Eleonora dabbed the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin. She let out a soft sigh of pure satisfaction.

She placed the napkin on the table and grabbed her wooden cane.

"Now," Eleonora said, her eyes sparkling with energy. "I want a grand tour of your little love nest."

Frieda's blood ran cold. The smile vanished from her face.

Her eyes darted in a blind panic toward the hallway. Toward the closed door at the very end.

Dewitt moved instantly.

He took three long strides and planted his large body right in the middle of the hallway entrance. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"There's nothing to see," Dewitt said. His voice was hard, defensive. "It's a tiny apartment. You've seen the living room."

Eleonora narrowed her eyes. She smelled the lie immediately.

She lifted her cane and slammed the rubber tip onto the floor. She marched straight at him and shoved her hand against his solid chest, pushing him aside with surprising strength.

She walked past him and opened the first door on the right. The master bedroom.

The room was clean and smelled like vanilla. But Eleonora's sharp eyes scanned the details.

The cheap lotion on the dresser. The single pair of worn slippers by the bed. She opened the closet door. Only women's clothes hung inside.

Eleonora's lips pressed into a thin, furious line.

She turned around and walked out of the master bedroom. Her eyes locked onto the closed door at the end of the hall.

Dewitt stepped forward to block her again.

Suddenly, Maura, the large nanny, shifted her weight. She stepped right into Dewitt's path, pretending to look at a picture on the wall. Her broad shoulders effectively boxed him out for two crucial seconds.

Eleonora reached the end of the hall. She grabbed the doorknob and shoved the door open.

A sterile, cold room stared back at her. A narrow twin bed. A dark, expensive suit jacket draped over the back of a wooden chair.

Through the half-open bathroom door, she saw a man's razor and a bottle of heavy, musky cologne sitting on the sink.

Eleonora's face turned to stone.

She slowly turned her head and locked her furious gaze onto Dewitt. Her eyes burned with a terrifying rage.

In the living room, Frieda wrapped her arms around her stomach. She stared at the floor. Her face burned with intense shame. The ugly truth of her fake marriage was exposed for everyone to see.

Eleonora didn't scream. She took a deep, shaking breath.

She pointed her trembling finger toward the small balcony attached to the living room.

"Outside. Now," Eleonora ordered.

Dewitt swallowed hard. He followed his grandmother out onto the balcony. He reached back and pulled the heavy glass sliding door completely shut, sealing them inside.

The second the door clicked shut, Eleonora raised her hand.

She didn't strike him, but the fury in her eyes hit him harder than a physical blow.

"Are you treating marriage like a game?" she hissed, her voice vibrating with anger. "You leave that sweet girl sleeping alone in that room?"

Dewitt shoved his hands deep into his suit pockets. His jaw muscles ticked.

"I'm testing her," Dewitt said coldly.

He stared down at his grandmother. "I told her I'm a middle manager making a few thousand a month. I need to know if she's a gold digger."

Eleonora gasped. Her eyes widened in pure horror.

"You are sick," she whispered. "You have the worst traits of the Stone bloodline. You treat everyone like a thief."

Dewitt let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

"My mother trusted people," Dewitt snarled, his voice dropping an octave. "Corinna trusted her own family. And she bled to death on a hospital bed because of it. I will not make her mistake."

At the mention of her dead daughter, Eleonora flinched. The anger drained from her face, replaced by a sudden, agonizing grief. Her eyes filled with tears.

Dewitt pressed his advantage. "It's a three-month test. If she doesn't ask for money, if she proves she's not a parasite, I'll give her everything."

Eleonora turned her head. She looked through the glass door.

Frieda was in the living room. She was wiping down the coffee table with a rag. Her shoulders were slumped. She looked so small, so incredibly fragile.

Eleonora turned back to Dewitt. Her eyes hardened again.

"Your psychological torture is going to break her," Eleonora warned.

Dewitt looked away. He stared out at the city skyline. He refused to back down.

