Maya Spencer had heard a million excuses in her life, but this one took the damn cake.

"When she had that asthma attack, she didn’t call a doctor. She called you. Are you her prescription or something?"

"…"

"Every time she calls, she practically throws herself at your feet. You’re more convenient than a late-night pizza delivery."

"…" He couldn’t get a word in edgewise against her fiery temper and sharp tongue.

"Out of every person on the planet, she couldn’t find anyone else to call?"

Finally, he fumbled out an explanation: "Her phone died. She borrowed a stranger’s, and she only remembered my number…"

The second the words left his mouth, he knew keeping his mouth shut would’ve been the smarter move.

"Ha!" All Maya could manage was a cold, bitter laugh. Calling him an idiot would be doing him a favor. He didn’t even bother hiding his cheating. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to hide it anymore. Did he actually expect her to buy such a pathetic lie? The real shock wasn’t how crafty Elina Guzman was—it was how willing he was to be played for a fool.

Maya smiled wryly. "I’m done talking. I already told everyone at the party we’re getting divorced. Tomorrow we’ll meet at the courthouse, sign the papers, and whoever you want to fuck is none of my goddamned business."

"What?" A blue vein throbbed visibly at Rayan Spencer’s temple. "Are you throwing some out-of-control tantrum right now?"

"Aren’t you throwing your dick around out of control?"

Just when the tension between them was about to snap, Gustavo Walker’s call popped up on her phone again, blaring nonstop even when she tried to ignore it.

She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she answered.

The second she hit accept, Gustavo’s screaming rant exploded through the speaker—loud enough for Rayan to hear every word even without turning on the speakerphone.

"Maya, if you dare divorce him, I’ll tell the whole world your real mother’s a raving lunatic! I’ll make sure both of you suffer for this!"

Maya’s mind went white with buzzing static, white-hot rage surging through her like a tidal wave of molten heat.

"You’re the fucking insane one!" she screamed hysterically.

The second the words left her lips, blackness swallowed her whole, and she collapsed, unconscious.

——

The next morning, at the hospital.

Before Maya even opened her eyes, she heard Rayan Spencer’s voice, muffled as he talked quietly across the room.

"It’s just a misunderstanding, Grandma. Maya was just messing with me… She got a little overemotional, got everyone worried for no reason… Yeah, yeah, I’ll talk her down, don’t you worry about it…"

He hung up, then dialed another number, his tone shifting completely into something sharp, stressed, and urgent. "Tell the PR team to monitor all trending topics for the next few days. If any divorce rumor pops up, bury it. Shut anything bad down, no matter what it costs."

Maya slowly opened her eyes, head spinning as she stared up at the sterile white ceiling, only letting her lids lift halfway.

Rayan stood by the window, still wearing the same white shirt and black slacks he’d had on yesterday. The broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs made a perfect, jaw-dropping silhouette. But what always caught Maya’s eye was his neck.

Slender, elegant—even his back view was breathtaking.

After he hung up, Rayan stared at the floor, hands braced on his hips, tapping his toe restlessly against the ground—a dead giveaway he was fighting to keep his cool.

For a second, Maya wondered if announcing their divorce publicly last night had been too impulsive.

"Rayan," a soft voice cut through the quiet of the room, "You left your jacket at my place last night, and it’s freezing this morning, so I brought it over for you."

Of course it was Elina Guzman.

Maya felt a sharp jab of annoyance—no wonder he was only in his shirt. He’d left his jacket over at his little mistress’s place.

Rayan signaled for her to keep her voice down, then stepped to the door. "Why’d you come all the way here? It’s just a jacket, I could’ve had my assistant pick it up."

"I felt so dizzy last night I couldn’t sleep. My mom said I should come to the hospital for a check-up, so I figured I’d drop it off on my way—no trouble at all." She peeked past him into the room, voice dropping to a sympathetic whisper. "How’s Maya doing?"

"Concussion."

"That serious?" Her surprise was as fake as a three-dollar bill. The only thing she regretted was not going harder when she’d messed with Maya the night before.

Mindful of Maya needing rest, Rayan lowered his voice even more. "It’s mild. The doctor said just a few days of rest and she’ll be fine."

"Oh, thank goodness it’s nothing serious. Did you eat breakfast yet, Rayan?"

"I’m waiting for Maya to wake up."

"I figured you’d skip it. My mom made me a sandwich, but I don’t have any appetite, I feel so nauseous. You want it?"

Listening to them chattering away right at her hospital room door, Maya sat bolt upright in bed—straight out of a damn horror movie resurrection.

The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness crashing over her, and her stomach rolled instantly.

"Maya’s awake!" Elina was through the door in a heartbeat, no hesitation as she glided over. "Maya, are you feeling any better?"

Maya pressed a hand to her chest, looking like she was two seconds from losing her entire stomach contents.

Elina moved in to steady her, leaning in to whisper just loud enough for Maya to hear: "You’re quite the little actress, aren’t you?"

Maya wasn’t even surprised.

But this wasn’t an act. She was genuinely dizzy. The acid from her stomach was already creeping up her throat.

Rayan noticed how pale she’d gone. "Should I call a doctor?"

"No need," Elina said confidently. "I felt the exact same way last night. Trust me, Maya—just sip some warm water, it’ll help."

The implication hung thick in the air: You can’t fool me.

Elina quickly grabbed the thermos off the bedside table, poured warm water, and held it right up to Maya’s lips.

"Temperature’s perfect, just take a little sip," she insisted, pressing the rim right against Maya’s mouth.

Maya could’ve kept it down if she wanted to—but why would she? She took one tiny sip, and immediately projectile vomited all over Elina.

Elina shrieked, too shocked to shove Maya away. She wanted to curse Maya out so bad, but she couldn’t do that in front of Rayan. She couldn’t even let a single disgusted flicker cross her face. "Maya, are you… okay?"

After emptying her stomach, Maya actually felt a lot better—head clear, eyes sharp. She looked at the vomit covering Elina’s pretty white dress, and offered an innocent apology: "Sorry, I couldn’t hold it. You’re just… so disgusting."

Elina: "…"

Rayan: "…"

Maya wrapped a hand around Elina’s waist, pretending to support her while actually keeping her trapped right where she was.

The half-digested mess was as revolting as it gets, the stench thick enough to choke a horse. The more Maya breathed it in, the more her stomach rolled, and the more she gagged—turns out, the whole thing was way more satisfying than she’d expected.

You make my life hell? I’ll make you wish you never showed your face here.

Elina was frozen solid, her entire chest and stomach soaked, the rancid stench flooding her senses and making her own stomach churn.

A passing nurse heard the commotion and hurried in, froze for a beat when she saw the mess, then turned a reproachful glare on Elina. "Were you giving her water? Didn’t we tell you yesterday the patient can’t eat or drink anything yet? This is totally irresponsible."

Elina looked helplessly over at Rayan.

Rayan: "…"

The whole scene left Rayan stunned, and honestly? Completely helpless.

Eventually, he had to call an orderly to clean up the mess, and texted his assistant to rush over a clean set of women’s clothes for Elina.

Maya lay back on the bed, content as can be, color already creeping back into her cheeks.

Elina was in the bathroom scrubbing the vomit off, the sound of her retching echoing down the hall every few seconds.

Rayan sighed, exasperated. "Was that really necessary?"

Maya lay on the bed, putting on her best innocent, wronged expression. "She forced the water on me. Why didn’t you stop her?"

Rayan: "…"

Wait… this is my fault now?

Maya Spencer’s divorce announcement sent the upper east side elite buzzing. But the very next day, Rayan Spencer posted a cozy photo of them together on Facebook to shut the rumors down, and the Spencer Group PR team worked overtime to squash every last bit of gossip. No one dared breathe a word to fan the flames after that. The public circus died down fast—but behind closed doors, their lives were an absolute mess.

Rayan’s mom had been blowing up his nonstop, relentless as ever. While Maya’s dad Gustavo Walker staunchly opposed the split, Rayan’s stepmom Whitey Guzman was its number one cheerleader. Whitey had been in Rayan’s life since he was a kid, and she’d always been more of a real mom to him than most biological mothers. She’d fought tooth and nail to give him everything he ever needed, and held the title of “most glamorous stepmom” among New York’s old money circles for years.

Arranging Maya and Rayan’s marriage had been her call, a desperate Hail Mary to “save his life” when he’d been deathly ill. Once Rayan made a full recovery, though, she shifted right into the role of the picky, hyper-critical mother-in-law. Nothing Maya did ever pleased her, every move got picked apart. In her eyes, Maya just never fit the Spencer family image—but dumping a long-term spouse out of the blue would have drawn all kinds of bad press. Now that Maya was the one asking for a divorce? It was too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

When word got out that Maya had been hospitalized after a car crash, Whitey rushed right over, ready to put on a show.

"Mom, I told you not to come. What are you doing here?" Rayan blocked her in the guest hallway, irritation clear all over his face.

"Rayan, I know you’re too soft to be the bad guy. Let me handle this for you. I’ll take any heat that comes your way," Whitey insisted.

Rayan heaved a heavy sigh. "Please. Just don’t make this any messier than it already is."

His little sister Amari jumped in right after. "Big brother, you should have seen last night—Maya humiliated the whole family! Mom and Dad were scrambling just to keep face, and all those so-called guests? They’re just fair-weather friends. They’ll grin to your face and laugh at you behind your back the second you turn around."

Rayan cut her off sharp. "You here just to stir the pot?"

Amari pursed her lips and backed off.

Seeing her daughter hadn’t sold it, Whitey took over. "Rayan, honey—with your status, you can have any woman you want. If Maya wants out, let her walk! We’ve already dumped enough money on her family to pay off every debt they’ve ever had."

"Gustavo stopped by earlier to apologize, your dad threw him right out. Your dad can be blunt with his own son-in-law, but he can’t go around kicking his daughter-in-law to the curb. That’s why I’ll be the bad guy. Trust me—get the divorce, cut her a check, and she’ll disappear for good."

Whitey’s words came rapid-fire, like a machine gun, never giving Rayan a single opening to cut in.

Rayan felt his head spinning. "Mom, this is between me and Maya. We’ll handle it our own way."

"I know this hurts to hear, baby, but I’m only your stepmom and I’ve given this family everything I have. If I don’t do right by you, people will talk…" Her voice cracked, right on cue. "Being a stepmom is such a hard job. If I don’t get you the very best, I’ll never be able to hold my head up and face your real mother…"

Rayan went quiet, utterly exasperated by her whole performance. He couldn’t help but wonder why women were so damn good at emotional manipulation. In the end, Whitey left with tears in her eyes, still insisting divorce was the only right move.

Drained like he’d just fought a whole war, Rayan trundled down to Maya’s hospital room. When he walked in, she was awake, propped up in the hospital bed. "Is this what you wanted?" he asked, voice gravelly and cold.

Maya counted the drops dripping from her IV bag, completely detached. "With how everything’s blown up, not getting divorced would just make the mess worse."

Rayan’s anger boiled over. He kicked the chair beside her bed hard, then stood there, hands planted on his hips. "What the hell do you actually want from me?"

"Divorce. Let’s split amicably and go our separate ways."

In answer, he kicked the chair again, sending it toppling to the floor with a loud crash that nearly knocked over the IV monitor on the bedside table.

Maya flinched. She’d never seen Rayan this furious—his teeth were clenched, his eyes blazing so hot it looked like he could actually hurt her.

Was he really about to get physical with her?

She couldn’t wrap her head around it. "Don’t you want to be out in the open with Elina Guzman? Or is your precious pride just hurt that I’m the one who asked for the divorce first?"

"Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing going on between us like you’re imagining."

"There’s nothing now, but there will be."

Rayan choked on his words, his throat going tight. "Am I really that untrustworthy to you?"

Maya’s eyes flicked to the faded lipstick stain bleeding through the collar of his white button-down. It was unmistakable—someone else’s lip print, bright and clear against the cotton.

Men never admit to garbage unless you catch them red-handed.

She smiled a cold, thin smile. "Trust doesn’t stand a chance against reality."

Rayan froze for a second, then let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. Fine!" He jabbed a finger at her, shouting. "Maya, don’t you dare regret this!"

He spun on his heel and stormed out, leaving Maya staring at his back as he left. The tight ache in her chest swelled into a hard lump stuck in her throat.

She tilted her head back, fixed her eyes on the IV drip, and forced her breathing to steady. A quiet voice in her head repeated: Let him go. Free yourself. From now on, you live for you.

Three days later, Maya was discharged from the hospital. Her best friend Soleil Wells picked her up. They’d grown up together back in their hometown, and now Soleil owned her own art gallery. Maya had put her studies on hold for two years to take care of Rayan after his illness, and had only just graduated that spring.

"Miss Spencer, where to now?" Soleil teased as soon as Maya slid into the passenger seat. "You’re a free woman at last! Wanna hit a bar and celebrate?"

