There are two kinds of hangovers.The one you get from champagne — and the one you get from going viral.
Unfortunately, I have both.
The morning after #WineGate, my phone looks like it's possessed.Over 3 million views. Thousands of memes. One particularly haunting video of me saying "cheers to women who spill things but never own up" remixed with a Bollywood beat.
Aria calls before I've even found coffee. "You're trending globally."
"Good trending or bad trending?" I ask, pulling the blanket over my head.
"The kind where even international tabloids are debating your comeback skills. BuzzFeed titled it 'The Pettiest Queen of the Year.'"
I grin. "I'll take that as my coronation."
By noon, Darian and I are expected at another corporate event — a champagne brunch hosted by one of his investors.Which, in rich-people language, means awkward social networking disguised as casual laughter.
I step out of the dressing room in a soft pink sari, hair loose, heels armed.Darian's already waiting near the door, scrolling through his tablet.He looks up, expression momentarily blank — then something unreadable flickers across his face.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says, a touch too quickly. "You're on time."
"I'm evolving," I reply, grabbing my clutch. "Next I might start obeying PR instructions."
"That would be terrifying," he mutters, but his mouth twitches slightly — half amusement, half denial.
The brunch venue looks like the inside of a luxury magazine — glass ceilings, soft jazz, and waiters who look allergic to smiling.We step in, and conversation halts for a millisecond.Everyone looks. Everyone whispers.
I can practically hear the mental commentary:
"There's the girl from the wine video.""Is it true she used to be a journalist?""Do you think he still loves his ex?"
If gossip were a currency, this room could buy the moon.
And then, like clockwork, Alina appears.
Of course she does.
Today she's in gold — because apparently subtlety filed a restraining order against her.She air-kisses two producers, fake-laughs at something unfunny, and then drifts toward us with the confidence of someone who's never spilled anything in her life.
"Lyra," she purrs. "Recovering from last night?"
"Oh, I don't recover," I say sweetly. "I trend."
She smiles, brittle as glass. "Must be exhausting, living on likes."
"Not really," I shrug. "They come to me naturally. You should try it sometime — people might actually remember your name."
Ouch. That one lands. Even Darian glances sideways, trying (and failing) not to smirk.
Ten minutes later, it happens.
I'm chatting with a journalist near the buffet table when someone "accidentally" nudges me from behind.My heel catches, my balance slips—and the next thing I know, I'm about two seconds away from crashing into a table full of champagne flutes.
But before gravity finishes its betrayal, a hand grips my arm, steady and strong.
Darian.
He pulls me back just in time, steadying me against his chest.For a moment, the entire room freezes — me clutching his tuxedo, his hand at my waist, eyes locked.
Flash. Camera. Flash.
Somewhere, a reporter gasps.Somewhere else, a hashtag is being born.
#HeCaughtHer 💞#MalhotraInLove 💋
Alina's face turns the color of expired wine.
Once the crowd disperses, Darian leans close and mutters, "You really need to stop falling at public events."
"Maybe I just enjoy dramatic entrances," I say, ignoring the way my pulse is racing.
He looks down at me, that tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Or you like being caught."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't worry," he says smoothly, straightening his tie. "It's good PR."
My heart does something inconveniently traitorous. "You're insufferable."
"And you're impossible," he says — but softer, like he's starting to enjoy it.
Later, Aria sends me the inevitable screenshots.
TRENDING NOW:
"The way he caught her — cinematic.""Find yourself a man who looks at you the way Darian looks at Lyra when gravity attacks.""Petty Queen and her CEO Knight 😭❤️"
I text her back: Tell PR to let me handle social captions today.
Ten minutes later, the official Malhotra Group Instagram updates with a photo of me and Darian mid-save.Caption:
"Gravity tried. We won." ⚡
Within an hour: 2 million likes.
Aria calls again, voice somewhere between awe and panic."You're unstoppable," she says. "But… Darian's not happy."
"Why not?"
"He doesn't like being used for content."
I laugh. "Then he shouldn't look so photogenic while rescuing me."
That evening, I find him in his office — dark, quiet, phone pressed to his ear.He ends the call and looks up, eyes shadowed.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asks.
"The fame? The attention? Sure," I say, folding my arms. "I was a journalist. Going viral is just a different kind of headline."
He exhales. "Lyra, you don't understand. These people don't care about you. They'll love you one day and destroy you the next."
"Maybe," I say. "But at least I'm the one writing the story now."
He stares at me for a moment — frustrated, impressed, conflicted.Then, quietly:"You're going to make my life hell, aren't you?"
I grin. "Oh, darling. That's literally in the contract."