### 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.

This time, it wasn’t just Elina Guzman spinning lies.

A sudden fire ripped through the Spencer Group’s Alpine Hotel, swallowing the entire banquet hall where a charity gala was in full swing. All the guests—every last influential, billion-dollar name in the room—were trapped inside. And Elina Guzman was one of them.

By the time Rayan Spencer pulled up to the scene, the flames were already contained. But online? The rumors were spreading faster than wildfire. The fire damage itself wasn’t catastrophic, but the impact? It hit hard. Overnight, Alpine Hotel—and the Spencer Group behind it—were dragged straight into the center of a public firestorm.

Maya Spencer found out the next morning, while Rayan was already holding an emergency press conference, vowing he’d take full responsibility. The whole incident was blowing up all over social media. Maya’s first thought? She’d misread Rayan completely the night before.

Alpine Hotel was Rayan’s first big project after stepping back into the company. It wasn’t literally his child, sure, but he’d poured three years of blood, sweat, and late nights into building it. With the fire and injured guests, there was no way he could weasel out of taking the blame. But then she noticed: Rayan’s personal life was getting way more attention than the fire itself.

Blurry photos of him with Elina outside the hospital leaked online. And because the shots weren’t clear, everyone jumped to the wrong conclusion—that the woman on his arm was his wife. Before anyone knew it, hashtags like #RayanSpentTheNightWithHisWife, #RayanAndHisWifeAreEndgame, and #CoupleGoalsThatActuallyWarmYourHeart pushed all the negative fire news straight off the top of the trending list.

The comment section was full of gushing:

― “Wow, rich, handsome, and loyal to his wife? Guys like Rayan Spencer are one in a million.”

― “I’d give anything to be Rayan’s wife, honestly.”

― “All the divorce gossip was total garbage! These tabloids can’t get anything right.”

― “Take notes, fellas. Spoil your wife and you’ll live a good life.”

Maya could only stare at the screen, the irony so thick it choked her. Everyone else could mix up the faces, but she couldn’t. Even through the blur, the photos conveniently framed them as the perfect pair, the obvious affection between them practically jumping off the screen. She’d daydreamed about moments like this a hundred times before, but seeing it like this—even secondhand—hit way harder than any fantasy. It felt like her heart was about to split open.

She still loved Rayan, deeply. He was handsome, brilliant, driven, disciplined, didn’t smoke or drink or have any of the messy bad habits most rich men hid. He was perfect in every way that mattered. But he just didn’t love her back.

With a steady resolve, Maya zipped up her suitcase and walked out the door.

Meanwhile, Rayan was neck-deep in damage control. As soon as the stock market opened that morning, Spencer Group shares plummeted. But the company’s PR team was sharp—they’d been steering the narrative since the first second the fire broke out. Right after Rayan’s press conference wrapped, they leaked those blurry hospital photos on purpose. The move shifted all the public focus, and cemented Rayan’s image as a responsible, devoted “good man” overnight.

Public opinion flipped fast:

― “It was arson! Any normal hotel would’ve burned to the ground. Alpine used top-tier fireproof materials—only the ceiling went up. That’s why it wasn’t worse.”

― “So many CEOs run and hide when things go wrong. Rayan stepping up personally proves the company actually cares.”

― “How he treats his wife says everything about his character. You can trust this man.”

― “Rayan’s so hot, the Spencers are literally the perfect couple!”

By the afternoon, Spencer Group’s stock bounced all the way back from its morning low, soaring and closing stronger than ever. It was a textbook PR win—crisis management at its finest.

---

In a private VIP hospital room, Elina Guzman slammed the tray of food her mother had offered straight off the side table. “I’m not eating. How many times do I have to say it? Ugh…”

Her arm was badly burned, the pain throbbing nonstop, enough to make anyone snap. Her father, Baylor Oliver, frowned from beside the bed. “Why take your anger out on your mother?”

Frustration bubbled over, and Elina shot back, “You’re blaming me? You said a little burn would be enough! Look what you did—you burned me this bad. You’re not the one stuck here hurting, so don’t act like you get it.”

“If it wasn’t serious, why would Rayan even care?” Baylor argued, calm and patient. “I heard Maya already filed for divorce. This is the perfect opening—you have to take it.”

Elina sank back against the hospital pillows, her gaze going empty. Just a few days earlier, Rayan had looked her in the eye and told her he couldn’t give her much right now. He had to think of his wife’s feelings.

To Elina, that meant Rayan wasn’t nearly as done with Maya as all the gossip said.

“Didn’t you see how panicked he was last night? His heart’s already with you,” Baylor pushed.

Elina scoffed. “It’s his hotel that burned down, and I’m the only one who got hurt. Of course he’d act worried. What did you expect?”

“You always see the worst side of everything. Look at today—Spencer turned a disaster into a win with that ‘perfect couple’ trending garbage. Smart move, I’ll give him that. The Spencer couple, please. Could Maya even handle that title?”

Elina rolled her eyes. “Keep your paparazzi on a tight leash. If this blows up in our faces, Spencer’s good for more than just crisis management, okay? He’ll ruin us.”

“Relax. No one’s tracing this back to me.”

“If you wanted me to have him so bad now, why did you make us break up back then?”

Elise Oliver—Elina’s mother—had just finished cleaning up the scattered food from the floor, and chimed in, “Your father couldn’t see the future back then, he just…”

“Shut up,” Elina snapped, cutting her off. “You did this too! Three years ago, when Rayan recovered from his illness, I wanted to come back. You wouldn’t let me.”

“He almost died! Even after he recovered, how could we know he’d be okay? What if he ended up disabled for life?”

Elina pressed her lips together and said nothing. She’d never wanted to take care of a disabled man, anyway.

Baylor pressed on, leaning in. “You know how bad our family’s finances are. No one but Rayan can save us now. For this family—for you—you have to go for it now, baby.”

A flicker of hope sparked in Elina’s eyes. She grit her teeth, pushing past the burning ache in her arm, and said, “Discharge me. Arrange a meeting with Maya.”

Elise, worried sick, protested, “Honey, there’s no rush, you still need to…”

“Why are you still talking when I told you to be quiet?” Baylor pulled his wife back, and handed Elina her phone. “Strike while the iron is hot. This is our only shot.”

Maya was in the middle of cleaning up Soleil Wells’s apartment when the call came through. The place was smaller than the gym at Rayan’s mansion, but it was cozy, easy to keep tidy, and it felt like home.

She’d never been the type to expect someone else to spoil her. She’d learned to stand on her own two feet when she was just a kid.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Maya, sorry to bother you. It’s Elina Guzman.”

Maya hesitated for half a second. “What do you want?”

“I was hoping I could buy you coffee, if you’re free.”

“Not free,” Maya said, and turned her down flat. The world was really backwards these days—cheaters had no shame, homewreckers were bold enough to ask you out for coffee like they’d done nothing wrong. If you called them out for it, they’d call it true love. Whatever.

She wasn’t giving her the time of day. Don’t come looking for trouble if you don’t want trouble.