Maya laughed, clicking her seatbelt into place. "C’mon, I’ve got a concussion—I need rest, not shots."

"Okay, fine, but you still gotta eat. I went on a date with this hot lawyer the other day—total ten out of ten. Wanna come meet him?"

"Hard pass. I’m scared he’d dump you for me before the appetizer even comes."

"…"

Maya pulled out her phone and pulled up the address to show Soleil. "Take me here. 367 East Lane, Riviera Café."

"Wait, are you seeing someone? You’re not even officially divorced yet and you’re already lining up the next one?"

Maya shot her a glare. "Get your mind out of the gutter! It’s business. Some guy on an antique site bought one of my hand fans, I’m meeting him to work out the details."

"Unlucky in love, lucky in side hustles, huh?"

Maya pulled a weak, bitter smile. Men could cheat and leave, but money never betrayed you. She’d never be stupid enough to throw her own career away for a man ever again.

A few cars back, a black sedan tailed them, keeping a careful, discreet distance.

After driving for forty minutes, they pulled into the café parking lot. The driver picked up his phone to report in. "Mr. Spencer, she just went into the café."

"She’s meeting a man. Looks about fifty."

"Yes, sir."

Spencer Group, CEO’s Office.

Rayan Spencer had been turning his options over in his head for days, weighing every angle with clinical precision. In the end, he knew—It was time to dig up the truth. An offhand comment from Gustavo Walker had planted a seed of doubt that had been festering ever since.

"Brycen, I need you to get a hair sample from Karina Salazar for a DNA test," Rayan ordered, handing over the sample he already had.

Brycen Wells furrowed his brow, confused. "That’s Mrs. Spencer’s hair, right?"

Rayan’s glare cut sharper than a knife. "Just do it."

Brycen got the message immediately—no prying allowed. "Yes, sir. I’ll handle it right now."

"Wait," Rayan called before he could leave. "Also, dig into Gustavo Walker’s personal life. Find out if he’s got any other side pieces, and I want every last detail you can dig up."

Brycen had worked side-by-side with Rayan for years, pulling double duty as his assistant and most trusted confidant. Even when Rayan didn’t spell things out, Brycen could usually piece the puzzle together on his own.

"Keep this under wraps. No one finds out, especially not Mrs. Spencer."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"Schedule a meeting with Hayden Oliver for me."

"Got it."

Meanwhile, across town at Blue Hill Café, Maya Spencer was completely wrapped up in an animated conversation with one of her patrons.

Five years prior, this man had bought one of her silk art pieces, *Moonlit Pond*, for ten thousand dollars. In just five years, its value had skyrocketed ten times over—and it still had plenty of room to grow.

In the art world, rarity dictates value, and fine silk art only gets more coveted with time. After *Moonlit Pond*, Maya hadn’t created anything new… until recently, when she’d shared a design sketch for one of her fans online.

At first, she’d just been testing the waters. She never expected her long-time collector would jump at the chance to meet her face-to-face right away.

"Oh wow, so 'Apple' is actually this glowing young lady? You didn’t swipe *Moonlit Pond*, did you?" the patron teased.

It was a fair question. The level of craftsmanship in *Moonlit Pond* usually took decades of experience to pull off.

Maya smiled. "Mr. Frank Jacobs, you’re just teasing me. If I’d stolen it, wouldn’t it have been reported by now? Besides, I sketched the original, stretched the frame for the piece, and I still have the leftover fabric scraps. You can get it authenticated any time you want."

Frank Jacobs’s eyes went wide with shock. "You drew the original?"

"I did."

Frank was stunned. "Is this a family trade?"

"You could say that. Kids pick it up fast. I spent my whole childhood messing around on looms instead of hitting the books."

Soleil Wells, who’d been sitting nearby, couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. Maya claimed she didn’t study much, but she’d aced every one of her exams and gotten into the prestigious Royal College of Art. Total classic humblebrag.

"Apple" was Maya’s childhood nickname. On a whim, she’d started posting her work under that pseudonym two years ago, just to see if all her hard work was actually worth anything on the market.

Unexpectedly, *Moonlit Pond* got snapped up by Frank Jacobs, and it just kept climbing in value under his care. It turned "Apple" into a known name in silk art circles.

But over the years, Maya had thrown herself into being a housewife, and she’d mostly let "Apple’s" growing fame fall by the wayside.

Frank handed her a business card. "Please, take this, Ms. Spencer."

Maya took it and saw he was a well-known collector, and also a director at the prestigious Jacobs Auction House.

Soleil’s eyes lit up at the name. She ran her own small gallery—sure, both galleries and auction houses deal in art, but getting into a major auction house is a whole different league. Most art never gets past mid-tier galleries, and her little spot was already scraping by.

Frank asked humbly, "May I have the honor of adding you on WhatsApp, Ms. Spencer?"

Maya’s smile was warm and bright. "Of course."

"By the way, that sketch for the fan is just a draft right now. The finished piece will take me about two weeks to complete."

"No rush at all. I know how complex silk weaving is. I’ll wait as long as you need. We can stay in touch over WhatsApp."

"Great."

The meeting went even better than Maya expected. She stayed cool and collected the whole time, but Soleil was over the moon.

As soon as they got in the car, Soleil gushed, "Holy crap, Apple, you know exactly how to wow people. When you make it big, you gotta throw me a bone, okay? My gallery is such a money pit—you wouldn’t believe how broke I am these days."

"That bad? Why don’t you ask your dad for help?"

"No way. I’d rather go hungry than sell out. Can’t afford stuffed ravioli? Fine, I’ll just eat plain."

Maya smiled, and said nothing.

They were heading toward Soleil’s apartment when Maya’s phone suddenly buzzed.

She glanced at the screen. It was a number she didn’t recognize.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Good evening, Mrs. Spencer."

The second the caller spoke, Maya recognized the voice. It was Hayden Oliver, Rayan’s lawyer friend.

"I’m Mr. Oliver, Rayan’s attorney. I’d like to schedule a time to meet and discuss divorce proceedings."

Even though they knew each other, Hayden’s tone was stiff, totally detached.

Maya couldn’t really name what she was feeling. Surprised… but not really. Not all that shocked, anyway.

"I’m free whenever. You pick the time and place."

"Would 8 PM tonight at your home work for you?"

Maya paused. "Mr. Oliver, do you normally work this late?"

"It’s a rush job Mr. Spencer asked me to take on. My schedule’s completely booked until 7:30, and I’ve got a red-eye at 10 PM. If this doesn’t work for you, we’ll have to wait until I get back from my trip— that’s about two months from now…"

"That’s fine," Maya agreed right away. "See you then, Mr. Oliver."

"See you soon."

Even though Hayden was Rayan’s friend, he’d never been hers. In their five years of marriage, she’d never managed to fit into his social circle. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either—she’d had plenty of chances. Their lives had just grown too far apart.

Their paths were simply on completely different trajectories.

After hanging up, Maya sighed. "Soleil, take me back to Maple Estates."

"Huh?"

"Rayan’s lawyer wants to go over the divorce papers at 8 PM. It’s private, so better to do it at home."

"Makes sense," Soleil said, smoothly merging into the turning lane. "Five years of your life, and this is all his fault. If he doesn’t offer you at least a few million, I’ll lose every bit of respect I had for him."

Maya forced a smile. "It’s up to his conscience. Whatever he offers, I’ll sign."

She’d married him with nothing, and she didn’t expect to walk away with a fortune. All she wanted now was for this to be over, fast.

But as fate would have it, nothing ever goes according to plan.

When the ever-gentlemanly Hayden Oliver calmly dropped the bomb— that the divorce terms required her to pay Rayan Spencer fifty million dollars—Maya wordlessly picked up the spiced honey cake she’d set out for him.

She’d gone out of her way to be polite, pulling out a pretty platter and everything…but she’d rather feed this whole thing to the dogs than hand a slice to this ungrateful son of a bitch.

Hayden shifted awkwardly in his seat and quickly pushed the documents across the table. "Mrs. Spencer, the truth is Rayan is in massive debt. He looks like he’s on top of the world, but he owes hundreds of millions. These are all his liabilities—take a look for yourself."

Maya glowered at him, grabbed the entire cake platter, and stormed back into the kitchen, dumping the whole thing straight into the trash.

Hayden: "..."

"With that much debt, he doesn’t deserve a damn slice of dessert!"

Just as Hayden was about to argue the debt wasn’t his, Maya shot back with a sarcastic smirk, "Mr. Oliver, is the only reason you work nights because you’re hiding from debt collectors during the day?"

Hayden: "..."