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.

Those two years were the hardest stretch of Rayan’s life. He lost his lover, his career, his health, and almost everything—including his life. Maya Spencer put her studies on hold to stay by his side day and night, never once wavering in her support.

Back then, he was constantly snapping, angry at the world, and refused to see anyone. Friends and family who showed up at the hospital got the brunt of his temper and were turned away. Only Maya could handle his wild mood swings. She matched his snappiness with sharp wit and held her ground with unshakable resolve, doing everything she could to pull his fighting spirit back out of him.

For him, she even learned the deep-tissue massage techniques his rehab therapists used. Even the doctors admitted that his shockingly fast recovery was almost entirely her doing. The irony? Those brutal, hard years were the closest they ever were.

Once Rayan was back on his feet and cleared to leave the hospital, they moved back into the Spencer family home. But more people always means more drama. Caught in the middle of the constant tension between his mother and Maya, Rayan chose to cut and run—they moved out to live on their own. Eleanora Guzman even helped them haul their boxes.

Upstairs, Maya packed in the walk-in closet, her mind drifting through old memories. When she’d married Rayan, dead set on bringing good things to the Spencer family, they’d doted on her. But once he was healthy again? She felt like an old rag they’d tossed aside.

Her hurt didn’t come from her mother-in-law’s cruel jabs. It came from Rayan’s coldness. Every time his mother and Maya clashed, Rayan would yank her away and leave the room. At first, she’d thought he was protecting her. The truth? Every time he pulled her out, it left her no chance to stand up for herself, and his mother would walk all over her, leaving her humiliated and silent.

This wasn’t protection. He just didn’t care enough about her feelings to fight for her. After a dozen of these little incidents, Rayan made his choice clear by moving them out of the family home entirely.

She remembered how giddy she’d been when they first settled into their new place, thinking they were finally starting a real life together. But Rayan threw himself back into work with a vengeance, getting busier by the day, and Maya went back to her studies, swamped with her own stuff. Their pretty new house started to feel less like a home and more like a cheap hotel—just a place to crash and eat between everything else.

But it wasn’t these little everyday annoyances that broke her will to stay married. It was the fact that his heart already belonged to someone else. That was what really shattered everything. As Maya sorted through the wardrobe, she realized there wasn’t much to pack anyway. She’d arrived with nothing, and every single thing in this house was his. She couldn’t claim his heart, so she was only taking what was hers.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Soleil Wells. Maya answered, propping the phone on the ottoman in the middle of the room on speaker.

“Maya, how’s it going? Want me to come scoop you up?”

Maya sighed. “Ugh, it’s a whole thing. Doesn’t matter, it’s late anyway. I’m just throwing some clothes into a bag to go.”

“You want me to swing by in the morning then?”

“Nah, it’s just a small suitcase. I’ll catch an Uber over myself.”

Outside the closet door, Rayan stood quiet as a shadow, listening.

“Alright, I cleared out a spot in my guest room for you. It’s nothing fancy, hope that’s okay?”

“Are you kidding? A roof over my head is more than enough. Why would I complain?”

“When men turn out to be garbage, us girls have to stick together. I’ve got your back from here on out.”

“God, thank you. Seriously.”

“No problem. I can set you up with some good guys I know. They don’t have Rayan’s fancy money, but they’ll treat you right, y’know?”

Rayan didn’t catch the first part, but that last line turned his mood black as pitch. Of course—her friend was already playing matchmaker for her. Maya couldn’t hold back a laugh, and replied bright and clear, “Sounds perfect.”

But when she turned around, she came face-to-face with Rayan. He was leaning lazy against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring right at her.

Maya’s smile dropped so fast it was gone before she could blink. She grabbed her phone off the ottoman. “That’s it for now, Soleil. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hung up, and her lips tugged up into a sharp, sarcastic little smirk. “What’s wrong? Worried I’m gonna walk off with your good silver?”

She nudged the open suitcase on the floor with the toe of her boot. “Go ahead. Check it. Pull out anything that’s worth too much to let me take.”

Rayan pushed off the doorframe, yanking his hands out of his pockets awkwardly. “That’s not what I was doing here.”

“Then what? You’re the big-shot CEO of Spencer Enterprises, right? Heard you’ve got more debt than cash flow these days. Of course you gotta guard every little trinket in the house. Probably planning to flip it for quick cash.”

Rayan’s frown deepened. Maya never used to talk like this. Lately, her temper blew up at the drop of a hat, always looking for a fight, her words sharper than a knife.

“Maya, why are you being so unreasonable right now?”

“Unreasonable?” She laughed a bitter, ugly laugh, snapped the suitcase shut and dragged it out of the way, ready to finally have this out.

For years after hearing all about Rayan’s perfect, sweet first love, Elina Guzman, Maya had dimmed her own light. She’d stayed quiet at his side, agreed with everything he said, accepted whatever he gave her, hoping that if she copied Elina just enough, he’d eventually learn to love her back.

But three months ago, when Elina came back to town, Maya woke up from her stupid long dream. Five years gone. No matter how gentle, how kind she was, Rayan still loved Elina. Not her. Not her sad little imitation.

So why keep pretending? It wasn’t her fault he didn’t love her. He just… never did.

“ What would be reasonable for me to do, huh? Smile and wave while you run off to meet your other woman at fancy events? Or sit here at home, quiet as a mouse, waiting for you to kick me to the curb?”

Rayan had never seen this side of Maya—sharp-tongued, unapologetic, done holding back. Where had his soft, quiet Maya gone?

Maya knew him too well. She saw the confusion and hesitation in the furrow of his brow, the tiny twitch of his mouth. She smirked, cold as ice. “Rayan, I used to love you. That’s why I tolerated all this, that’s why I bent over backwards to fit into your life. Now? I’m done loving you. Life’s too short. I wanna be me again. I wanna love myself for a change.”

As she said it, her eyes burned pink, a thick layer of tears brimming over her lashes that pressed heavy on Rayan’s chest.

He couldn’t stop himself—he stepped toward her.

She backed up quick, putting distance between them. “You know exactly how much money I have. You don’t have to screw me over on the finances. We were married. Let’s end this like adults.”

“Maya, I didn’t…” I didn’t want a divorce. The words he’d fought to get out were cut off by the sharp blare of his ringtone.

Maya cut in bluntly, “Who else would call you this time of night except your precious Miss Guzman?”

Rayan wanted to argue, but the caller ID on the screen didn’t lie. He shifted his weight, and answered the call.

“Hello?… What? You called the cops?”

He talked as he turned to leave. “I’m on my way now. Find somewhere safe to lay low.”

Maya watched him go. She didn’t yell, didn’t argue. It was like she’d seen this coming a mile away. She just stood there, quiet, and watched him run.

She blinked the tears off her lashes, and thought of Elina. What kind of emergency was it this time? So much blood, always getting hurt… but never enough to actually die.