"Fine," Eleonora said, her voice turning icy. "If you want to play games, I will play mine. I am going to compensate that girl for putting up with your cruelty."

She turned around, slid the glass door open, and marched back into the living room with the force of a hurricane.

Dewitt's stomach plummeted. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He quickly followed her inside.

Eleonora marched back into the living room.

The furious storm on her face vanished the second she looked at Frieda. Her expression softened into pure, grandmotherly warmth.

She walked straight to the coffee table. She reached out and gently pulled the damp rag out of Frieda's hands.

"Come sit with me, child," Eleonora said, pulling Frieda toward the sofa.

Dewitt stepped into the room from the balcony. He stopped right behind the sofa. His eyes were locked on his grandmother's hands, his entire body rigid with tension.

Eleonora pushed Frieda down onto the cushions. She sat beside her and took Frieda's hands, rubbing her thumbs over the rough, calloused edges of Frieda's fingers.

"Tell me the truth, Frieda," Eleonora said softly. "How much money does Dewitt give you for household expenses every month?"

Frieda blinked. She looked up, her eyes darting nervously to Dewitt.

He was staring at her, his face completely blank, but a muscle feathered in his jaw.

"One thousand dollars," Frieda answered honestly.

Eleonora sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes widened in genuine shock.

She whipped her head around and glared at Dewitt. If looks could kill, he would be bleeding out on the cheap rug.

One thousand dollars in New York City. It was barely enough to keep the lights on. It was financial abuse.

Dewitt looked away. He stared at the blank wall, his jaw locked so tight his teeth ached. He refused to apologize.

Eleonora let out a disgusted huff. She turned to Maura and snapped her fingers.

Maura immediately handed over Eleonora's limited-edition Hermès Birkin bag.

Eleonora popped the gold clasp. She reached into the hidden zipper compartment.

She pulled out a heavy, matte-black metal card.

It had no numbers on the front. Just a subtle, engraved pattern. It was the Centurion Card. An invite-only, no-limit black card that screamed unimaginable, bottomless wealth.

Dewitt saw the black metal flash in the light.

His heart stopped dead in his chest.

His blood turned to ice water. His lungs seized. If Frieda took that card to any bank, any high-end store, the concierge would immediately address her by his real name. His billionaire status would be exposed in seconds.

"Here," Eleonora said, pressing the heavy metal card toward Frieda. "This is for you. Buy whatever you want. Clothes, food, anything."

Frieda looked down. She stared at the card. Even without knowing what it was, the sheer weight and coldness of the metal made her instincts scream that it was dangerous.

"Grandma!" Dewitt barked.

He took a swift, measured step forward, using his broad frame to smoothly block the space between Frieda and his grandmother. He kept his voice low and firm. "Grandma, please don't do this. You're going to put her in a difficult position."

Thwack!

Eleonora swung her wooden cane. The hard rubber tip slammed violently into Dewitt's shin, punishing his attempt to intervene.

Dewitt grunted in pain. He stumbled, his hand dropping to his side.

"Do not interrupt me!" Eleonora hissed at him.

Dewitt gritted his teeth. His mind raced, desperately searching for a lie to stop this.

He leaned down, his face inches from Eleonora's ear. "If you give her that much access, she might drain it and run," he whispered harshly. "The test will be ruined."

Eleonora let out a dry, mocking laugh.

"If she runs because of a piece of plastic, then your test was right," she whispered back. "Let's see what she does."

Dewitt was trapped. Checkmate.

If he fought harder, he would look guilty. He clenched his hands into tight fists. The veins on the back of his hands bulged against his skin.

He slowly stood up straight. He stared down at Frieda's hands.

Frieda was completely overwhelmed. She looked at the heavy black card, then up at Dewitt.

His eyes were dark, frantic. She could see the raw panic bleeding through his cold facade. He was silently begging her not to take it.

Frieda slowly raised her hand.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out.

Dewitt stopped breathing. The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in on him. His entire empire, his revenge, his carefully constructed lie, was about to burn to the ground.

