Maya Spencer never thought anyone would actually track her down, practically begging for her to cut loose. She’d just been heading out to take the trash when two burly bodyguards “escorted” her straight to a little bistro right on the edge of her neighborhood.

At first, Maya figured this wasn’t a kidnapping—something about it just didn’t feel right. It wasn’t until she spotted Elina Guzman sitting inside that she got it: these guys had actually invited her here for coffee.

"Welcome," two smiling hostesses chimed at the bistro entrance, nodding politely as Maya stepped in. The whole place was cleared out for the day—no other customers, totally reserved just for this little meeting.

Maya was still in her ratty cleaning clothes and fuzzy slippers, fresh from scrubbing down her apartment. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, and her hair was half-mussed from work. Any other day, a place this nice would’ve probably turned her away at the door. But today, thanks to Elina, the entire bistro was hers for the taking—she was the unexpected VIP.

She paused for a beat to size Elina up. The woman was dressed in a crisp, perfect Victorian-style gown that looked like it would be a tragedy to get last night’s pasta sauce on. Her long hair fell soft and sleek over her shoulders, and she wore barely any makeup— which only made her pale skin stand out more, highlighted that delicate, almost otherworldly softness about her. It was the kind of fragile beauty that made everyone, men and women alike, just want to wrap her up and protect her.

One of the bodyguards gave her a rough shove from behind. Maya stumbled, but caught herself before she hit the floor. This confrontation wasn’t getting out of it, that was for sure. Might as well own it. She steadied her feet, tucked a stray strand of hair back, and walked straight over.

Her eyes flicked straight to Elina’s arm, wrapped thick in bandages, and Maya didn’t waste a second firing the first shot. "Miss Guzman, shouldn’t you be playing the fragile little angel in a hospital bed somewhere? What’s the point of dragging yourself out just to invite a lowly mortal like me for coffee?"

Her bold energy filled the whole room, like *she* was the one who’d rented out the entire bistro. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Elina had been on the wrong end of Maya’s sharp tongue before, and now that she was face to face with her alone, she felt trapped—jittery, out of her depth.

Even bare-faced, Maya dripped with raw, striking beauty. Her natural fair skin glowed, her complexion so smooth and clear half the women in the city would kill for it. It was no wonder Rayan had fallen for her, slow and steady, over time.

Elina fought to keep her composure, forcing a soft, gentle smile to her lips. "Mrs. Spencer, please—have a seat."

Maya stayed planted where she was, hands planted firm on her hips. She knew exactly what this little meetup really was: a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. "Let’s cut the crap and get straight to the point. We both know this isn’t some friendly coffee chat."

Maya Spencer shot back, "I already left him. What more do you want from me? I’m not the one fighting the divorce—it’s your precious Rayan who won’t sign the papers."

"What?" Elina Guzman froze, completely caught off guard.

Now it made sense. Elina had tracked Maya to this neighborhood—no grand old Victorian, just a block of average, modest homes mixed together. At first she’d assumed Maya was just visiting a friend, but looking at how she was dressed? It was pretty clear she actually lived here.

A cold knot formed in Elina’s stomach. This confrontation wasn’t going to go the way she’d planned. She could already feel it spinning out of her control.

Maya sat right across from her, watching every flicker cross Elina’s face. Shock melted into unease, which shifted into obvious regret, then quickly smoothed into a forced smile—all in the span of a heartbeat. Maya didn’t miss a single change.

Instantly, she was on high alert. Was Elina just here to stir up trouble? Was she worried Rayan might actually change his mind about the divorce? Or was this just plain old insecurity eating at her?

Elina reached for the check, and Maya got it: she wasn’t actually scared of Maya taking the money. She just didn’t want to give Maya any kind of upper hand here.

Maya snatched it faster, curling her fingers tight around the paper to hold it secure.

"Give that back!" Elina snapped, her face twisting with rage.

Maya held the check just out of Elina’s reach, a cold laugh huffing out of her. "Isn’t this supposed to be for me? I never said I didn’t want it."

