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.

Gone.

Did it hurt?

Yes.

But beneath that pain was something lighter, something freeing.

Relief.

“Dr. Bennett? Patient in room three is asking for you,” a voice called out, pulling me from my reverie.

I turned away from the window, shaking off the remnants of my past. “Be right there,” I replied, my voice steady.

Life didn’t stop, and neither would I.

Three months later, I had made attending physician in neurosurgery.

**Chapter 7**

During the ceremony, Dr. Harrison pulled me aside, his expression serious yet proud. “You’ve got a hell of a future ahead of you, Olivia. Don’t let anything slow you down.”

“I won’t,” I assured him, determination flooding my veins.

As soon as the ceremony concluded, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my dad calling, and I couldn’t help but smile as I answered.