The crowd around them went dead silent. People leaned in, waiting to see the unknown girl humiliate herself.
Kierra opened her mouth to yell at Cherie, but Eleonore reached out and grabbed Kierra's forearm.
Eleonore's fingers dug into Kierra's skin, a silent command to stop.
Eleonore took the portfolio. The leather was warm from Cherie's sweaty hands.
She flipped open the heavy cover to the first page. It was a sketch of a massive diamond necklace.
Eleonore stared at the drawing for exactly two seconds.
When she looked up, her eyes were completely different. The shyness was gone. They were cold and sharp.
"The load‑bearing structure..." Eleonore started, but immediately caught herself. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she realized where she was. She couldn't expose her expertise here. Not yet. She lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper, leaning toward Kierra. "The prongs are too thin for a stone this heavy. If cast, the main diamond will fall out within a week."
She meant for it to be private, but Cherie, standing aggressively close, caught the whisper. Cherie's eyes widened in outrage.
"What did you just say?" Cherie snapped, her voice piercing the quiet room. "Did you just criticize my filigree wiring?"
The crowd held its breath now, sensing a real confrontation brewing. A few guests exchanged amused glances, eager for blood.
Eleonore kept her face perfectly blank. She carefully closed the book, making sure not to make a sound. She handed it back to Cherie with a polite, deferential nod.
"I said your work is incredibly intricate, Ms. Washington," Eleonore lied smoothly, her voice calm and entirely devoid of the sharp edge from a moment ago. "The metal alloy choices are certainly... unique. You must be very proud of your award."
She refused to take the bait. She refused to be the spectacle.
The older, experienced jewelers in the crowd lost interest, turning back to their champagne, dismissing Eleonore as just another clueless amateur intimidated by a professional.
Cherie snatched the book back. Her chest heaved up and down.
She spun around on her heels and pushed her way through the crowd, practically running toward the exit.
Kierra let out a loud, piercing whistle. Bradley smiled proudly.
Eleonore reached into her small velvet clutch to grab a tissue. Her palms were sweating.
She dug her fingers into the bottom of the bag.
She stopped. Her stomach dropped.
Her custom sketching pen was gone.
Panic flared in her chest. She needed that pen. She patted the sides of the small bag frantically.
"I lost my pen," Eleonore whispered to Bradley and Kierra. "I must have dropped it outside."
In her mind, she flashed back to the few minutes she had spent in the rear garden before rejoining the crowd. The pen must have slipped out then.
She didn't wait for them to answer. She turned and pushed her way out of the dense crowd.
She walked quickly toward the back of the hall and pushed open the heavy glass doors leading to the outdoor garden.
The cold night air hit her bare shoulders like a physical blow. She shivered.
The garden was pitch black, lit only by a few dim yellow lights near the ground.
She kept her head down, staring at the stone pathway, searching for the silver clip of her pen.
She walked quickly, turning the corner around a massive rose bush.
She didn't look up.
She slammed face‑first into a solid wall of muscle.
The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs. She stumbled backward, her heels slipping on the smooth stone.
Before she could fall, a massive hand shot out of the darkness.
Long, hard fingers wrapped around her wrist like a steel vice.
Eleonore gasped. She jerked her head up.
She stared straight into a pair of eyes that were as dark and cold as frozen water.
The man was tall. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that seemed to absorb the shadows around him.
A heavy, intoxicating scent hit her nose – sharp cedar mixed with dark tobacco.
He was holding an unlit match between his fingers.
He stared down at her, his jaw clenched tight.
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