Desperation flared in Elina. She shot to her feet and lunged for it. "Maya, fine, you want money so bad, but think for a second—this is my money. You’re straight-up stealing it."

Watching Elina drop that sweet innocent act and show her teeth was actually kind of funny to Maya. She didn’t even care about the check; the panic on Elina’s face was entertainment enough. She couldn’t help but wonder if Rayan had ever seen this side of her.

Maya stood and stepped back, calling Elina out on her messed up logic. "Ms. Guzman, you told me Rayan feels guilty and can’t bring himself to ask me for a divorce, right? But he swears to me the two of you are just platonic. Nothing inappropriate going on. He’s told me a hundred times he never cheated on me. He hasn’t admitted to a thing… yet here you are, openly admitting you’re the other woman?"

Elina’s face cycled through a dozen different emotions before she could even speak.

"What? You didn’t know that either? Well, well. This guy really is something else, isn’t he? Feeds you one line, feeds me another, plays both of us. But regardless of all that, I’m still his wife. And you… you’ve been played for a fool."

They stood toe to toe, neither backing down an inch. Maya had always hated Elina’s fake good-girl act, and this run-in wasn’t entirely an accident. Provoked past her limit, Elina bit back with sharp, biting sarcasm. "Maya, stop slandering Rayan. I’ve known him since we were kids. Our twenty-year bond isn’t something an outsider like you can ever break."

"Oh, is that right? So you’re saying he’d never lie to both of us like that? Does that mean you’re the liar, then?"

"You…" Elina was speechless. She couldn’t talk her way out of that one.

"Does Rayan know how two-faced you really are? You’ve known each other since childhood—twenty years, that’s a long time. He must know, right? Birds of a feather flock together… you two really are the perfect match."

Elina couldn’t win with words, so she yelled toward the café entrance, "Are you all deaf out there?"

Two burly bodyguards burst through the door seconds later.

Maya sighed. Women’s rivalry always boiled down to a man, didn’t it? And it was never fair.

"I’m still married to Rayan. Right now, I’m still his legal wife. Do you two really dare lay a hand on me?"

She’d been "escorted" against her will before—she knew empty threats wouldn’t stop these guys. So she dropped Rayan’s name, right where they could hear it.

The bodyguards froze, hesitating.

"Get the check from her," Elina ordered.

Maya quickly tucked the check down the neckline of her top, and tilted her chin up defiantly, chest forward. "Scared of losing a hand? Go ahead. Try me."

"You do it…" The first bodyguard nudged the second, stepping back.

Maya slowly backed toward the door. The bodyguards just stood there. They didn’t block her path, they didn’t make a move. It was just a job—no need to risk getting in trouble over it.

Amid Elina’s loud, furious curses, Maya walked out of the café safe and sound.

She paused for a minute on the sidewalk, snapped a quick photo of the check, and sent it straight to Rayan.

Truth be told, she’d already caused a big scene over the divorce, embarrassed Rayan and the whole Spencer family. Even through all that, Rayan still hadn’t agreed to sign off fast. She figured it couldn’t be easy for him, either.

She didn’t want to take Elina’s word for it. She’d rather trust what she saw with her own eyes.

Five years married to Rayan. Even if they were splitting up, she didn’t want him falling for someone’s lie.

Of course, if he really loved Elina enough to choose to be blind to it? She had nothing more to say.

---

Spencer Group, President’s Office.

London had been wrapped in thick fog all day, and it only cleared a little by four o’clock in the afternoon. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, stretching Rayan’s shadow long across the floor.

Even though Spencer Group’s stock price was holding steady, his face was etched with worry.

His assistant, Brycen Wells, came in to update him. "Mr. Spencer, the Chairman’s down in PR. I couldn’t get a minute with him."

Rayan’s brow furrowed even deeper.

"The Chairman’s happy with how the crisis was handled. I hear PR wants to keep pushing your 'loving husband' image to boost your reputation while the scandal’s still fading. It’s the cheapest, most effective strategy they’ve got."

Rayan closed his eyes for a beat, grinding his teeth. A loving husband? What a fucking joke.

