If someone had told me a week ago that I'd be wearing a ₹4 lakh designer gown just to play "happy wife" for a national audience, I'd have laughed.But here I am — Mrs. Darian Malhotra, dressed like a walking billboard for luxury trauma. 😮💨
The gown hugs every inch of my sanity. The makeup team says things like "soft glam" while I sit there wondering if there's a filter that hides emotional damage.
"Just smile naturally," says the stylist.
I look at her through the mirror. "My natural smile is the reason I trended last week."
She decides to contour instead of replying.
By the time the camera crew sets up, the living room looks like a Bollywood movie exploded in it — flowers, lights, a fake coffee setup that's more expensive than my real kitchen, and a cameraman who keeps whispering, "Oh my god, it's them!"
Darian enters, looking criminally handsome in a charcoal suit. His cufflinks probably cost more than my college education.
He glances at me and says, "Don't say anything you'll regret."
I bat my lashes. "I only regret saying yes."
He exhales through his nose like a dragon controlling its temper.
The producer claps. "Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Malhotra, ready? We'll go live in three, two, one—"
A red light blinks.
The interviewer beams at us. "Good evening, India! Tonight, we're joined by the couple everyone's talking about — Darian and Lyra Malhotra!"
Applause sound effect. Great. My marriage comes with a laugh track.
"Mr. Malhotra," the interviewer starts, "your wedding went viral in under an hour. How are you handling the attention?"
Darian's CEO mode activates. His tone is smooth, professional, the kind that could probably sell toothpaste to a snake. "Attention isn't new to us. But we're grateful for the support."
Translation: Please stop talking about it.
The interviewer nods, then turns to me. "And you, Mrs. Malhotra? You were quite the internet sensation!"
I flash a dazzling smile. "It's been surreal. I've learned three things — the internet is wild, coffee is essential, and never underestimate how fast memes spread."
The crew laughs. Even Darian's lip twitches. Victory 😏.
"But tell us," the interviewer presses, "was the wedding planned, or spontaneous?"
"Oh, totally spontaneous," I say. "I woke up one morning and thought, you know what would be fun? Public humiliation with matching rings."
The entire set bursts into laughter. I see Darian's jaw tighten just slightly.
"Lyra," he says, his voice low but controlled, "maybe rephrase that—"
I cut in with my sweetest smile. "Oh, don't worry, darling. Everyone knows we're the definition of couple goals now."
The interviewer beams. "You two are adorable!"
If only she knew that the only thing Darian and I agree on is mutually applied sarcasm.
When the interview finally ends, I exhale so hard I nearly deflate.
The crew packs up, still giggling. The producer gushes about "raw chemistry" and "authentic love." Sure. Because nothing says love like passive-aggressive sarcasm on live television.
As the last camera leaves, Darian pinches the bridge of his nose. "You couldn't resist, could you?"
"What?" I ask innocently. "I was charming."
"You joked about public humiliation," he says.
"And everyone loved it." I grin. "You're welcome for the positive engagement."
He narrows his eyes. "You're enjoying this."
I put a hand to my chest. "Me? Enjoying chaos? Never."
He steps closer. "You're playing with fire, Lyra."
"Good thing I'm fireproof," I whisper.
The air between us thickens — that kind of charged silence that feels like a standoff and a dance all at once. His gaze flicks to my lips for half a second — maybe — and my stomach does a traitorous flip.
But before my internal temperature can decide between fury or flirtation, my phone buzzes again.
I glance down. Same unknown number.
Still pretending? You play the role well.
A chill runs down my spine. I quickly turn the screen away.
"What is it?" Darian asks, voice sharp.
"Spam," I lie. "Probably a fan."
He studies me. "You're hiding something."
"Wow, and here I thought we trusted each other completely," I shoot back.
He crosses his arms. "Trust requires honesty."
"Then we're doomed."
He looks like he wants to argue but decides I'm not worth the headache. "Fine. Just… don't post anything for the next twenty-four hours. Let PR handle it."
"Sure, boss," I reply, giving him a mock salute. "Would you like me to file a marriage report too?"
He stares at me blankly. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," I say, walking toward my room, "if you're the CEO of this marriage, I'm resigning."
Later that night, I sit by the window, scrolling through the hundreds of messages flooding my feed.
People adore the interview.Fan pages are popping up with ship names — #DarLyra,#CancelledLove, even #PowerStoneCouple (the irony 😭).
There's a fan edit of our "banter moments" with dramatic Bollywood background music. Another of our kiss in slow motion with sparkles and heart emojis.
The internet has turned my life into a Netflix series — except I'm not sure if it's a rom-com or a psychological thriller.
My phone vibrates again.
Another text.
Tick-tock, Mrs. Malhotra. Truth doesn't stay buried forever.
My heart skips. Who is this person? Riven? Someone else? Why do they sound like they're narrating a crime documentary?
Before I can overthink it, Darian's voice drifts from the hallway. "You okay?"
I plaster on a casual smile. "Totally. Just contemplating my life choices."
He leans against the doorframe, arms folded. "Let me know when you make better ones."
"Don't worry," I say sweetly, "you'll be the first to go."
He almost laughs. Almost.
And then he says softly, "You're impossible."
I grin. "And yet, here we are."
For a brief second, the corners of his lips lift — a half-smile, gone too soon.I look away before my heart does something stupid like find it cute.
Later, when he's gone, I re-read the mystery texts.My reflection in the dark window stares back at me.
"A puppet bride," I whisper. "Let's see who's really pulling the strings."
Somewhere, the city outside hums — alive, glittering, watching.And I can't help but wonder if tomorrow's headlines will say:
"Mrs. Malhotra plays the perfect wife."Or"Mrs. Malhotra sets the stage on fire." 🔥