Testing His Wife: The Billionaire's Secret
Frieda married Dewitt believing he was just a struggling middle-manager, living in a cramped apartment with only seventy-two dollars left to her name.
She had no idea her cold husband was actually a ruthless billionaire running a cruel psychological test on her. Convinced she might be a gold digger, Dewitt gave her a meager allowance, keeping the divorce papers ready the moment she showed any greed.
While Dewitt secretly judged her every move, Frieda suffered endlessly. At her toxic workplace, she was relentlessly bullied by her arrogant in-laws and mocked for her scuffed shoes. Even after she risked her life to protect his grandmother from an armed mugger and exposed her own hidden tech genius, her coworkers still treated her like trailer-park trash. They cornered her on the street, pointing fingers in her face.
"You are a shameless, gold-digging whore! A billionaire would never want you!"
She endured the humiliation, having just rejected a priceless no-limit black card from his family out of pure principle. She truly believed she and her husband were fighting through poverty together. She had no idea her "poor" husband was watching her every struggle from the tinted windows of a hidden Maybach across the street.
But when her bullies finally pushed too far and raised a hand to strike her, the icy wall around the billionaire's heart completely shattered. Dewitt tore up the divorce papers, his eyes turning pitch black with murderous rage.
"If anyone ever raises a hand to her again, break it."
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Chapter 1
"Seventy-two dollars."
Frieda stared at the red numbers on the final notice. She sat on the worn fabric sofa in the dim living room of their Riverside Heights apartment. The cheap floor lamp cast a yellow, sickly glow over the stack of unpaid bills spread across the coffee table.
She rubbed her temples. Her stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot. Seventy-two dollars left in her checking account to survive the next twelve days.
A sharp metallic click echoed from the front door.
Frieda's head snapped up. Her heart skipped a beat.
The heavy door was shoved open with brutal force. A gust of freezing night air rushed into the cramped hallway.
Dewitt stood in the doorway. His massive frame filled the space. The harsh scent of cheap alcohol rolled off him in waves, mixing with the cold air.
He slammed the door shut behind him.
The impact made the thin walls of the apartment vibrate.
Frieda jumped to her feet. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. She took a hesitant step back.
Dewitt reached up and yanked his dark tie loose. His movements were clumsy, uncoordinated. His heavy leather shoes hit the cheap laminate floor with loud, deliberate thuds as he walked toward the living room.
The smell of liquor grew stronger. It burned Frieda's nose.
"Dewitt?" she asked.
She took a step forward, wanting to ask if he was okay. Then she saw his eyes.
They were bloodshot. Dark. Completely devoid of the cold, calculated indifference he usually wore.
He didn't turn toward the guest bedroom. He walked straight at her.
His broad shoulders and towering height sucked all the oxygen out of the tiny room.
Frieda took another step back. The back of her calves hit the hard edge of the coffee table. She had nowhere else to go.
Dewitt lunged.
His large hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. His grip was like a steel vise.
Frieda gasped. Sharp pain shot up her arm.
She tried to yank her hand back. "Let go!"
Instead of letting go, Dewitt pulled her hard.
Frieda stumbled forward. Her body crashed into his solid, burning chest.
He felt like a brick wall. The heat radiating through his dress shirt scorched her skin.
Dewitt lowered his head. His hot, ragged breath hit the sensitive skin of her neck.
A violent shiver ripped down Frieda's spine.
She brought both hands up and shoved hard against his chest. Her palms pressed flat against his hard muscles. He didn't move an inch.
Dewitt's free hand slid around her waist. His fingers dug into her lower back. He jerked her flush against him.
Every line of his hard body pressed into her soft one.
A low, gravelly sound vibrated in his chest. He muttered something against her skin. The words were slurred, unintelligible, but the raw hunger in his tone made Frieda's heart race out of control.
His lips brushed against her earlobe.
A jolt of electricity shot straight to her toes.
Frieda panicked. She twisted her head away, her breathing turning shallow and fast.
She shoved him again.
Dewitt lost his footing. His drunken balance failed him.
They fell backward.
Frieda hit the cushions of the fabric sofa with a soft thud.
Dewitt crashed down right on top of her.
His heavy body pinned her completely to the cushions. The living room light was blocked out by his broad shoulders. She was trapped in his shadow.
Frieda stared up at him in pure terror. His face was inches from hers.
The coldness in his eyes was gone. It was replaced by a dark, predatory heat that made her blood run cold.
Dewitt grabbed both of her wrists with one hand. He pinned them flat against the cushion above her head.
He stripped away her only defense in one smooth motion.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Frieda bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper.
Dewitt's Adam's apple bobbed. He slowly lowered his face toward hers.
Frieda squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest heaved. Her muscles locked up, bracing for the violation she knew was coming.
