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: "..."

### Bar Scene

Rayan Spencer was strung out tighter than a piano wire, so he’d set up drinks with Cruz Fernandez to blow off some steam. The second they sat down, Cruz was glued to his phone, snapping photos of the pub’s gritty, cozy interior for his Instagram. He captioned it: *Ladies, if you’re free tonight, pull up. Drinks are on me.*

Rayan caught it and scoffed, his disgust obvious. "Can’t go five minutes without chasing tail, can you?"

"Says the guy who’s still moping over his," Cruz shot right back.

Rayan glared at him, pressing his lips into a hard line and staying silent.

Triumphant for once, Cruz broke into a mischievous grin and slung an arm over Rayan’s shoulder. "Chill out, man. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. Give it ten minutes, and these girls will be flooding in. Try not to look like a kicked puppy, yeah? It’s a total buzzkill."

"You wear your man-whoring like a damn badge of honor."

"..."

Momentary wins don’t last when reality hits you that fast.

After a few more rounds of back-and-forth, Hayden Oliver showed up—he was supposed to be hashing out the divorce deal with Maya at The Grove. Rayan wasn’t even surprised. He clinked his glass against Hayden’s and asked, "How’d she take it?"

Hayden cut straight to the point. "I warned you this was a garbage idea, but you wouldn’t listen. If you don’t actually want this divorce, you should be trying to win her over, not dragging your friends’ names through the mud."

Cruz, feeling bold again, butted right in. "Wait, hold up. Maya’s actually dead set on leaving you? Haha, don’t sweat it—you’re single now, no one’s gonna judge you for it."

Rayan gritted his teeth, drew a slow, steady breath, and spoke in a cold, even tone. "Hey, Cruz. That plot of land at the foot of the Alps right by your resort? It looks pretty nice."

"You interested? No problem, bro—I’ll cut you a hell of a deal."

"Perfect for a cemetery. Since we’re best pals, I’ll even build you a fancy little mausoleum up there, and pave the road real nice. So every year on your memorial, people can drive straight to your grave."

"..."

Cruz liked to joke around to lighten the mood. But when Rayan hit back? He didn’t leave a single bruise unturned.

Hayden watched the whole exchange go down, then said bluntly, "Rayan, I don’t know how you talk to Maya day to day, but if this is how you handle conversations with her? It’s no wonder you ended up here."

Rayan just drank in silence. Communication? What communication? There hadn’t been any for months.

### Phone Call with Brycen

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a report from Brycen Wells.

Gustavo Walker had a handful of seedy, off-the-grid hangouts. Everything checked out clean—except for one entry.

Brycen called immediately after sending it. "Mr. Spencer, did you get the report?"

"I did. What’s up with the starred name? Only one name?"

"Whitley Jimenez. She was an international supermodel who retired at the peak of her career to get married. No solid traces of where she is now. All I could dig up on her is basic Google stuff. Her connection to Gustavo Walker looks like just tabloid gossip, but the age lines up. She’s probably the person you’re looking for."

Rayan lifted an eyebrow. Years of working together had paid off—Brycen always knew exactly what he wanted without needing explicit instructions.

"Did you send the DNA in for testing?"

"It just went out for analysis. To make sure we get it right, I sent samples to two separate labs. Results should be back day after tomorrow."

"Got it."

"If you want more info on Whitley, I think the only way is to go straight to Gustavo Walker and ask him."

Rayan furrowed his brows, a faint unease coiling in his chest. "Let’s table that for now."

It wasn’t Gustavo’s messy private life that was eating at him. It was how he was supposed to face Maya when he walked through the door later.

Ten minutes later, a group of women showed up. Rayan cursed Cruz under his breath a few times, then decided to peace out.

Cruz called after him, "Hey, don’t bounce, Rayan! We’re bros—share the fun, man!"

Rayan didn’t even bother dignifying that with a response. He just walked straight out.

### At Home

Back at the house, Rayan hesitated before going in. He stayed sitting in his car, staring up at the second floor window.

The light in the master bedroom was still on.

That was the only thing that kept him going right now. At least she hadn’t left yet.

As long as she was still here, there was still a chance to fix things.

Frustrated and twisted up with uncertainty, old habits pulled at him. He reached into his pocket on instinct, searching for a cigarette.

His pocket came up empty. Then he remembered—he’d quit five years ago.

Five years ago, he walked away from a brutal car crash with barely his life intact. After that, he’d cleaned up his act: cut out the late nights, worked out consistently, only drank occasionally, and quit smoking for good.

He scoffed at himself, bitter and self-deprecating, pressed his lips into a line, then opened the car door and stepped out.

Downstairs on the first floor, everything looked perfectly normal. Eleanora Guzman, their housekeeper, was still wiping down the kitchen.

As Rayan drew closer, he overheard a conversation drifting from the living room. Eleanora had put the call on speaker, so every word came through clear: "Did Maya come home with Rayan, or by herself?"

He froze mid-step. His footsteps stopped cold.

"She came home on her own."

"And what about Rayan?"

"Mr. Spencer hasn’t gotten back yet."

There was a pause, then a relieved sigh. "I knew it—he secretly wants this divorce, he just doesn’t want to make a scene. After all, Maya took care of him through those two terrible years. Just keep an eye on them, and let me know the second anything happens."

"Okay."

The call ended. Eleanora set down her cleaning cloth and picked up her phone, then turned around to find Rayan standing right in the kitchen doorway.

"Mr… Mr. Spencer…" she stammered, clearly panicking. "When did you get back?"

"I’ve been back a little while. Was sitting outside in the car."

No wonder she hadn’t heard the car pull up. Eleanora only got more anxious, her hand clutching her phone twisting uselessly at her side.

Rayan cut straight to the point. "Eleanora, what did my mother ask you to do?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, I—"

Rayan’s gaze turned sharp as a blade, and Eleanora caved immediately. "Mrs. Spencer thinks you’re too soft-hearted, so she asked me to quietly stir up trouble between you and Maya. She wants me to push Maya into leaving willingly."

Rayan’s eyebrows drew tighter, his gaze darkening with a quiet, heavy intensity.

Eleanora broke out in a cold sweat, shaking her head and her hands wildly. "But I never did it! Mr. Spencer, you have to believe me!"

She dropped to her knees, explaining desperately, "Mr. Spencer, I’ll admit I took her side at first. But after three years living here with Maya? She’s good, kind, she treats me like family. How could I turn on her? Forgive me for saying this, but I think of you and Maya like my own kids. Of course I want you two to work things out. I… I…"

As he listened, Rayan’s furrowed brows slowly softened. He stepped forward and reached out to help her stand. "Eleanora, I trust you. I’m sorry you got stuck in the middle of this."

Eleanora wiped the tears from her eyes, shaking her head. "It’s no trouble, really."

"Maya’s upstairs?"

"Yes. After Hayden left, she went straight up. I think she was packing. Mr. Spencer… are you two really getting a divorce?"

Rayan’s brows, which had just relaxed, drew tight again.

Were he and Maya really getting a divorce?

Five years ago, when he was still recovering from his catastrophic car crash, Maya married him as a kind of… symbolic gesture, to help him heal. He’d never believed in that sort of nonsense, but that didn’t change the truth: Maya had taken care of him, supported him, and pulled him through the hardest years of his life. Nothing could ever take that away.