Gold Digger vs Gold Saver My Man's Double Life novel Chapter 23

**Marriage Without Temperature by Mark Twain**

**Chapter 7**

In the tranquil days of my recovery, a soothing calm enveloped me, wrapping around my heart like a warm blanket.

Yet, deep down, I was acutely aware that this serenity was merely a façade, a protective shield crafted by Sander to keep the storm of confrontations and desperate pleas at bay.

Ever since that fateful day, my phone had transformed into a relentless source of noise, ringing incessantly with calls and messages that I had chosen to ignore.

During my marriage to Theo, I had gradually distanced myself from friends and acquaintances, and now, in a bid to escape the chaos, I decided to sever all ties completely by changing my number.

As soon as I activated my new SIM card and ventured online, I stumbled upon the shocking news: the Harrington family had plunged into bankruptcy.

Initially, Theo’s days were consumed by furious rants on social media, where he unleashed a torrent of curses upon everyone and everything, with Sander as his primary target. He vowed vengeance, claiming that Sander had stolen his wife away from him.

But Sander, ever the strategist, retaliated with a masterstroke: he released the hospital’s security footage, capturing Theo’s own words about sending me to the Blackwood estate. This damning evidence solidified Theo’s reputation as a husband who had chosen his mistress over his ailing wife. The internet’s fury turned against him like a tidal wave, and he found himself drowning in the backlash.

Sander’s wrath didn’t stop there; he pulled out all investments, severed partnerships, and within mere days, the once-mighty Harrington empire crumbled under the weight of insurmountable debts and operational failures, ultimately leading to their official declaration of bankruptcy.

Theo’s online persona then shifted dramatically; he transformed from an angry man into a desperate beggar, pleading for mercy. He claimed that Sander had gone too far and should allow room for reconciliation. Unable to reach me directly, he resorted to social media, where he implored me to remember the good times we had shared. In a bizarre attempt to tug at my heartstrings, he even set up a digital memorial for my parents, an act I found both infuriating and pathetically desperate.

A month passed, and under Sander’s devoted care, my injuries had healed significantly. I felt stronger, ready to step back into the world. Yet, there was one final task I needed to undertake: a return to the Harrington estate.

The house, once a symbol of wealth and privilege, had been sold to settle debts, and Sander had purchased it.

I was returning to reclaim my parents’ ashes.

As I stood before their photograph, dust clinging to the frame, a profound emptiness settled like a stone in my chest.

Ten years ago, my parents and I had moved back to the city because Alistair Harrington was gravely ill.

My mother, his adopted daughter, had a story that was as cliché as it was heartbreaking. Alistair’s biological daughter had been lost to time, and in a bid to fill that void, he had adopted my mother. Yet, as fate would have it, the real daughter was eventually found, leaving my mother feeling like an imposter in her own life.

Determined not to be a mere placeholder, she left everything behind, embarking on a new life in Santa Fe with my father, where they built a quiet existence filled with love.

Even after Alistair’s biological daughter’s health deteriorated and she passed away far too young, Alistair reached out, hoping to reconnect. But my mother, steadfast in her resolve, refused to return.

It was only when Alistair fell critically ill that her compassion stirred within her, compelling her to return to care for the man who had once raised her.

Yet, in the eyes of others, especially Genevieve’s, my mother was nothing more than a shameless opportunist, returning to fight for her share of the inheritance. Genevieve made her life a living hell, throwing obstacles at her at every turn.

But my mother was undeterred. She believed that actions spoke louder than words and that the truth would eventually come to light.

Then, in a cruel twist of fate, an accident extinguished all conflict.

Late one fateful night, a scented candle lit by Genevieve ignited a fire that spread rapidly from the bedroom, engulfing the entire house in flames. My parents, ever vigilant, woke everyone and led them to safety, only to realize that Alistair was still in his sickbed.

The bed was too heavy for one person to move alone.

Without a second thought, my parents raced back into the inferno, risking their lives to push Alistair to safety. Tragically, they never emerged from the flames.

After that harrowing night, no one in the Harrington family dared to speak ill of me again.

I traced my fingers over the cold surface of the urn, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

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