His lips were less than an inch from hers. She could feel the heat of his mouth.
A violent buzzing sound erupted between them.
The cell phone in Dewitt's suit pocket vibrated relentlessly against Frieda's chest.
Dewitt froze.
His body went completely rigid.
He blinked. The heavy fog of alcohol in his eyes parted for a split second. Confusion washed over his sharp features.
He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a pained groan.
The alcohol finally won.
Dewitt's head dropped like a stone. His face buried into the crook of Frieda's shoulder. All the tension left his muscles as he passed out cold.
Frieda held her breath. Her lungs burned.
She waited five agonizing seconds. He didn't move. His breathing evened out into a deep, heavy rhythm.
She shoved her hands against his shoulders and rolled his dead weight off her body.
Frieda sat up quickly. She gasped for air. Her hands shook violently as she pulled her wrinkled shirt down.
She stared at the man passed out on her sofa. Her heart was still beating out of her chest.
But as she watched his chest rise and fall, the sheer terror in her veins slowly morphed into a heavy, suffocating exhaustion.
He looked so normal when he slept. Not like a monster. Just a tired, drunk man.
Frieda let out a long, shaky breath.
She stood up on trembling legs and walked into her bedroom. She grabbed a thin fleece blanket from the closet.
She walked back to the living room and draped the blanket over Dewitt's broad shoulders.
Frieda stood by the coffee table. She looked down at her husband of three months.
Her throat tightened. She had no idea how she was going to survive this marriage.
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7.1
The night before her wedding to Wall Street billionaire Everette Baird, Deliah Quinn stood happily in her haute couture gown.
Then, her younger sister Arvilla walked in, handed her a drugged glass of champagne, and slammed an ultrasound on the vanity.
"I'm pregnant with Everette's child," Arvilla sneered.
Before Deliah's paralyzed body could react, Arvilla dragged in a canister of industrial gasoline, soaked the bridal suite, tossed a lighter, and locked the heavy oak doors from the outside.
To escape the roaring inferno, Deliah smashed the glass balcony and threw herself into the freezing, violent waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
For five agonizing years, everyone believed the Quinn heiress was dead.
Deliah returned to New York entirely reborn—a top architectural designer and a single mother, having scrubbed her past clean and forgotten the people who destroyed her.
She only wanted a peaceful life with her five-year-old genius son, Leo.
But she had no idea her son was secretly hacking airport security cameras to find himself a wealthy stepdad.
Leo deliberately bumped into a terrifying, cold-blooded tycoon, spilling scalding coffee on his custom suit to get his attention.
When Deliah frantically rushed over to protect her son and apologize, the air in the terminal vanished.
Everette Baird stared at the exact face he had obsessively mourned for five years, his eyes turning pitch black as he crushed his phone in his bare hand.
9.1
Isabella thought she had the perfect life as the wealthy Conrad family heiress, complete with a loving childhood sweetheart.
Until she woke up drugged in a hotel bed, blinded by paparazzi flashes, as her fiancé pointed a shaking finger at her, screaming that she had drugged and seduced him.
"She threatened to ruin Kaylie if I didn't sleep with her!" he yelled to the cameras.
Kaylie, the newly discovered biological daughter, stood in the doorway weeping perfectly.
Within hours, Isabella's adoptive father publicly severed all ties, froze her assets, and kicked her out into a violent thunderstorm.
Fleeing the city, her car's brakes suddenly failed.
As Isabella lay dying in the crushed metal of her Porsche, Kaylie strolled up with a pristine umbrella and a genuine smile.
"The mechanic was quite expensive, but cutting the brake lines was worth every penny," Kaylie laughed.
Isabella coughed up blood, her heart turning to ice. Her twenty years of family, love, and loyalty had been nothing but a cruel joke, destroyed by a calculated frame-up.
She died suffocating on absolute betrayal and unadulterated hatred.
Then, she gasped for air.
She wasn't dead. She was sitting in the driver's seat of her car, staring at her flawless reflection in the rearview mirror.
It was exactly four years ago—the day the real heiress first arrived.
A chilling smirk curled the corner of Isabella's mouth. This time, she was going to rip their lives apart from the inside out.
8.9
For fifteen years, I thought my mother had died in a tragic fire.
Then the wealthy Ross family's butler knocked on my door, revealing she was alive—locked away in the psychiatric annex of their massive estate.
I rushed into the lion's den to save her, only to run straight into Graydon Ross, the ruthless billionaire CEO.
He looked at my cheap clothes with pure disgust, convinced I was a bottom-feeding scammer trying to extort his family.
"Throw this bitch out into the snow."
He ordered his armed guards to drag me away, completely cutting off my only chance to see my mentally broken mother.
But as he violently grabbed my collar to throw me out, I saw a custom eagle-head cufflink hanging from his coat pocket.
