Gold Digger vs Gold Saver My Man's Double Life novel Chapter 13

**Marriage Without Temperature by Mark Twain**
**Chapter 5**

As Callum made his way home, a thick fog of confusion enveloped him. Each turn of the wheel felt heavy, as if he were steering through a dream that had turned sour. The moment he stepped inside the house, he called out for me, his voice echoing against the walls.

“Sloane—where are you? We need to talk.”

But the silence that greeted him was deafening.

His gaze fell on the divorce papers sprawled out on the table, stark and unforgiving. Memories of my cold, detached expression when I had declared my desire to leave flooded his mind. It was as if I had stripped away the warmth of our shared life, leaving only the chill of finality.

In a surge of anger and desperation, he tore the papers into tiny pieces, feeling a mix of relief and futility as they fluttered to the floor like fallen leaves.

With a shaky breath, he reached for his phone, dialing my number with urgency.

“Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently on another call…”

He tried again. And again. Ten times, to be precise, each attempt met with the same automated response.

Blocked.

Frustration bubbled within him, and he raked his fingers through his hair, feeling the weight of his own helplessness. In a moment of impulsive decision-making, he called my best friend, hoping she could bridge the gap.

When she answered, her voice was sharp and unyielding.

“Callum? You’ve got some nerve calling me. You’re a piece of shit! Sloane’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you threw her away for a bitch!”

Her words were like daggers, each one piercing deeper into his already wounded heart.

“I hope you get hit by a car. I hope you choke on your food—”

He cut her off, unfazed by her venom.

“Where’s Sloane? Put her on. I need to talk to her.”

“She’s not talking to you. Not now. Not ever.”

With a definitive click, she hung up, leaving him staring at the phone in disbelief.

He dialed again, but the same disheartening message greeted him. Blocked.

Panic began to claw at him. How could things have spiraled so far out of control? We had shared years of laughter and tears, and no matter how intense our arguments had been, I had never gone to such lengths before.

Then, his eyes caught a detail in the corner of one of the photos—a watermark.

My custom design.

In that instant, the ground beneath him seemed to crumble away.

Ivy, too, had seen the photographs and immediately launched into a desperate defense.

“Director, this isn’t real! Someone’s trying to frame us! There’s nothing between us—nothing!”

Her voice trembled with urgency as she turned to Callum, her eyes wide with panic.

“Please, you have to believe me! If you don’t, our careers are over!”

She grasped at him, seeking validation, but Callum merely held up one of the photos—the one that depicted her on her knees beneath his desk, her hands at his zipper.

“You posted this?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged, as the reality of their actions loomed over them like a storm cloud ready to burst.