The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the mansion, waking Suba from a restless sleep. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The scent of expensive lilies and the sight of the ornate ceiling reminded her—this wasn't her small, cozy writing desk at home. This was the "Golden Cage" she had written about in her novels, and now, she was the protagonist.
A soft knock at the door preceded the entrance of a head housekeeper. "Good morning, Madam. Your stylist will be here in an hour. Mr. Rathan expects you to be ready by ten for the corporate brunch."
'Madam.' The word felt heavy and foreign. Suba was a creator of worlds, a weaver of words, but here, she was a signed contract.
By 10:00 AM, a young stylist named Maya arrived. As she applied layers of makeup and styled Suba's hair into a sophisticated updo, Maya whispered, "I've worked for Rathan Sir before, but you're different. You don't look scared; you look like you're searching for something."
Suba looked at her reflection. "I'm an author, Maya. I'm just studying the character I have to play today."
When the door swung open, Rathan stood there in a charcoal-gray suit. His gaze locked onto Suba, and for a fleeting second, his cold eyes softened with genuine admiration. But the mask returned instantly. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice like cracking ice.
"Ready," Suba replied, standing tall in her deep blue silk saree.
"Remember," Rathan leaned in, his breath hitting her ear, "outside these walls, we are the perfect couple. You love me, and I adore you. Any slip-up, and the deal is off."
As they reached the venue, the flashes of a hundred cameras blinded them. Rathan's hand slid firmly around Suba's waist, pulling her close. His touch was warm, confusingly protective, yet Suba reminded herself it was all part of the script.
"Smile, Suba," Rathan gritted through his perfect teeth.
Suba flashed a radiant, practiced smile. Inside, she checked her WebNovel dashboard on her phone. Her views for Shadow Angel were skyrocketing. She realized her life was becoming more twisted than the plot she was writing.The press meet was a battlefield. Suba sat beside Rathan, facing a sea of reporters hungry for a scandal.
"Mr. Rathan, why the sudden marriage to an unknown girl? Is this a business move?" a reporter barked.
Rathan smiled, a masterclass in deception. "Love doesn't follow a business plan. Suba's brilliance as a writer is what captured my heart. Her status doesn't matter; her soul does."
Then, the questions turned to Suba. "Suba Madam, you write mystery novels. Is your marriage just a publicity stunt for your book?"
Suba leaned into the microphone. "Every artist draws from reality. Rathan isn't just a businessman; he's the first person who truly understood my words. Our marriage isn't a mystery; it's a new chapter."
The room buzzed with her sharp reply. Rathan looked at her, a spark of genuine respect in his eyes. But the triumph was short-lived.
A man at the back stood up, holding a tablet. "Then how do you explain this, Madam? A photo of you with another man, taken just last week? It seems you were engaged to someone else."
The screen showed a grainy photo of Suba with a man. It was an old friend, but the photo had been edited to look intimate. The room exploded into whispers. Rathan's grip on the table tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"This is a lie!" Suba exclaimed, but the cameras were already capturing her panicked expression.
Rathan stood up abruptly, dragging Suba out of the hall. In the elevator, his face was a mask of fury. "I told you no scandals! Who is he?"
"Rathan, it's a fake! Someone is trying to sabotage us," she pleaded.
"Trust?" Rathan laughed bitterly. "Our marriage is a lie, Suba. How can there be trust?"
Back at the mansion, Suba locked herself in her room. Her phone buzzed. An unknown number had sent a message: "Chapter 38: Betrayal enters the frame. I'm using you to destroy Rathan. This is just the beginning."
Suba realized she wasn't just writing a story anymore. She was trapped in one. She opened her laptop and typed: