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 out a quiet sigh and carried the mug into the kitchen to clean it up.

Left alone, Scarlett settled onto the sofa, her hands clasped on her lap as silence pressed around her. She waited for Asher to finish his shower.

Before long, Asher appeared at the top of the staircase, descending with effortless poise. Strands of hair fell across his forehead, softening the sharp lines of his features. Even dressed casually, he exuded an aloof, commanding presence that seemed to place him above the world around him.

He then sat down opposite Scarlett, his gaze lifting with a quiet, cool composure.

"I've found the girl from twelve years ago," he said.

The sentence struck Scarlett like ice water, making her freeze.

Asher reached into the drawer of the coffee table, drew out a folder, and set it before her.

She lowered her eyes, flipping through the pages with trembling fingers.

The photographs showed a woman named Nora Dixon-graceful, poised, with eyes so hauntingly similar to Scarlett's that they made her chest tighten.

The resemblance wasn't a coincidence. It was the cruel truth staring back at Scarlett. All along, she had been nothing more than Nora's substitute in Asher's eyes.

A faint, bitter curve touched her lips.

How many times had Asher's eyes settled on her, only for her to realize he wasn't truly seeing her at all-but the ghost of another woman?

Those eyes of hers were the reason he had married her.

Swallowing the ache in her chest, Scarlett forced a fragile smile. "So... She's the one who saved you back then? The girl you've been searching for all these years?"

The one who stole his heart first?

"Yes." Asher's gaze held hers, steady and unflinching, as he gave a single, deliberate nod.

"Congrats-you've finally found her." Scarlett tried hard to make herself look composed.

Something about Scarlett's calm expression unsettled Asher; an ache he couldn't quite name stirred in his chest.

"So, I suppose this is where the convenient bed partner makes her graceful exit, right?" Scarlett's voice carried a brittle calm, the words sharp yet airy, as though she were trying to make light of her own heartache.

Asher's eyes lingered on her face. He looked as if weighing whether she meant the words she said.

Refusing to let him glimpse the cracks in her composure, Scarlett pressed on, her tone steady though her fingers tightened in her lap. "You've treated me quite well these past three years. At least I got a taste of what it's like to live as a rich man's wife. I suppose we can call it even. You have more than repaid me for saving you."

Reclining against the sofa, she let her eyes drift, as though sifting through fading memories.

Asher fell silent at her words.

Three years ago, when his enemies cornered him, it had been Scarlett who had pulled him out of danger. But the price she paid was brutal-a car crash that had left her body scarred and plagued with lasting injury.

Back then, he had asked her what kind of repayment she wanted.

She didn't hesitate-what she wanted was to be his wife.

Looking into her eyes that day, Asher hadn't hesitated. He had agreed, and before the sun set, they'd registered their marriage. From that moment on, she had worn the title Mrs. Sullivan for three long years.

Only after becoming his wife did Scarlett uncover the truth-Asher's heart had never been hers to claim. Hidden deep within it was another woman, the one he had loved first, the one he believed fate had intended for him. For years, he had searched for her, and now, he had finally found her.

And the time had come for Scarlett to step aside.

With her chin resting lightly in her palm, Scarlett eased herself out of her reverie, slipped the ring from her finger, and placed it softly on the table before her.

A faint, almost wistful smile touched her lips as she said, "When you're ready to end our marriage, I'll sign the divorce papers."

Under the warm light, the diamond ring shimmered like a single frozen tear.

Unbeknownst to Asher, Scarlett had long carried a secret crush on him. It was only three years ago, when she risked her life to save his, that she finally got a chance to get close to him.

Now, as the cool air brushed the bare skin of her finger, she knew the love she'd guarded so fiercely had finally slipped away with the ring.

It was time for her to let go, even though she knew it would feel like a blade twisting deep inside her.

The ache tore through her chest, sharp and merciless, as if someone had reached in and ripped a piece of her heart away.

Asher's expression didn't change. "We'll do it tomorrow-before my company's morning meeting starts."

"Alright." Scarlett's answer came steady, clipped. Rising to her feet, she turned to go upstairs and start packing, but his voice cut through the silence.

"Just say the word. I'll give you anything you ask for as compensation."

Asher had always felt he owed Scarlett.

If love was something he couldn't offer her, then wealth would have to take its place.

Without glancing back, Scarlett spoke evenly. "I want a child. Is that something you can give me?"

Asher's answer came before the question even settled in the air.

"No."

A faint smile touched Scarlett's lips, bitter and resigned. "Then we're done, Asher. There's nothing left that I want from you."

With that, she climbed the stairs in silence, her heels echoing faintly through the quiet house.

For three long years, she had been compliant toward him and done everything asked of her. Today had been the first time she'd voiced a wish of her own-a child. Yet even that, he had refused. There was nothing left worth holding onto.

She had never been the kind of woman to beg or linger where she wasn't wanted.

Asher's gaze tracked her retreating figure until it vanished at the top of the stairs, a crease forming between his brows-something rare for him. Just then, his phone rang on the table.

The screen lit up with the name of the sanatorium where Nora lived.

Asher answered the call immediately, pushing open the door and stepping into the quiet garden, phone pressed to his ear.

"Mr. Sullivan." The sanatorium director's cautious voice came. "Miss Dixon's condition has worsened. Her emotions are volatile, and she's now showing physical symptoms. We believe she needs a specialized psychological intervention, but none of our staff can calm her..."

Asher pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, eyes narrowing. "What about the international psychologist I asked you to contact-Dr. Sophia Russell?"

"Mr. Sullivan, Dr. Russell left the country three years ago for further studies. Since then, she has disappeared; she hasn't accepted a patient or a case from the hospital. We've exhausted every lead."

A muscle in Asher's jaw tightened. "Then I'll send someone to track her down."

Without another word, he ended the call and strode back toward the house, determination hardening his expression.

When he got upstairs, the master bedroom lay in silence. Scarlett was nowhere in sight.

Where had she gone?

After a long search through the quiet house, he finally discovered her curled up on the sofa in the study.

A soft blanket draped over her, her long hair spilling across her cheek in loose waves.

Asher stepped closer, his shadow falling over her.

"Why did you choose to sleep here?" His voice came low, edged with fatigue.

Turning her head slightly, Scarlett met his gaze with calm resignation. "We're signing the divorce papers tomorrow. Sharing a bed tonight feels... inappropriate, don't you think?"

Even though her sleep was disturbed, not a hint of anger colored her tone-only quiet composure.

She had always faced Asher with patience, even now.

For a fleeting second, Asher's expression wavered. Yet he said nothing. The decision to divorce tomorrow had been his, after all.

"You can sleep in the bedroom. I need to leave and take care of something."

Asher didn't linger for her to reply-just grabbed his keys and strode out, the door shutting with a hollow thud that echoed through the room.

His midnight departure could only have one reason-Nora.

Sleep fled from Scarlett as she thought about that. She lay staring into the dark, her chest tight with restless ache. The silence around her seemed to mock her calm façade.

Pushing herself upright, she dragged her fingers through her hair, the motion rough. A sharp glint caught her eye-scissors. Without hesitation, she seized them and sheared through the long, silky strands.

She had grown her long hair for Asher. Now that their marriage was ending, so was the reason to keep it.

An hour later.

Scarlett quietly entered the garage, swung a leg over a motorcycle, and sped off into the darkness.

The engine roared like a beast beneath her, the vibration thrumming through her bones as she shot toward the racetrack skirting Aneville's edge.

Three years ago, this place had been her sanctuary-a strip of asphalt where speed drowned out every ache. Whenever her mood soured, she came here chasing the rush. She had never shown her face when racing here.

She hadn't imagined she'd come back after her marriage was about to end.

Tonight, she joined the race on a whim, drawing a ripple of surprise from the regulars.

Crowds of privileged heirs and swaggering rich boys filled the track, each one itching to prove something.

Among them lounged Charlie Mason-the Mason couple's youngest son and Asher's reckless cousin.

His designer gear gleamed under the lights, matching the shine of his million-dollar custom motorcycle. Leaning against it with effortless arrogance, he let his smirk falter the moment he realized his opponent was a woman.

"You're telling me they're letting women race now? That's absurd," he muttered, crossing his arms.

He'd come looking for danger and glory, but the sight of a female racer left him unimpressed and irritated.

The tinted visor hid nearly all of Scarlett's face, leaving Charlie clueless that the woman standing beside him was the quiet, compliant wife of his cousin.

Scarlett, however, recognized him in an instant.

Asher had spoken often of Charlie's obsession with motorcycles-how Charlie had grown up worshiping him, the country's legendary racing genius.

When Charlie's smirk twisted into open contempt, Scarlett merely rested a gloved hand on her helmet, unmoved by the insult.

