There is a very specific kind of fear that hits you when you realize millions of people are about to watch you brush your teeth.
I'm still processing this when Darian's phone buzzes at exactly 8:00 a.m.
🔴 LIVE STARTING IN 3… 2… 1…
The camera flips on.
And just like that, my peaceful, pajama-clad existence becomes public property.
"Good morning," Darian says calmly to the camera.
He's already dressed. Of course he is.
Pressed shirt. Watch aligned. Hair behaving like it signed an NDA.
I, meanwhile, am wearing an oversized T-shirt that says emotionally unavailable in three languages.
"WHY are you dressed like a TED Talk?" I hiss.
"You said no scripts," he replies evenly. "This is just my face."
The viewer count rockets upward.
LIVE VIEWERS: 1.9 MILLION
Comments flood in like a digital tsunami.
@EarlyBird: SHE'S IN PYJAMAS 😭
@CEOStandards: WHY DOES HE LOOK READY FOR COURT
@TeamLyra: LET HER SLEEP
I squint at the phone. "Do we really need to start at eight?"
"The internet wakes up early," Darian says.
"So do demons," I mutter.
He turns the camera slightly toward the kitchen. "We're starting with breakfast."
"WE are?" I repeat. "Who authorized we?"
"You did. Yesterday. When you signed."
I glare at the contract folder on the table. Traitorous piece of paper.
We enter the kitchen.
I immediately forget the camera exists and grab coffee like my life depends on it.
Darian reaches for the kettle.
"No," I say.
He pauses. "No?"
"You don't know how to make tea."
The comments explode.
@NoWay: DRAG HIM
@BritishAudience: THIS IS SERIOUS
@ShipThemHard: SHE KNOWS HIM TOO WELL
"I know how to make tea," he says coolly.
"You heat water and scare it with a teabag," I counter. "That's not tea. That's an insult."
He sighs. "I have a board meeting in twenty minutes."
"And I have an audience judging our domestic compatibility," I say, gesturing at the phone. "Welcome to my hell."
He pours water into the kettle. Turns it on. Looks… uncertain.
"Did you just—" I squint. "Did you put sugar in before the tea?"
Silence.
Camera zooms in accidentally.
The chat loses its mind.
@SUGARFIRST??: CALL THE POLICE
@LyraRun: THIS IS GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE
@TeaCouncil: IMMEDIATELY NO
I slap his hand away. "Absolutely not."
"You're overreacting."
"I am protecting culture."
I grab the kettle, fix everything, and slide him a mug.
"Drink."
He takes a sip.
Pauses.
Takes another.
"…This is better," he admits.
I grin. "Say it louder."
"This is better," he repeats.
The comments cheer like he just proposed again.
Halfway through breakfast, I forget—again—that we're live.
"So," I say casually, biting toast, "how does it feel knowing five million people are watching you chew?"
He swallows carefully. "I've faced worse."
"Lies," I say. "You've never faced toast crumbs with this level of scrutiny."
He looks at the screen. The viewer count climbs.
LIVE VIEWERS: 4.7 MILLION
"I don't like this," he mutters.
"Oh?" I smile sweetly. "Welcome to my career."
Then it happens.
The moment.
The one that will be clipped, edited, slowed down, and set to music.
Darian reaches across the table and—without thinking—fixes my sleeve where it's slipping off my shoulder.
It's automatic. Gentle. Brief.
We both freeze.
The chat goes feral.
@DID YOU SEE THAT: THE SLEEVE
@SHIPTHEM: THAT WASN'T FOR PR
@I'M UNWELL: WHY WAS THAT SO TENDER
I stare at his hand. Then at his face.
"That," I say slowly, "was not scripted."
"I know," he says quietly.
The silence stretches.
Uncomfortable. Soft. Real.
I clear my throat. "Okay! That's enough intimacy for breakfast."
He steps back, composed again. "Agreed."
But his ears are pink.
Yes. I saw that.
The live ends thirty minutes later.
🔴 LIVE OFF
I collapse into a chair. "I need a nap and possibly a lawyer."
Darian checks his phone.
"We gained two million followers."
I groan. "This is a nightmare."
He looks at me. Really looks at me.
"Day One survived," he says. "Only six more."
I squint. "If you touch my sleeve again, I will bite you."
A pause.
"…Noted."