Gold Digger vs Gold Saver My Man's Double Life novel Chapter 7

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

The morning after Grant’s suspension, Amber sought me out.

This time, it wasn’t at my apartment but at a diner just a couple of blocks away from the hospital. As I approached the entrance, I noticed her sitting in a booth by the window, her figure silhouetted against the dim light of the café.

She appeared markedly different from the last time I had seen her. There was no makeup on her face, her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore a pair of faded jeans along with an old t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days. For a fleeting moment, she almost resembled a college student, lost in thought and far removed from the chaos of adult life.

“You won,” she stated flatly, her eyes not meeting mine as she stirred her coffee absentmindedly.

I couldn’t help but respond, “It wasn’t a game.” My tone was steady, but beneath it lay the weight of everything that had transpired.

“Grant’s finished,” she said, a hollow laugh escaping her lips, devoid of any real amusement. “The hospital’s firing him. They might even file charges against him.”

“He brought it on himself,” I replied, a sense of finality in my voice.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to her lukewarm coffee. “I guess I did too.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between us. I chose not to respond, letting the weight of her confession hang in the air.

“You want to know why I do what I do?” she asked, breaking the silence, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

“Not really,” I admitted, though a part of me was curious.

Yet she continued, her words tumbling out as if they had been pent up for far too long. “My dad died when I was eight. My mom’s paralyzed. I’ve got a little brother still in high school. We lived in the middle of nowhere—the kind of poor where you skip meals just to get by. I’ve been working since I was fifteen. Waitressing, washing dishes, cleaning houses. This was just… faster money.”

“So you figured that ruining someone else’s relationship was fair game?” I challenged, my brow furrowing in disbelief.

“I didn’t plan it,” she insisted, her voice quieting to almost a whisper. “He was the first guy who didn’t treat me like I was disposable.”

“That’s your excuse? He made you feel special?” I pressed, incredulous.

“I’m not making excuses,” she shot back, meeting my gaze with an intensity that surprised me. “But yeah, I loved him. For real.”

“Loved him enough to record him? To report him?” I asked, my heart racing as I watched her expression shift.

Her face paled, and I could see the realization dawning on her. “I never said—”

“You didn’t have to,” I interjected, leaning back in my seat, the truth of the matter settling heavily between us. “But thanks for confirming.”

Panic flickered across her features, and I could see the walls she had built around herself beginning to crumble.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to out you,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “Actually, I owe you one.”

“For what?” she asked, confusion mingling with a hint of hope.

“Showing me who he really was before I married him,” I replied, placing a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “You’re what, twenty-two? Twenty-three? Get out while you still can. That jewelry should hold you over for a while.”

“You really don’t hate me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I did,” I admitted, my honesty raw and unfiltered. “But you were just the catalyst. He would’ve cheated eventually—if not with you, then with someone else.”

As I stood up to leave, I glanced back at her. She remained seated, staring at her cold coffee, lost in thought.

Maybe she would change. Maybe she wouldn’t.

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