Chapter 389

The saleswoman's blatant judgment amused Vivian more than it irritated her. She'd met countless people who sized others up by their outfits. Brushing off the icy welcome, Vivian's gaze landed on a dazzling silver fountain pen studded with diamonds, its emerald-tipped cap shimmering under the boutique lights. Its exquisite craftsmanship made it the crown jewel of the display.

"May I see this pen, please?" Vivian requested politely, indicating the masterpiece.

A junior sales associate hesitated, her customer service instincts kicking in. "Certainly, madam—"

Before she could complete her sentence, the senior saleswoman intercepted with a venomous glare. "Have you lost your mind? That's not for just anyone to handle!" She turned her predatory gaze on Vivian. "Do you have any idea how much this costs? One scratch and your entire salary wouldn't cover it."

The younger woman paled, retreating behind the counter like a chastened child.

The senior saleswoman squared her shoulders, delivering her verdict with a condescending smirk. "This is Sterling & Co's rarest limited edition. Only twelve exist worldwide, and ours is the sole piece in Crestwood." She let the dramatic pause linger. "Priced at twelve million dor."

She added with deliberate cruelty, "Even our flagship store in Azurevale doesn't display this model."

Vivian's eyebrows lifted slightly. She'd always known Adrian favored fine writing instruments, but this exceeded even his usual extravagance. While she wanted to gift Julian something meaningful, this was absurdly excessive. Still, the saleswoman's attitude was unacceptable.

Vivian traced a fingertip along the glass countertop. "Whether it's twelve dor or twelve million, every customer deserves equal service. If your merchandise can't withstand examination, perhaps it's not as premium as claimed."

The saleswoman's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "Darling, people who buy twelve-million-dor pens don't use them for signing receipts at the grocery store."

Memories flashed through Vivian's mind—Adrian's elegant script flowing across documents, the way he'd sometimes let her borrow his pens during script meetings. She'd ruined several by pressing too hard during frustrating rewrites, only to learn later each cost more than her monthly rent.

The irony wasn't lost on her. Even her most successful screenplay royalties wouldn't cover one of Adrian's everyday pens.

"Some people inhabit entirely different universes while standing side by side," she mused silently.

Misinterpreting Vivian's thoughtful expression as intimidation, the saleswoman leaned in with malicious glee. "Let me educate you. This piece was custom-ordered by Serena Whitmore for Mr. Blackwood himself." Her voice dripped with superiority. "Do you even know who Adrian Blackwood is?"

Vivian's expression remained unreadable. "Does his money spend differently than mine?" Her tone was deceptively mild. "For someone in retail, you should know better than to judge customers by their handbags."

The saleswoman whirled toward her colleagues with a theatrical gasp. "Can you believe this? The audacity!" The other associates exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent.