He Chased His Ex, I Axed the Vows

"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?