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.

Dewitt did not go to the office.

He walked into the damp, dimly lit underground parking garage of the apartment complex. He bypassed the section where he usually parked his hidden luxury cars.

He walked to a dark corner and unlocked a beat-up, ten-year-old black Ford sedan.

He slid into the driver's seat. The cheap fabric scratched against his expensive suit. He started the engine and drove up the ramp, parking the car in the shadows just outside the exit gate.

He kept his eyes glued to the glass doors of the lobby.

Ten minutes later, Eleonora and Frieda walked out. Eleonora was holding onto Frieda's arm, laughing at something the younger girl said.

A sleek, black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb. Maura stepped out and opened the heavy door for them.

Frieda stopped. She looked at the shiny car with wide eyes. Dewitt saw Eleonora wave her hand, clearly lying and saying it was a rental.

The Lincoln pulled away from the curb.

Dewitt slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The Ford lurched forward. He stayed exactly two car lengths behind them, blending perfectly into the morning traffic.

The Lincoln drove straight into Manhattan. It pulled over on Fifth Avenue, stopping right in front of a high-end, exclusive jewelry boutique.

Dewitt parked the Ford across the street, hiding behind a delivery truck.

He watched through the windshield as Eleonora pulled Frieda toward the gleaming glass doors of the boutique.

Dewitt pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial number. He pressed his Bluetooth earpiece into his ear.

Across the street, Eleonora stopped walking. She pulled her phone from her purse and put it to her ear.

"Do not buy her real diamonds," Dewitt ordered. His voice was flat and ruthless.

Through the windshield, he saw Eleonora's shoulders stiffen. She turned away from Frieda and hissed into the phone.

"You are a cold-blooded monster!" she spat.

"It's part of the test," Dewitt lied, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "If you put millions of dollars of jewelry on her, she might change. Take her to the cheap accessory shop next door. If you don't, I will immediately terminate this 'test' we agreed upon, and our previous arrangement will be completely voided."

Eleonora glared furiously at the street, as if she knew exactly where he was hiding. She hung up the phone violently.

Dewitt watched as Eleonora grabbed Frieda's arm and dragged her away from the diamond boutique, marching into a cheap, fast-fashion jewelry store next door.

Thirty minutes later, they walked back out onto the sidewalk.

Frieda was holding a small, cheap paper box in her hands. She opened it and looked down.

Dewitt squinted. It was a worthless cubic zirconia necklace.

But Frieda's face lit up. She smiled a genuine, radiant smile. She touched the fake stones with absolute reverence.

Dewitt's chest seized. A sharp, physical ache bloomed behind his ribs. She was so happy over a piece of garbage.

Eleonora waved her hand, signaling Maura to bring the Lincoln around. Eleonora and Frieda stood on the corner, waiting.

Suddenly, three men stepped out of the narrow alleyway next to the shop.

They wore dirty hoodies and baggy jeans. Their eyes were locked onto Eleonora's expensive tweed coat and her Birkin bag.

One of the men lunged forward. A silver switchblade flicked open in his hand with a sharp click.

He pointed the blade right at Eleonora's chest. "Give me the bag, old lady!"

In the Ford, Dewitt's blood turned to liquid fire.

His eyes went completely black. He ripped the door handle open, ready to sprint across the four lanes of traffic and tear the men apart with his bare hands.

But before his foot hit the pavement, Frieda moved.

She didn't scream. She didn't run.

She stepped directly in front of Eleonora, using her own body as a human shield.

Dewitt froze, one foot out of the car.

Frieda's face was pale, but her eyes were wild and furious. Like a cornered animal protecting its young.

The mugger laughed and stepped closer, waving the knife.

Frieda didn't hesitate. She reached to her right and grabbed a long, heavy wooden umbrella from a display barrel outside the shop.

She gripped it with both hands. She didn't swing wildly. Terrified but running purely on protective adrenaline, she squeezed her eyes shut for a split second and thrust the heavy metal tip of the umbrella forward with everything she had. By sheer, blind luck, the blunt tip slammed violently directly into the mugger's wrist.

The man screamed in agony. His fingers spasmed. The switchblade dropped to the concrete.

Frieda kicked her worn canvas sneaker out and sent the knife skittering into the street drain.

The other two muggers cursed and stepped forward to attack her.

A massive shadow fell over them. The Lincoln's driver, a man built like a tank, stepped onto the sidewalk and cracked his knuckles.

The muggers took one look at the driver, turned around, and sprinted back down the alley.

Dewitt stood frozen by the open door of his Ford.

He watched Frieda drop the umbrella. Her chest was heaving. She immediately turned around and wrapped her arms around his grandmother, checking her for injuries.

Dewitt's breathing was ragged. His heart pounded violently against his ribs.

He stared at the small, fragile woman who had just risked her life for his family. The sheer awe and respect he felt in that moment swallowed him whole.

The next morning, Frieda stood in front of the cracked mirror in the bathroom.

She held a small tube of cheap concealer. She carefully dabbed the thick liquid over the dark purple bruise blooming on her forearm. She had hit her arm against the umbrella stand during the fight yesterday.

Her phone buzzed on the sink. A sharp ding echoed in the small room.

Frieda picked it up. It was an automated text from her bank.

Deposit received: $2,000.00.

Frieda blinked. She stared at the screen. That was double the usual amount Dewitt transferred for the monthly household expenses.

A second later, another text popped up. It was from Dewitt.

Got a bonus at work. Increasing the household budget.

Frieda stared at the short, blunt message. The corners of her mouth slowly curled up. A warm, fluttering sensation spread through her chest.

He was so cold on the outside, but he wasn't completely heartless. He was trying to take care of them.

She typed back a quick smiley face emoji. She grabbed her worn canvas tote bag and walked out the door.

Forty minutes later, after surviving the crushing heat of the subway and switching lines twice beneath the East River, Frieda walked into the lobby of Finch Tech. The small tech company sat on the dusty edge of Long Island City, Queens, tucked between a warehouse and a shuttered auto body shop. The neighborhood was gritty, full of low-slung industrial buildings and the distant rumble of the elevated 7 train.

Frieda walked onto the main floor. She headed straight for her desk. It was shoved into a dark corner, right next to the loud, constantly jamming copy machine.

She sat down. Before she could even press the power button on her computer, a heavy stack of paper slammed onto her desk.

Frieda jumped.

Preston Finch stood over her. He wore a tailored suit that didn't hide his bulging stomach.

"I need these sales reports cross-referenced and put into a PowerPoint by five o'clock," Preston ordered. His tone was dripping with condescension.

Frieda looked at the stack. It was easily two hundred pages.

"Preston, this is the Sales Director's job," Frieda said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I still have to write the hardware testing reports for the R&D department."

Preston's face darkened. He leaned down, placing both hands flat on her desk.

"Do it, or I dock your attendance bonus for the month," he threatened softly.

"Well, well. Complaining already?"

Frieda's stomach dropped. She looked up.

Marge Kowalski, Preston's mother and the mother-in-law of Frieda's sister, Cora, strolled over holding a steaming mug of coffee.

Marge looked Frieda up and down with absolute disgust. "If the Finch family didn't take pity on you, a trailer-park girl like you would be scrubbing toilets. Be grateful you have a chair."

Around the office, several coworkers paused their typing. They watched the scene with mocking smiles. No one said a word to defend her.

Frieda's chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe. The humiliation burned the back of her throat.

She swallowed the bile rising in her mouth. She needed this paycheck.

"Leave it," Frieda said coldly. She turned away from them and aggressively hit the power button on her computer.

At noon, Frieda sat on the concrete stairs in the emergency stairwell.

The air was freezing. She chewed on a dry, cold turkey sandwich.

She pulled out her phone and dialed her sister Cora's number. She just needed to hear a friendly voice.

Cora picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

Her sister's voice was exhausted. In the background, a baby was screaming at the top of its lungs.

"Hey," Frieda said softly. "Marge is on a rampage today. She dumped the whole sales-"

"Frieda, please," Cora interrupted. Her voice cracked with panic. "Just do whatever she says. Please. If you fight with Marge, Preston takes it out on me when he gets home."

Frieda froze. The half-chewed sandwich turned to ash in her mouth.

She heard the raw terror in her sister's voice.

"I... I know," Frieda whispered. Her throat felt like it was closing up. "I'm sorry. I'm fine. It's fine."

She hung up the phone.

Frieda leaned her head back against the freezing concrete wall. The weight of her toxic family pressed down on her chest, suffocating her. She felt completely, utterly alone.

She closed her eyes. Suddenly, the image of Dewitt's text message flashed in her mind.

Got a bonus.

Her phone buzzed again. A blocked number. She ignored it. It was probably Earl, her adoptive father, calling for another "loan" to cover his gambling debts. He always called when she was at her lowest. She couldn't deal with him today. Not with everything else.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. In this miserable, hostile world, her fake, cold husband was the only person who had given her a sliver of comfort today.

Frieda wiped her face aggressively. She shoved the rest of the sandwich into her mouth and stood up.

She pushed the heavy fire door open and walked back into the snake pit. Her eyes were hard as steel.