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.

At three o'clock, Frieda carried a heavy stack of finished reports down the hall.

She walked toward the glass doors of the hardware R&D lab. She needed the lab supervisor's signature.

She pushed the glass door open.

A loud, frustrated groan echoed through the room.

Jax Kress, the wealthy heir who had been parachuted in as a technical consultant, was sitting at the main workbench. He was violently running his hands through his expensive haircut.

He stared at a microscope and a monitor displaying jagged red wave patterns.

"This makes no sense!" Jax yelled at the screen.

Frieda walked past his bench to drop the files on the supervisor's empty desk. As she walked by, her eyes flicked toward Jax's monitor.

Her brain reacted before she even realized it.

The complex wave patterns didn't look like confusing lines to her. They looked like a language she had spoken her entire life. The McNeil family's terrifying, innate genius for logic and structure fired up in her blood.

Frieda stopped walking.

"This part of the waveform... is it supposed to look like that?" Frieda asked quietly, pointing at a tiny, almost invisible spike on the red line. "It doesn't look like the reference diagrams I saw in the manual."

Jax spun around in his chair. He glared at her. He saw the girl who usually fixed the printer.

"Excuse me?" Jax snapped, his ego bruised.

Frieda didn't back down. She walked right up to his bench. She picked up one of the loose microchips lying on the anti-static mat.

She shoved it under the microscope and rapidly twisted the focus dial.

"Look at the edge of the casing," Frieda suggested, her voice hesitant but observant. "There's a tiny speck right there. Is that normal?"

Jax frowned, leaning over to look through the lens. His breath hitched.

"See that microscopic discoloration?" Jax muttered to himself, his eyes widening. "That's a laser burn mark. Someone sanded off the old serial numbers and re-stamped them. These aren't military-grade chips. They are refurbished garbage."

Jax's jaw dropped as he realized what her sharp eyes had just uncovered. He shot up from his chair like he had been electrocuted.

He shoved Frieda aside and frantically typed a command into the testing software to run a deep destructive stress test.

Five minutes later, the progress bar hit 100%. The screen flashed red. FAILURE.

Jax stared at the screen. His breathing turned shallow.

He slowly turned his head and looked at Frieda. The annoyance in his eyes was completely gone. It was replaced by absolute, raw awe.

He reached out and grabbed both of Frieda's shoulders. His fingers dug into her denim jacket.

"You are a genius!" Jax practically shouted. "You just saved us millions in breach of contract lawsuits! How did you see that?"

The other engineers in the room stopped working. They stared at Frieda with wide, respectful eyes.

Out in the hallway, Lorna Ash was walking by.

Lorna was Preston's younger sister. She wore a skin-tight designer dress and held a cup of hot coffee. She had been trying to sleep with Jax for six months.

Lorna glanced through the transparent glass wall of the lab.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

She saw Jax Kress. The billionaire heir. He was holding Frieda by the shoulders, staring at her with intense, glowing admiration.

Lorna's hand tightened around her coffee cup. The plastic lid popped off. Scalding hot coffee splashed over her knuckles.

She didn't even flinch.

Her eyes locked onto Frieda. A dark, venomous jealousy exploded in her gut. It twisted her insides into painful knots.

How dare that trailer-park trash touch the man she wanted?

Lorna slammed her half-empty coffee cup onto the top of a hallway trash can. The plastic shattered. She spun on her stiletto heels and marched away, her face twisted in pure hatred.

Inside the lab, Frieda calmly took a step back, forcing Jax to drop his hands.

"Tell Preston you found it," Frieda said flatly. "Keep my name out of it. I don't want the attention."

Jax looked confused, but he nodded slowly. He watched her walk away, his eyes filled with intense curiosity.

Frieda pushed the glass door open and stepped into the hallway.

She nearly collided with Tammy Boggs, Lorna's aggressive little assistant.

Tammy sneered at Frieda, looking her up and down like she was a piece of dirt. Tammy let out a loud, mocking scoff and walked away.

Frieda's stomach tightened.

She walked back to her desk. Her hands felt cold. She knew the Finch family. She had just painted a massive target on her own back.