Frieda's fingertips brushed against the cold, heavy edge of the black metal card.

Dewitt's jaw clamped shut. A sickening wave of defeat washed over him. It was over. She was going to take it.

But Frieda didn't close her fingers around the metal.

Instead, she turned her hand over and gently pressed her palm against Eleonora's wrist.

She looked up into the older woman's eyes. There was no greed in Frieda's expression. No hunger. Only a deep, gentle concern.

"I can't take this," Frieda said softly, her voice steady. "No, Grandma, this is far too valuable. I can tell just by holding it that this card is extraordinary, and I simply cannot accept such an expensive gift. Dewitt and I are managing on our own."

Dewitt's shoulders instantly dropped.

The breath rushed out of his lungs in a silent, jagged exhale. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his face from showing the massive wave of relief that crashed over him.

Eleonora blinked. She stared at Frieda, completely stunned.

Valuable? The card had no limit. It could buy a small island. Eleonora opened her mouth, struggling to find a way to downplay the card without exposing the family secret.

"Things are tight right now, yes. But we earn our own money. It feels better that way," Frieda continued, her voice steady and earnest.

She gently but firmly pushed Eleonora's hand back toward the expensive leather bag. She didn't let her fingers linger on the card for even a second.

Dewitt stared at Frieda's profile.

Deep inside his chest, the thick, icy wall he had built around his heart cracked. A tiny, sharp fracture.

He had spent his entire life surrounded by people who would kill for a fraction of what was on that card. And this girl, wearing a faded shirt and cheap jeans, had just pushed it away out of pure principle and self-reliance.

Eleonora's eyes filled with hot tears.

Her heart swelled with a fierce, protective love for this girl. She aggressively shoved the card back toward Frieda.

"If you don't take it, you are insulting me," Eleonora demanded, her voice cracking slightly.

Frieda looked panicked. She didn't want to disrespect her husband's grandmother.

She turned her head and looked up at Dewitt. Her eyes were wide, pleading for him to help her.

"Dewitt," Frieda said. "If Grandma insists... why don't you hold onto her pension? Keep it safe for emergencies."

Dewitt looked down into her clear, trusting eyes.

His heart skipped a heavy, painful beat. A massive wave of guilt slammed into his stomach, making him feel physically sick.

He reached out. His large fingers brushed against Frieda's as he took the heavy black card from Eleonora's hand.

He slid the card into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, safely hiding the billionaire secret against his chest.

"I'll keep it safe," Dewitt said. His voice was unusually thick.

Eleonora huffed, slightly annoyed but accepting the compromise. She grabbed Frieda's hand and pulled her up from the sofa.

"Fine. But I am taking you shopping," Eleonora declared. "Go change your clothes."

Frieda couldn't say no to the old woman's excitement. She nodded and walked into the master bedroom.

The second the bedroom door clicked shut, Eleonora turned her sharp eyes on Dewitt.

"Are you satisfied with your sick little test now?" she asked coldly.

Dewitt didn't answer. He stared at the closed bedroom door. The image of Frieda pushing the card away burned in his brain.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He opened his encrypted chat with K.C.

His thumbs flew across the screen.

Halt the divorce papers. Delay the plan indefinitely.

He hit send. He stared at the word "Delivered" on the screen and let out a long, heavy breath.

The bedroom door opened.

Frieda walked out. She was wearing a washed-out denim jacket and a pair of scuffed white canvas sneakers.

Eleonora looked at her shoes and let out a dramatic sigh of pity. "We are fixing this immediately."

Dewitt slipped his phone back into his pocket. His face returned to its cold, unreadable mask.

"I have to go to the office. I have overtime," Dewitt lied smoothly.

He grabbed his car keys from the bowl by the door. He opened the front door and stepped out into the hallway.

He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him. Standing alone in the dim corridor, he paused for a long second. In his mind, the image of Frieda kneeling to tie her shoelaces played on a loop. The coldness that usually armored his thoughts melted away, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar heat that settled deep in his chest.