Every fairytale has a lie hidden inside it.Ours is that we actually like each other.
By the time morning comes, the world has moved from "Aww, they're adorable!" to "Did you see that livestream?!"Memes, reels, hashtags — we're everywhere again.
The latest viral edit shows me laughing and Darian glaring at me with the caption:
"Love her chaos, fear her confidence."
Accurate. 🥰
But underneath the noise, that one text from last night keeps echoing in my head.
"Keep him busy. I'll be in touch soon."
Whoever sent it isn't just watching us — they know us.
When I walk into the kitchen, Darian's already there, sleeves rolled up, making coffee like he's punishing the espresso machine.
He looks up when he hears me. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Too much internet fame?" he asks dryly.
"Too much mystery admirer."
His brow furrows. "What?"
"Nothing," I lie quickly. "Just a joke."
He stares at me for a moment longer, then shakes his head. "You're going to be the death of my PR team."
I grin. "Oh please, they love me. I give them job security."
He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
The day passes in a blur of meetings, PR calls, and photo ops. I swear I've smiled so much my face muscles should be in the Olympics.
By evening, the exhaustion hits. I drop onto the couch like a wilted rose in couture. "I can't do another fake smile, Darian. My cheeks are threatening divorce."
He loosens his tie and sits across from me. "You chose this."
"Correction — you chose damage control. I just happen to be the star of your redemption arc."
His lips twitch. "You're enjoying the spotlight."
"Only because you hate it," I tease.
He smirks faintly. "At least one of us is having fun."
"Don't worry," I say, leaning forward, "I'm having enough fun for both of us."
His gaze lingers a second too long, and the air suddenly shifts.The playful tension flickers into something else — quieter, heavier.
He looks away first. "You should rest."
"Wow," I say softly, "that almost sounded like concern."
"Don't get used to it."
Later that night, I'm lying in bed, scrolling through our latest interview clips when the mattress dips slightly — Darian sits on the edge, hair tousled, tie gone.
I blink. "Wow. The statue moves."
He exhales through his nose. "You can stop narrating my existence."
"Sorry," I whisper. "It's just… you being in my space feels illegal."
He gives me a look. "We're married."
"Fake married," I correct.
"Still counts."
"Oh, sure," I say. "Should I start practicing my Mrs. Malhotra signature for the fans?"
"You already enjoy the fame," he says. "Might as well make it official."
"Funny," I shoot back, "I don't remember fame being in the marriage contract."
"You don't remember reading it," he says, and I throw a pillow at him.
He catches it easily, smirking. "You really think you can win against me?"
I grin. "I don't play to win. I play to annoy."
And just like that, he laughs.
Not the small polite one — a real laugh, low and warm and completely unguarded. It does something ridiculous to my chest.
"You're dangerous," he says.
"Dangerous?" I repeat. "Please, I'm adorable."
"Exactly," he murmurs.
For one insane moment, we just sit there — two idiots pretending to hate each other, pretending not to notice that something between us has started to shift.
Then, mercifully, my phone buzzes again.
Unknown number.
You're getting too close. Don't forget why he married you.
My smile falters.
"Lyra?" Darian's voice pulls me back. "What is it?"
"Spam," I say automatically, locking my phone.
He narrows his eyes but doesn't push. "You've been distracted lately."
"I'm fine."
"Liar," he says simply.
I shoot him a glare. "You're not as charming when you're right."
He gives me a small, almost sad smile. "You should get used to me being right."
"I'd rather fight gravity," I reply.
"Then I hope you fall," he says quietly.
It's playful, but his tone — his eyes — carry something else. Something I'm not ready to name.
Later, when he's asleep, I slip onto the balcony. The city below is glowing, endless, alive. My phone buzzes one last time.
Goodnight, Mrs. Malhotra. Enjoy the peace while it lasts.
I stare at the message until my reflection fades in the glass. My pulse quickens.
Whoever this person is, they're not random.They know me.They know him.
And if they're watching us this closely…maybe this viral marriage isn't the biggest lie after all.