PR had deliberately tied Elina to the "Mrs. Spencer" title, spun that whole narrative. Maya was already hurt, and now this just made everything a thousand times worse. Reaching out to comfort her now would just look like he was using her.

Brycen offered a suggestion: "Mr. Spencer, maybe you should pick up a gift for Mrs. Spencer?"

With all the tension lately, Mr. Spencer’s bad mood had been rough on everyone on staff. Brycen was just trying to help.

Rayan initially scoffed, shaking his head. Then he paused, thought it over, and hesitated before finally giving in. "You think that would work?"

Brycen’s eyes lit up. "It’s better than doing nothing, right?"

"What’s a safe bet?"

"Jewelry. Diamonds. You can’t go wrong with diamonds."

"Then pick out a diamond necklace. Have it ready for me by end of day."

"No problem at all."

Just then, the office door swung open. Marcos Spencer walked in, his face set in a hard line, and got straight to the point. "Don’t think I don’t know who the woman in those photos is. Even if our deal with the Guzmans went through, you’re still a married man. Carrying on like this isn’t appropriate, is it?"

Rayan jumped to explain immediately. "There’s nothing going on between us."

Marcos chuckled, like he knew better, that familiar fatherly knowing look in his eyes. "I know you too well. We messed up before, but you need to look at this clearly. Someone set this whole thing up on purpose. We got lucky the PR crisis worked out okay in the end."

"But the damage is already done. I don’t give a damn who you’ve been thinking about these days—you and Maya are going to keep up the act of a loving couple, got it?!"

"I..."

Marcos Spencer cut Rayan off before he could even get a word out. "Save the explanations. I’m a man, I get it. Let things cool off first, we’ll talk later. After that, the call’s yours."

Understand what, exactly?

After barking out that stern warning, Marcos turned to leave, pausing only to hammer his point home one last time.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Brycen Wells—Rayan’s most trusted assistant—leaned in and asked, "Mr. Spencer, should we still go through with ordering the diamond necklace?"

Rayan didn’t hesitate. "Get the most expensive one we can find."

"Understood."

Just then, Rayan’s phone pinged with a notification. It was a photo from Maya: a cashier’s check, stamped bold and clear with Elina Guzman’s personal mark, made out for half a million dollars.

Rayan waved Brycen off to handle other business and dialed Maya immediately.

"What’s going on here?"

Maya was right in the middle of a crowded downtown street. With so many people around, Elina didn’t dare confront her openly or send goons after her. When Rayan asked, she cut straight to the point. "Your ex just tried to pay me off to leave you. Should I cash it? And if it bounces, are you on the hook for that half a million?"

"What is this? Why the hell would she do that?"

"She wants me gone."

Rayan froze, too stunned to speak.

Maya, though, was perfectly calm. Once she’d decided to stop loving him, there was no point in holding onto resentment anyway. But Elina’s ridiculous little power play still rubbed her the wrong way. "She’s more desperate to push me out than your own mother is. Acts like she’s terrified I’ll cling to the Mrs. Spencer title for dear life."

"I’ll get to the bottom of this."

Maya let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Maybe it’s time you took a second look at Elina. Five years. Isn’t it long enough to see if she’s still the same girl you remembered? I’ve said what I needed to. Your relationship with her isn’t my business anymore. Whatever happens, that’s on you."

Before Rayan could get a word in edgewise, Maya hung up.

As if he’d ever actually get to the bottom of it. When it came to Elina, Rayan had always worn rose-colored glasses. To him, she was perfection personified—noble, generous, soft-spoken, cultured, graceful. Her gentle demeanor was supposed to be the total opposite of Maya, who he’d written off as dramatic and difficult.

Even with the check sitting right in front of him, he’d demand to verify it before he’d ever take her word for it. The thought hit Maya like a wave, and sudden, hot self-pity washed over her.

A real marriage is supposed to be two people growing together, lifting each other up. But in her five years with Rayan, she’d been the only one sacrificing, the only one bending over backwards, just begging for a crumb of his affection. It wasn’t fair.

She’d poured every last bit of her love into him and got nothing back in return. She had her whole life ahead of her—why waste another second on him?

As she walked, her phone buzzed again. It was a message from Frank Jacobs. Frank was both a client and a mentor to her.

—“Miss Spencer, this is my son Patrick @Gentlemanly. You can work out the fan project details with him.”

—“No problem at all.”

Of course she’d agree. Frank was one of her biggest sponsors, after all.

A minute later, a friend request popped up: —“I’m Patrick Jacobs.”

Maya accepted it right away.

—“Miss Spencer, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a real pleasure to connect.”

—“You’re too sweet. Just call me Maya… or Big M, if you want.”

—“Will do.”

After a quick back and forth, Patrick sent a voice note: —“No rush on the fan project at all. Dad told me to follow your lead on everything. I actually reached out because Jacobs Auction House is having a private art exhibition this Saturday afternoon, ahead of our big spring sale. All rare pieces on display. Would you be interested in coming?”

Patrick had a warm, captivating voice that pulled Maya in instantly.

She knew these events well—it’s a sneak preview for VIP collectors before the official auction, full of New York’s old money and elite. Rayan had gotten invites to similar events dozens of times.

Once, years ago, he’d promised to take her to a jewelry exhibition to “expand her horizons.” She’d looked forward to that promise all week. But at the last minute, he texted her saying his mother wanted to go instead, and gave her spot away. She’d been furious, nearly fought him about it, and didn’t speak to him for three days.

Patrick sent another voice note: —“Your painting *Moonlit Lotus Pond* is going to be in the exhibition, by the way.”

Maya’s chest lit up. “Does that mean Mr. Jacobs is putting it up for auction?”

Patrick laughed. “Nope, Dad would never sell it. He says *Moonlit Lotus Pond* has massive potential, this is just to get it in front of collectors and gauge interest.”

“I see.”

“I’ll send you over an invite. Come check it out.”

“Thanks.”

Maya paused for a second, then asked, “Is the invite good for two? Can I bring a friend along?”

Patrick was quick to agree. “Of course. If you can’t find the venue, just hit me up—I’ll be there the whole time anyway.”

“Great, thank you so much.”

Their conversation flowed easy, warm and friendly the whole way through.

—

Back at the Spencer estate, Rayan walked in the door and was immediately met by a harried Eleanora rushing toward him. “Sir, the madam left with a suitcase. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Rayan’s jaw hardened, and his grip on the gift bag in his hand tightened until his knuckles whitened.

“Should I go after her?” Eleanora offered.

Rayan’s voice came out cold, sharp as a blade. “Let her go.”

Eleanora fell silent, not pushing any further.

As he headed upstairs, Rayan loosened his tie and tossed the gift bag down on Maya’s vanity.

The vanity, which was always covered in her half-used creams and perfume bottles, was shockingly empty. Every last jar and bottle was gone. Hot anger bubbled up in his chest as he stormed to the walk-in closet. The suitcase she’d packed the night before was definitely gone.

He threw open door after door of the wardrobe. Even after she left, most of the space was still full of her things. She’d left everything behind. Not a single item of clothing, not a single trinket, came with her. The whole closet was still cluttered with her stuff.

Furious, he roared, “Eleanora! Pack up all of her things by tomorrow. Tell her to come get all of it, or I’ll throw every last piece out.”

Downstairs, Eleanora said nothing.

“Did you hear me?!”

Finally, Eleanora answered, soft and meek. “The madam said she doesn’t want any of it. She told me to do whatever I want with it…”

Rayan’s temples throbbed with white-hot frustration. His lips parted, ready to snarl out the order to get rid of every last thing—but he stopped himself.

She never had that many hobbies. At home, she loved doing her skincare and makeup, loved turning their house into something that felt like home. He never got why she insisted on fresh flowers on his desk every week, or what was so great about that lumpy cozy bean bag in the corner of the living room.

But he couldn’t believe she’d actually give up this fancy, easy lifestyle just to be on her own. Could she really walk away from all of this? No strings attached?