My phone has been buzzing for four straight hours. At this point, I'm convinced it has developed anxiety.
#CancelledBrideNowMarried — still trending.#PowerCoupleGoals — second.#PoorGuyMarriedHisHater — …accurate. 😒
I scroll through hundreds of posts, watching the world collectively lose its mind.
"They're hot, okay? Leave them alone.""This is PR genius! I'm obsessed 😍.""Their kiss? Cinema. 🔥""I bet she regrets that post now 💅."
If regret had a face, it would be mine right now — except, maybe not. Because as mortifying as it was to marry Darian Malhotra in a registrar office that smelled like expired sanitizer, part of me enjoyed watching his perfectly controlled life crumble in front of the nation.
Call it karma. Call it chaos. I call it content.
I glance at the man himself — standing by the balcony, sipping black coffee like it's moral superiority in liquid form. He hasn't spoken since the "incident." You know, the kiss heard around the world. 💋
Finally, he breaks the silence."You're trending," he says, tone dry as Delhi summer.
"Technically, we're trending," I correct, waving my phone. "Don't be jealous of my influencer era."
He doesn't even blink. "I don't get jealous."
"Right," I say, "you just issue press releases about your feelings."
He glares. I grin. Ah, the domestic bliss begins. 🏠
A loud ding interrupts us — a video call from our PR manager, Aria, who looks like she hasn't slept since the scandal started. Her headset is slightly crooked, and her smile screams caffeine dependency.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Malhotra," she says, far too cheerfully. "The world is in love with you!"
"Tragic," Darian mutters.
Aria claps her hands. "No, no, this is good! We've analyzed the data. Positive sentiment is at seventy-three percent. You two are officially the internet's new obsession."
I beam. "So you're saying I'm everyone's favorite mistake?"
"Basically!" Aria chirps, ignoring Darian's slow internal death. "But we have to capitalize on this momentum. Vogue wants an interview. There's a podcast request. Also, a jewelry brand wants to sponsor your 'wedding rings reveal.'"
Darian's eyebrow twitches. "We are not doing brand deals."
"We are," I say at the same time.
We both turn to Aria.
She blinks. "Okay. So we'll circle back."
After the call, Darian closes his laptop like he's trying to shut me out with it."This isn't a game, Lyra."
"Then why does it feel like I'm winning?" I ask sweetly.
He looks at me, that cold CEO stare that probably terrifies board members. Too bad I'm not a board member. I'm chaos with lip gloss.
"You're not taking this seriously," he says.
"Oh, I am," I reply. "I just measure seriousness in memes per minute."
He exhales slowly — the kind of exhale that suggests he's silently calculating the price of divorce lawyers and therapy. "We have a joint interview tonight," he says.
"Lovely," I reply. "Will there be snacks?"
"Lyra." His tone sharpens.
I raise my hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. What do you want me to say? That I'm honored to be Mrs. Malhotra, Queen of Scandal?"
He stares at me for a long beat. Then, surprisingly, he chuckles.A low, quiet sound — so rare I almost think I imagined it.
"I forgot how relentless you are," he says.
"I forgot how boring you are," I shoot back.
For a moment, there's silence — the kind that crackles like static. Our eyes meet. His look isn't angry anymore. It's… assessing. Like he's seeing me for the first time, not as a headline, but as a person he can't categorize.
And then, because my life refuses to be serious for more than three seconds, my phone pings again.
A new message.No name. Just the same unknown number as before.
Nice performance, Mrs. Malhotra. Now let's see how long you can keep it up.
My stomach twists.
"Something wrong?" Darian asks.
I lock the screen. "Spam."
He doesn't believe me, but he lets it go.
The interview is set in our apartment — or as Aria called it, "the love nest." 🙄 The crew arrives hours early, setting up soft lights, camera rigs, and enough makeup to hide a lifetime of bad decisions.
As they mic us up, I whisper, "Smile for the people, darling."
Darian whispers back, "Try not to confess another crime on live TV."
The camera light blinks on.
"Mr. and Mrs. Malhotra," the reporter begins, "you've captured everyone's attention! How does it feel to be India's most viral couple?"
I smile sweetly. "Honestly? I didn't expect to become a trend."
Darian adds, "But when attention comes your way, you handle it with grace."
The interviewer laughs, charmed. "Viewers say your chemistry feels real!"
I tilt my head. "Oh, it's very real. He's allergic to emotions, and I'm allergic to liars. Perfect match." 😇
The studio crew laughs. Darian pinches the bridge of his nose.
By the end of the interview, I've earned a thousand new fans and possibly shortened Darian's lifespan by five years.
After they leave, he collapses on the couch, sighing like an overworked CEO (which he is).
"You do realize," he says, "we're trending because of your sarcasm, not because of our sincerity."
I flop down beside him. "You're welcome."
"I wasn't thanking you."
"I know."
We sit in silence. The kind that's almost comfortable. Then, just as he's about to say something else, my phone buzzes again.
Same number.
Smile for the cameras, Lyra. The show's just getting started. 🎭
I glance at Darian. He's already watching me — like he knows I'm hiding something.
But before he can ask, I grin. "You look tired, Mr. Malhotra. Should I schedule a spa appointment or a therapist?"
He groans. "Remind me why I agreed to this."
"Because," I say, standing up dramatically, "you love chaos and didn't know it."
I walk away before he can reply, but I swear I hear him mutter — half amused, half doomed —"Maybe I do."