Testing His Wife: The Billionaire's Secret

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.