Chapter 8 If I Can't Have Him ....

Maya hadn't noticed it at first.

A flicker of movement across the street. A man pretending to tie his shoelace twice in the same hour. The same car parked two houses down - engine off, windows rolled up.

She told herself she was imagining things. The stress of the pregnancy. Ivy's return. The emotional storm that Spencer stirred in her heart.

But as the days passed, the feeling of being watched became heavier. Not constant - just enough to make her pause before opening her door, or glance twice at the mirror when driving.

She said nothing.

Not to Spencer. Not yet.

He had enough on his plate - his inheritance, his grandfather's health, the pressure of proving himself. She didn't want to add paranoia to the list.

That morning, as she stirred oatmeal at the stove, her phone buzzed. A blocked number.

She frowned and picked up.

Nothing.

Just breathing.

Then: *"You'll never be safe with him."*

Click.

She dropped the phone.

The spoon clattered to the floor.

Her heart thundered in her chest, but she didn't scream. She didn't cry.

She grabbed her coat, locked the door, and went straight to Spencer's penthouse.

-

He opened the door still buttoning his shirt. "Maya? What's wrong?"

"I... I think someone's following me."

He froze. "What?"

"I didn't want to say anything before. But it's getting worse. I just got a call. No name. Just... breathing. Then someone whispered that I'd never be safe with you."

His jaw clenched. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because I wasn't sure," she whispered. "And I didn't want to seem like I was dragging drama into your life."

Spencer pulled her inside gently and closed the door. "You are my life right now, Maya."

She looked up at him - scared, vulnerable, tired.

"I'll double the security around your place," he said. "Or better yet - come stay here. At least until we figure out who's behind this."

She hesitated.

"I know it's not ideal," he added. "But you're not safe there. Please."

Maya slowly nodded.

---

That night, curled in a guest room far fancier than anything she'd lived in, Maya finally exhaled. The sheets smelled like lavender. The windows were sealed. The doors locked.

And for the first time in days, she slept.

But outside - far below - a man snapped a photo of the penthouse from the street and sent it.

Back at her hotel, Ivy smiled when she saw it.

"She's in his house now?" she murmured.

She turned her screen to Rick. "It's time to shake her a little. Let her know I'm watching."

Rick nodded silently.

"I want her to feel hunted," Ivy added. "Not touched. Not hurt. Not yet. Just afraid."

She leaned back, took a sip of wine, and whispered to herself:

"Let's see how long she lasts."

-

Ivy sat in front of her vanity, swiping on lipstick as her burner phone buzzed again. Another update from Rick. Another message confirming that Maya had stayed at Spencer's penthouse two nights in a row.

It stung. She imagined Maya sleeping in Spencer's bed, walking barefoot on his marble floors, touching things that used to be *hers*.

It made her sick.

She poured herself another glass of wine but didn't drink it. Her thoughts were sharper now, less clouded by rage and more focused by obsession.

"Rick," she said into the phone, "we need to raise the heat. I want her scared enough to run."

"What's the move?"

"No violence. Not yet," Ivy said. "Just... intimidation. Controlled chaos."

Rick grunted. "I'll need help with that."

"Use whoever you need. I'll pay double if it gets her out of his life."

She hung up before he could ask why.

Because she knew why. And she couldn't say it out loud.

Spencer had humiliated her. Rejected her. *Replaced* her.

That couldn't go unanswered.

-

The next day, Rick trailed Maya's car. Not too close. Just enough to learn the rhythm of her errands - the small grocery run, the walk in the park, the midwife appointment.

He took pictures. Sent them to Ivy. Annotated them with timestamps.

Then, he planted things.

A single red rose on her doorstep - no card.

A note on her windshield:

*"We're watching you."*

Inside her mailbox: a baby pacifier with a cracked rubber tip.

He made sure she'd find each item alone, when no one was looking.

Ivy didn't want her harmed.

She wanted her *unraveled*.

---

At the hotel, Ivy used another alias to order a prenatal care basket and had it delivered to Maya's name. Inside were vitamins, diapers, and a message card:

*"Soon, this will all be over. – A Friend"*

She giggled as she signed it.

Even the handwriting looked sweet - neat, maternal, innocent.

She loved the idea of Maya trying to figure out whether it was genuine.

She loved that Spencer would probably believe it was a fan or well-wisher.

But Maya would know.

She would feel it.

The doubt, the danger.

---

Later that evening, Ivy took out an old photo album she hadn't opened in years. Photos of her and Spencer - smiling at galas, sipping wine at rooftop parties, wrapped up in luxury and desire.

She paused on one photo: her sitting on his lap, his hand around her waist.

"See?" she whispered. "We were perfect."

She ripped the photo in half and dropped the pieces into the fireplace.

"She won't take you."

Ivy picked up her phone again and messaged Rick:

*"New plan coming soon. Be ready."*

She leaned back on the couch, legs curled under her, and whispered aloud to the empty room:

"If she wants to play the wife, let's see how she handles war."

-