My blood turned to ice, and a wave of paralyzing terror crashed over me.
Eight months ago, I accidentally slept with a masked stranger in a pitch-black hotel room and fled before dawn.
That cufflink belonged to him.
The man who took my virginity—the Wall Street tyrant I had been hiding from—was Graydon Ross.
If he ever found out I was that woman, he would literally destroy my life.
But to save my mother, I couldn't be thrown out.
When his grandmother suddenly appeared, I dropped to the floor, exposed the dark bruises Graydon had just left on my wrists, and sobbed.
I framed the billionaire for assault to secure my place in the mansion, forcing myself to live right next door to the monster whose bed I had fled.
7.8
Evelyn was already suffocating under her family's impending bankruptcy when she rear-ended a ten-million-dollar Rolls Royce in the freezing rain.
The tinted window rolled down, revealing the cold, predatory face of Julian Hawthorne—the man she had brutally abandoned three years ago.
Now a ruthless billionaire, he demanded a seven-figure repair check she couldn't afford, or she would have to pay with her body.
Desperate, she went to her wealthy fiancé, Preston, for the money, only to find him in a VIP club with another woman straddling his lap.
Instead of helping, Preston threw the repair bill on the floor and laughed with his rich friends.
"You want the money? Fine. Get on your knees, crawl over here, and kiss the tip of my shoe in front of everyone."
Evelyn trembled with pure humiliation.
Three years ago, she had sacrificed the only man she truly loved to save her family from ruin, only to end up engaged to this pathetic, cheating scum.
Just as her knees bent toward the carpet, the heavy velvet door was kicked completely off its hinges.
Julian walked in like the grim reaper, beat Preston half to death, and dragged Evelyn away.
He pinned her in his car, threatening to destroy everyone she cared about if she didn't return to him.
Evelyn was terrified and confused. Why was this powerful tyrant going to such extreme, violent lengths to trap a woman who had thrown him away?
The answer slipped out through an accidental phone call: the cold-blooded CEO had spent the previous night drunk, crying and screaming her name.
Realizing the monster caging her was actually just a desperate, heartbroken man, Evelyn wiped her tears and made a decision.
She was going to break her engagement, walk into his corporate fortress, and finally face the terrifying debt of their past.
7.4
For nine years, Arianna was the loyal girlfriend and lead engineer who built Gregory's tech company from the ground up.
But coming home early from a business trip, she overheard him laughing with his friends about how he would never marry her.
"Arianna is useful. She's convenient for my physical needs. That's all it is."
He was just using her while waiting for his untouchable stepsister to get a divorce.
The betrayal didn't stop there. Days later, she caught him buying Cartier diamonds for a twenty-two-year-old intern.
When she secretly checked his phone that night, the truth was even uglier. Gregory wasn't just cheating; he was plotting corporate sabotage. He planned to steal the proprietary code she had poured her life into, kick her out of the company without a dime, and hand her executive title to his mistress.
Nine years of blind devotion and endless sacrifices were nothing but a cruel, calculated joke. She had excused his emotional distance for years, never realizing he was intentionally draining her dry while keeping his soul loyal to another woman.
But instead of breaking down, the weak, devoted Arianna died in the dark. She quietly locked her core engine code in a biometric safe, hired an elite private investigator, and put on her sharpest suit. It was time to burn his empire to the ground.
7.6
Cora thought she was the luckiest woman alive, married to a devoted tech billionaire who showered her with custom haute couture and obsessive care.
But his "protection" involved locking her inside their San Francisco estate, forcing her to swallow foul neon-green supplements, and drawing her blood with highly classified veterinary needles.
She thought it was just his extreme paranoia, until a cynical doctor cornered her at a charity gala.
"Kendrick isn't raising a wife. He's curating a very rare, very fragile medical specimen. You're his personal pharmacy."
Terrified, Cora broke into Kendrick's hidden safe and found a medical report approving her total bone marrow and stem cell depletion.
Kendrick wasn't a doting husband. He was raising her as a human bloodbag to save his terminally ill cousin.
When she nearly uncovered the truth, Kendrick cried fake tears, claiming he only needed her antibodies.
"Tomorrow, we are going to my private island in the Caribbean. Just the two of us. No internet. No guards. Just peace."
Cora almost believed his vulnerable act, deeply confused by how a man who kissed her so tenderly could plan to slaughter her in cold blood.
Then, while packing for the trip, she dropped a wooden box, revealing a hidden flight manifesto.
Kendrick's return date was listed. Hers was completely blank.
Stapled to the back was a clinical schedule: Intensive Marrow Harvesting - Final Stage. Patient will not require return transport.
Hearing his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway, Cora gripped the sharp edges of the broken box.
She was not going to be a slaughtered lamb on that island.