You'd think living with a CEO would come with luxury perks — spa days, champagne breakfasts, a personal therapist to deal with the emotional damage —But no.
What I get is Darian Malhotra, human version of a Terms & Conditions document.
Precise. Dry. And impossible to love without accepting "I agree."
He walks into the living room with his phone glued to his ear and a frown sharp enough to slice through my will to live. "Yes, yes, I've seen the headlines. No, I'm not actually in love. It's complicated. Handle it."
Then he hangs up, turns to me, and says, "Don't post anything sarcastic for 24 hours."
"Define sarcastic."
He sighs. "Never mind."
I plop onto the sofa with my coffee mug that says "Queen of Chaos." ☕👑
PR has scheduled us for a "casual couple livestream" tonight to "connect with the fans." Because apparently, we're now influencers.When Aria (our PR head and professional stress ball) told us, I thought she was joking.
Spoiler: she wasn't.
At 8 PM, the ring light is set up, the camera is rolling, and we're sitting side by side on the couch pretending not to hate each other.
"Just be natural," Aria whispers from behind the screen.
I nod. "So… pretend I like him?"
Darian mutters, "Pretend harder."
The live starts. A flood of hearts and comments appear immediately.
💬 "OMG THEY'RE LIVE!"💬 "Their chemistry 🔥🔥🔥"💬 "Lyra blink twice if you're being held hostage."💬 "Darian looks like he's calculating her tax return."
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. The internet is my spirit animal.
"Hi everyone," I say brightly, waving. "We're just here to thank you for your endless support—"
Darian cuts in smoothly. "—and to clarify that not everything online is true."
I grin sweetly. "Oh, you mean the part where you have emotions?"
He glares. "Lyra."
"Sorry," I say, "habit."
The comments explode.
"LMAO SHE SAID WHAT 💀💀💀""The shade!!!""Someone get Darian ice for that burn 🧊."
I glance at the screen and start giggling uncontrollably. "You're trending again, Mr. Malhotra."
He pinches the bridge of his nose, whispering, "I'm regretting every life choice that led to this moment."
I pat his shoulder. "Aw, don't worry. Regret looks good on you."
"MARRIAGE OF THE YEAR 😂😂😂""She's the chaos, he's the control. I ship it.""This is better than Netflix."
The hearts on the screen are flying so fast they look like confetti.
At one point, someone comments, "Kiss if you're real!" and before I can react, Darian deadpans, "We're real enough to pay taxes."
I choke on my laughter. "Did you just—"
"Please don't encourage them," he mutters.
"Oh, too late," I say. "You just gave them content for a week."
After we finally end the livestream (and Aria stops hyperventilating), I throw myself onto the couch, still giggling.
"That was amazing!" I say. "Do you realize we just broke the internet again?"
He loosens his tie, sighing. "I realize I'm never getting my dignity back."
"You didn't have any to begin with," I tease.
He shoots me a glare that could melt gold. "You're insufferable."
"Thank you," I say sweetly. "I practice."
There's a pause. A long, strange pause. Then—he laughs.
Like, really laughs. The sound is low and unexpected, and it hits me in the chest harder than I'd like.
He catches himself too quickly. "Don't look so surprised."
"I'm just processing," I say, mock-serious. "Did the great Darian Malhotra just display… joy?"
"Momentary lapse in judgment," he replies.
"Well," I grin, "it suits you."
Later that night, as we scroll through the flood of memes and fan edits, I can't help but snort at one in particular.
It's a screenshot of our livestream where he's glaring at me, captioned:
"When your wife's your biggest PR crisis but also your whole brand."
I show it to him. "Look, they captured your essence."
He glances at it and says dryly, "I'm so glad my suffering is entertaining."
"Oh, it is," I say. "You should start a channel: 'CEO Cries Inside.'"
"Remind me again why I married you?"
"Because I posted a photo."
"Right," he says flatly, "and I regret not deleting the internet."
Before bed, I scroll through our mentions again, half amused, half exhausted.
My phone buzzes.
You're funny, Mrs. Malhotra. Keep him busy. I'll be in touch soon.
My blood runs cold.
The same number.
I look toward the bedroom. Darian's on a call, his back turned, completely unaware that our perfect, viral marriage might have just turned into something much darker.
I type back before I can stop myself.
Who are you? What do you want?
The reply comes instantly.
The truth.
I drop my phone onto the bed, my heart hammering.The laughter from earlier feels far away now.
Because for all the jokes, sarcasm, and viral fame — someone out there is watching us for another reason entirely.
And something tells me… the game has only just begun.