They say every good story needs conflict.Apparently, my life decided to cast Darian's ex-girlfriend as the main antagonist. 🎬
It starts on a Tuesday — which, by the way, is statistically the worst day to be emotionally stable.
I walk into Darian's office, half out of boredom, half out of curiosity. (Mostly boredom, if we're being honest.) He's in a meeting with his executive team, sleeves rolled up, hair perfectly in place, commanding the room like a man who was born with a Bluetooth in his soul.
I'm about to make a dramatic entrance — you know, flip my hair, maybe drop a sarcastic line about "Mr. Perfection" — when the elevator dings behind me.
And she walks out.
Long legs. Perfect curls. A perfume that probably costs more than my rent.Oh, and a smile that screams "Hi, I've kissed your husband before."
Wonderful.
She glides across the floor like she owns the building, which, judging by how everyone bows, she might as well.
"Darian," she says, voice dripping like honey over glass, "I heard you got married."
He stands, visibly uncomfortable — which is already my favorite part of this day.
"Alina," he says evenly, "you weren't invited."
"I didn't need an invitation," she replies, eyes sliding to me. "You must be the… viral wife."
I smile sweetly. "And you must be the reason my husband hates romance." 😇
The air in the room freezes. Someone coughs. Darian pinches the bridge of his nose.
Alina's smile doesn't waver. "Still sharp-tongued, I see. Tell me, Lyra, how's the marriage? Comfortable pretending?"
I cross my arms. "Comfortable enough to make you jealous."
Her expression flickers — tiny, but satisfying.
"Please," she says, flipping her hair. "He'll get bored soon. He always does."
"Then you should've taken better notes when you had the chance," I reply with a smirk.
Even Darian looks shocked — though I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch like he's fighting a smile.
Alina steps closer, lowering her voice. "You think you can keep him? He's not the kind of man who loves easily."
I lean in too. "That's fine. I'm not the kind of woman who begs for it."
Mic. Drop. 🎤
When she finally leaves — with a fake smile and a click of her heels — the entire office collectively exhales.
I turn to Darian, grinning. "So… that was fun."
He gives me a look. "You just declared war."
"Correction," I say. "I won one."
He shakes his head, trying not to smile. "You really have no filter, do you?"
"I do," I say proudly. "It's just decorative."
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Alina and I… we go way back."
"Clearly," I say. "I could tell by the way she said your name like it was a luxury brand."
"She was—" He hesitates. "We were together years ago. She helped me build the company."
"Ah," I nod. "So she's the emotional debt you never paid off."
"Something like that."
He looks tired — not angry, not cold — just… tired. It throws me off.
"She'll try to stir things up," he adds. "She hates losing."
I smile. "Then she shouldn't have played with me."
That evening, our "couple dinner" turns into a full-blown battlefield on social media.
Someone leaks a photo of Alina visiting the office with the caption:
"Darian Malhotra's ex spotted — trouble in paradise?"
Within minutes, the internet loses it.
"OMG THE EX IS BACK 😱""Team Lyra forever 💅🔥""If this man cheats, we riot.""#ProtectLyra trending now!"
For once, the chaos works in my favor.
When I show Darian the trending tags, he groans. "You really enjoy this, don't you?"
"Of course," I say. "Every villain needs a fan club."
He stares at me for a moment, something soft flickering in his expression. "You're impossible."
"Funny," I say, smiling. "You keep saying that, but you never walk away."
His lips twitch. "Maybe I like impossible things."
Oh no. No, no, no. That look — that tone.Someone tell my heart to stop catching feelings like it's on sale. 💓
Before I can ruin the moment by being honest, my phone buzzes.
Same unknown number.
You really think you can replace her?
My breath catches. I glance at Darian. "I'm going to get some air."
Outside, the cool night breeze hits my face. My fingers shake as I type back:
Who are you? What do you want?
No response this time. Just three dots. Typing… then nothing.
The silence feels louder than any threat.
I slip my phone into my pocket, looking out at the city lights. Somewhere below, millions of people are laughing at memes about me, rooting for a love story they think they understand.
But this isn't a fairytale. It's a ticking time bomb in designer packaging.
And someone out there — maybe Alina, maybe not — just lit the next fuse.