He Called Me Gold Digger, Now He Can't Let Go

In the quiet seclusion of a house on Aneville's outskirts.

Scarlett Riley pressed helplessly against the cool pane of a towering window, her back arching beneath Asher Sullivan's unyielding hold. His hand clamped around her waist, guiding every movement with steady control, taking from her what he wanted while remaining perfectly composed—his crisp suit showing only a whisper of disarray. She, in contrast, was left trembling and breathless, hair in disarray, skin flushed with heat.

The encounter had ignited without warning, yet it still left Scarlett's heart fluttering, her gaze blurred by the haze of desire.

Asher, heir to the powerful Sullivan family, was the man she had called husband for three years.

In all that time, warmth between them had been scarce, yet whenever their bodies met, they moved together as if made for this wordless rhythm.

What he liked about her the most was her quiet submission. Wherever he reached for her, she yielded—never resisting—always giving him exactly what he craved. Just like this time—the moment he stepped through the door, his desire took over. He then pulled her into a sea of passion.

Asher's fingers tilted Scarlett's chin until she was forced to look up at him, her clear eyes mirroring the sharp lines of his striking face.

Three years had passed, yet he never seemed to tire of gazing into her eyes.

Scarlett's lashes fluttered, as though she might tumble into the depths of his gaze.

Before she could steady her breath, Asher pulled back, already done—swift, detached, and cold.

There was no hesitation in his gesture. No tenderness.

"Take your medicine downstairs while I shower. After that, there's something I've got to tell you," he said.

His eyes lost their warmth, turning cold and distant as he went into the bathroom without a glance back.

The "medicine" waiting for her downstairs was a herbal contraceptive—one the family doctor claimed was gentle, harmless even. For three years, after every night spent with Asher, Scarlett had been required to take it.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she put on her clothes and made her way down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Rhonda Murray, the maid, stood ready with a steaming mug of dark liquid. The sharp, earthy bitterness filled the air, making Scarlett's stomach twist.

"Would you like me to sweeten it a little, Mrs. Sullivan?" Rhonda asked quietly, offering a small, sympathetic smile as she extended the mug toward Scarlett.

With Asher gone so often, Rhonda had become the one constant in Scarlett's life. Over the years, she had grown to feel for Scarlett.

Each time Asher came home, he left again soon after, leaving behind only the echo of his absence. Rhonda knew that whatever bound Asher and Scarlett together, it was not love.

Being married to a man of wealth was nothing like the glamorous fantasy outsiders imagined.

"There's no need for that." Scarlett lifted the mug and drained the bitter concoction in one swift swallow before handing it back.

Rhonda let