Chapter 82 Who Is That Woman?

Chapter 82 Who Is That Woman?
Hearing that name spoken so familiarly, Elena Vance suddenly froze in place.

The digital pen in her hand hovered in the air, right above the rough sketch of the diamond tiara commissioned by Victoria Blackwood.

Her brown eyes moved slowly, glancing back and forth between the elegant woman in the white cashmere coat and her lover, who still stood stiffly behind the bar counter.

A strange vibration suddenly crept into Elena's chest, an unfamiliar discomfort she had hardly felt in the past year.

Jealousy. Yes, her feminine instincts caught the intensely possessive and condescending aura in the way Vivian's gray eyes locked onto Elijah's tall body.

However, instead of erupting in panic, Elijah very quickly controlled his emotional ripples. His firm jaw, which had tensed perfectly, relaxed again.

The cyber monster side controlling Apex Sovereign remained tightly locked behind his flawless mask of calm. He flashed a casual smile—the professional smile of a high-class hired companion facing a past client.

"Miss Sterling," Elijah's baritone voice flowed low, very calm, and showed no signs of the nervousness of a crown prince caught red-handed.

He stepped forward from behind the bar counter, carrying his signature cup of hot chocolate, and placed it very gently in front of Elena before turning to face Vivian.

"What a surprise to see you cross the ocean from London just to visit the SoHo district," Elijah continued, his sapphire blue eyes staring at Vivian with a sharp gaze veiled by a deadly cyber warning.

Vivian Sterling chuckled lowly, an elegant laugh full of provocation and thick cunning, exactly as Alaric Blackwood had planned on the Upper East Side.

Alaric had indeed revealed all the details of his son's ridiculous charade to Vivian, including the fact that Elijah was disguised as a poor man working in a dirty bar and as a hired gigolo for a woman named Elena Vance. And Vivian, with her sky-high aristocratic ego, was thoroughly enjoying this role-playing game.

"Of course I had to come here, Elijah," Vivian said with a thin, victorious grin deliberately aimed at heating up the room's atmosphere. She stepped forward, letting her leather boots click firmly against the white marble, deliberately closing the distance with Elijah.

"Two nights ago, I deliberately visited The Crown Bar in lower Manhattan. I ordered the most expensive VVIP room and asked the bar owner to call their best gigolo named Elijah. But guess what? They said their best man hadn't accepted any night clients for a year because he was busy being a personal servant in SoHo."

Thump!

Elena's heart felt as if it had been struck by a massive iron club. Her beautiful face, framed by her navy velvet blazer, instantly turned slightly pale.

The Crown Bar—that was the first place where she had hired Elijah a year ago, to escape the humiliation of Morgan Valdez.

And the woman before her had just admitted to looking for her lover in that filthy place.

Jealousy and wounded pride suddenly sparked an immense courage in Elena's chest.

She did not know who Vivian Sterling was, but she knew for certain that Elena Vance Atelier was her absolute territory.

Elena stepped forward, standing gracefully right in front of Elijah, cutting off the line of Vivian's gray eyes that kept trying to undress her man.

"Honorable Miss Sterling," Elena greeted, her voice now sounding very cold and firm, having lost all her earlier professional warmth.

"If you came here only to discuss my assistant's past work history at The Crown Bar, I believe you have the wrong address. This place is a high-end jewelry design studio, not a companion agency."

"If you have no business related to gemstones or tiara commissions, the teak door behind you is still wide open to welcome your return to your place of origin."

Hearing Elena's assertion, Vivian Sterling paused for a moment. She lowered her blue diamond-framed sunglasses, staring at Elena from head to toe with a thick, condescending gaze.

However, deep down, Vivian began to understand why Alaric Blackwood was at total frustration—this Vance woman had hidden fangs sharp enough for an ordinary Manhattan commoner.

"Interesting," Vivian hissed, flashing a very annoying parasitic smile.

"You have quite a sharp mouth for a designer who is staking her entire career under the feet of the main Blackwood clan, Elena Vance."

Vivian glanced again at Elijah, who stood silently behind Elena with his arms crossed over his chest. Elijah gave Vivian a very subtle blink—a veiled threat that if the Sterling woman dared to say another word about the Blackwood name or disturb Elena's peace, then in that very second, all of her father's raw diamond shares on the London Stock Exchange would be reduced to ashes by Apex Sovereign.

Vivian, catching the icy cold danger signal from Elijah's sapphire blue eyes, finally chose to hold back. She knew very well the safe limits of playing with the highest dragon.

"Very well, I'll play by your studio's rules, Miss Vance," Vivian said, putting her sunglasses back on with a very graceful movement.

"I came here because I was ordered by my future father-in-law... I mean, by Mr. Alaric Blackwood. He asked me to ensure that the latest ten-carat pink diamond tiara draft for the Grand Lady Victoria is being done correctly. And in return, I bring this."

Vivian reached into her cashmere coat pocket, pulling out a small black velvet box with an ancient silver dragon emblem, and placed it on the marble counter with a loud thud.

"Open it."

With slightly cold hands, Elena opened the box. Inside, a rough ten-carat pink diamond glittered beautifully, reflecting the studio's LED lights with a level of luxury Elena had never seen in her life. That stone was a legendary gem from the Sterling family's private mine in Northern Europe.

"One month, Elena Vance," Vivian whispered, her voice lowering again with absolute aristocratic intimidation.

"If the tiara you create does not meet the luxury standards I'm accustomed to wearing in London palaces, then don't expect the Blackwood clan to become your financial protector. And for you, Elijah," Vivian glanced seductively at the moss-green flannel man, "think carefully about the offer from the Upper East Side. That red flannel doesn't suit your skin at all."