Gold Digger vs Gold Saver My Man's Double Life novel Chapter 15

**Marriage Without Temperature by Mark Twain**
**Chapter 7**

My closest companion, my best friend, had embarked on an audacious venture, establishing a law firm in the bustling heart of London. Within mere months, she had forged a formidable reputation for herself, winning case after case with a tenacity that left her opponents reeling. The business was flourishing, and it was evident that she had found her calling.

While I occasionally lent a hand at her firm, my primary focus lay elsewhere. Before my life intertwined with Callum’s, I had immersed myself in the world of design, nurturing dreams of creativity and innovation.

The year we became a couple marked a turning point in his life; his career was soaring to new heights. In a moment of selflessness, I made the decision to leave my job behind, stepping into the role of a housewife to give him the freedom to pursue his ambitions without distraction. It felt noble at the time, a sacrifice made out of love.

But one fateful night, as I lay beside him in bed, I sensed a tremor in his body. Concerned, I reached out, only to find my fingers damp with tears. In that instant, I understood the weight of his guilt—he believed he had stifled my potential, that my career had been sacrificed at the altar of his dreams.

In those early days, he truly felt remorseful. He loved me deeply, and that love manifested in countless ways. For years, he showered me with the best of everything—gifts, attention, affection.

Yet, as time marched on, feelings began to shift. A decade had passed, and the warmth that once enveloped our relationship had grown cold.

Now, having severed ties with him, I was on a journey to reclaim my identity, to resurrect the career I had once cherished. Though it was too late to dive back into design full-time, I found a way to channel my creativity into new avenues.

Thus, I opened a boutique, pouring my heart into designing my own clothing line. I immersed myself in market research, dissecting trends and preferences, ensuring that every piece I created was both stylish and functional.

The response was extraordinary; my shop flourished beyond my expectations, drawing in customers eager for something fresh and unique.

One ordinary day, as I busied myself packing orders, a figure entered my shop. I was too engrossed in my work to look up, my hands deftly wrapping each item. Suddenly, a voice broke through the hum of the boutique—a man’s voice, quivering with urgency.

“Sloane… is that you? It’s really you.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Slowly, I turned around to face the source of the voice.

“Callum? What in the world are you doing here?” I demanded, my surprise tinged with irritation.

His eyes were bloodshot, betraying a sleepless night. He took a tentative step toward me, then faltered, as if the weight of his presence was too much to bear.

“Sloane, I finally found you. Why have you been hiding from me? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” His voice trembled with a mix of desperation and concern.

I narrowed my eyes, my heart hardening.

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