From the sidelines, someone said, their voice thick with mockery, "Come on, Charlie! Take a look at that rust bucket she's riding-it's older than my dad's! Probably just some gold digger looking to catch a rich boy's attention here. You'll leave her in the dust before the first turn! We're all betting on you!"

Charlie noticed that at a casual glance, the woman's motorcycle did seem like an antique-its once-bright paint now dulled, the frame showing faint scars of age.

But the longer he looked, the more unease stirred in his chest. Something about the motorcycle clawed at his memory.

It couldn't be... yet the shape, the sound-it all pointed to one name: Lightning, the limited-edition racer that had been in Asher's garage for years.

No, that couldn't be right.

Asher guarded that motorcycle like a relic.

Charlie had never been allowed near it-so how could some random woman be riding it now?

Before he could voice the thought, the spoiled heirs lounging beside him burst into laughter.

"Come on, she's nowhere near Charlie's level-she should do everyone a favor and leave now!" someone mocked.

Another chimed in with a mocking grin. "She's not here to race-probably just here to get a rich man's attention."

"Hey, sweetheart, take off that helmet-let's see the face hiding under there. If you're easy on the eyes, maybe Charlie will go easy on you."

"Right? Everyone knows he's got a soft spot for a pretty face."

Laughter and whistles broke out, rippling through the crowd until the air buzzed with mockery.

Exhaling slowly, Scarlett turned toward them, her eyes locking on Charlie with calm defiance.

"Big talk-how about we make it interesting with a bet?" she said.

She hadn't come here to trade barbs with spoiled heirs, but tonight, she wasn't exactly in a good mood to let them taunt her without consequences.

"What kind of bet?" Charlie scoffed, incredulous at the thought of losing to a woman in a race like this.

The woman's voice sounded familiar, uncannily like his cousin's worthless wife.

But before Charlie could think further, Scarlett's tone cut through his thoughts.

"Here's my deal," she said, flicking her wrist toward the basketball court nearby, her eyes sharp with challenge. "If I win, all of you hop across that court like frogs-twenty full laps."

She knew the area well.

The crowd of spoiled heirs blinked in surprise, then burst into wild laughter again.

"You're serious? And when you lose, what then?"

"You really think someone like you can win? Don't be absurd."

Their mockery rolled through the group like a tide.

Scarlett's jaw tightened; she believed she really needed to teach them a lesson.

She said evenly, "If I lose, I'll take on all your punishments-twenty frog-jump laps for each of you."

The taunts died off, replaced by stunned silence.

After a while, Charlie let out a low chuckle. "You? Doing fifteen sets of that? You trying to break your legs or something?"

Laughter erupted again. One person muttered, "Just pack it up and walk away. We won't hold what you just said against you."

"Yeah, save yourself the embarrassment!"

Scarlett's voice cut through the jeers, low and icy.

"Do you dare to take the bet or not?"

Charlie's frown deepened. Something about her voice tugged at the edge of recognition-it sounded far too familiar.

But before he could say anything, the crowd around him erupted.

"Count us in! No way we're letting some woman show us up!"

A sneer followed from the back. "But forget about the punishment you mentioned. If you lose, you'll put on a show and strip for us."

The words were clearly meant to humiliate.

Scarlett's lips twisted into a cold smile as she met their eyes. "Keep dreaming. You'll never get the chance to see that."

Just then, the sharp crack of the starter's gun split the air, and the race began.

Engines thundered as a dozen motorcycles tore off the line, streaking across the track like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.

Charlie hadn't taken Scarlett seriously at first. If she lost, a simple apology would do.

But that smug thought vanished the instant a sleek black blur streaked past him, vanishing so fast that he barely caught a glimpse of her taillight.

The track, rebuilt to international specs, twisted through more than twenty turns-Scarlett's specialty. She devoured each corner with effortless precision, overtaking Charlie easily.

She was riding Lightning, the motorcycle Asher had once ruled the track with. Though it had been sitting in the garage for years, it was immaculately kept and still a beast on the track.

Scarlett sped past the group of people one by one, the gap widening with every turn.

But up ahead, a stubborn racer gunned his throttle, body low against the frame, cutting her off at every turn, refusing to let her through.

Dust churned violently across the track, swallowing the world in a blinding haze.

Only one turn stood between Scarlett and the finish line-her last chance to overtake him. If she missed it, victory would slip away.

Behind her, the men's taunts rose above the storm of engines.

"Forget it! You'll never outrun Eric-one wrong move and you'll be scraping yourself off the rocks!"

"Just give up! We'll skip the stripping-just kneel and say sorry when you lose!"

Their mocking voices tore through the roaring wind, sharp and mean, yet Scarlett's focus didn't waver.

Her gaze hardened beneath the visor, lashes catching the grit in the air.

A soft, contemptuous hum escaped her throat as she lowered her body closer to the motorcycle.

She twisted the throttle to the limit, braked hard into the razor-thin bend, the rear wheel skimming off the asphalt as she slid through in one flawless arc. In that breathless instant, she surged past Eric Davidson.

Rubber shrieked across the track.

Moments later, Lightning skidded to a stop right at the finish line.

Scarlett watched as the others arrived behind her, one by one.

Three years spent tucked away as a housewife had blunted Scarlett's racing skills-she could feel the difference deep in her muscles.

That final, daring overtake through the curve had drained more out of her than it ever used to.

When she was lost in thought, Charlie and his friends were already dismounting.

The look on Charlie's face was worth every drop of sweat-his eyes wide, mouth parting in stunned disbelief as he took in Scarlett's motorcycle. That sleek frame, the custom paint, the signature hum-everything screamed of one name: Lightning, Asher's legendary motorcycle.

But how could this woman before him possibly be riding that? Was she involved with Asher? His secret lover, perhaps?

Charlie's mind whirled, chasing one wild scenario after another.

Just then, Scarlett unclipped her helmet and lifted it free. The breeze swept across the track, tossing her freshly shorn hair against her cheeks, revealing a strikingly beautiful face.

Every head turned toward her, including Charlie's.

A jolt of disbelief crossed his face, awe tangled with shock.

"S-Scarlett..."

His voice trembled.

He stumbled closer, circling her like he couldn't trust his own eyes.

"Is that really you?" he muttered, his tone uncertain. "I can't wrap my head around it. You know how to race? Does Asher have any idea you're out here?"

In Charlie's eyes, Scarlett had always been the quiet, well-mannered housewife-the woman who'd once saved Asher and married him because of it.

She knew how to race? And she was so skilled at it?

The idea shattered everything he thought he knew.

Scarlett angled her chin, a faint, cold smile touching her lips. "What's wrong? You think women don't belong on a track? And do I have to report everything I do to my husband?"

The words hit like a slap. Charlie's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Had he known she was Scarlett, he never would've dared to mock her.

After all, everyone knew Asher's temper-who would be foolish enough to cross his wife?

Their exchange hadn't gone unnoticed.

The people nearby, lounging by their motorcycles, had caught every word, and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

This woman was Asher's wife?

Suddenly, everything clicked-the composure, the skill, the way she commanded that motorcycle...

Naturally, the woman married to a man like Asher would be nothing short of remarkable.

Thinking of that, no one dared utter another word-until Eric, the last racer Scarlett had overtaken, stepped forward with a skeptical arch of his brow. "With skills like that, how come I've never seen your name on Aneville's racing leaderboard?"

Scarlett's lips curved into a calm, knowing smile. She gave no reply.

That Aneville's rankings meant nothing to her. Once, her name had been etched onto far greater ranks-those that stretched across the world.

But that chapter of her life was buried, and she had no desire to revisit it now.

Scarlett turned to look at the group of people. "Anyway, a bet's a bet. Move it-across the court, twenty rounds. Frog jumps. Don't skip a single one."

A chorus of groans erupted.

These weren't ordinary racers but heirs with pedigrees and polished shoes.

The mere thought of squatting and hopping like children while the crowd watched made blood drained from their faces. They couldn't stand the humiliation.

They, realizing this fearless woman was none other than Charlie's cousin-in-law, began murmuring and elbowing him, urging him to step in-plead their case before humiliation set in.

Charlie cleared his throat and stepped closer to Scarlett, dropping his voice to a low murmur. "Scarlett... for Asher's sake, maybe let this one go. Everyone's got their pride."

Scarlett shifted her weight, crossing her arms with deliberate ease, a cool, teasing smile ghosting over her lips. "If pride's what you're clinging to, then show it-keep your word. And as for Asher..."

Her eyes hardened, the smile fading. "He no longer matters to me."

Charlie blinked, caught off guard by her words. He wanted to ask her why. But before he could do that, Scarlett leaned casually against the motorcycle as she tilted her head toward the court and spoke. "What's the holdup? Get moving. I'll be watching."

A ripple of dread passed through the group. The heirs glanced at one another, faces paling as the reality of their situation sank in.