He Chased His Ex, I Axed the Vows

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."