You know you've officially reached peak absurdity when your fake husband schedules a joint television interview titled "Love in the Limelight."
Yes.Love.In.The.Limelight.
I told Aria this was a bad idea.She told me the public "needs to see affection."Darian just told me to "dress appropriately and smile less sarcastically."
So now here I am, sitting in a blindingly bright studio, wearing a pastel dress that screams "domesticated elegance," while Darian looks like he walked straight out of an Armani revenge fantasy.
If this man breathes any more professionally, HR might file for custody.
The host, a perky woman with eyelashes like butterfly wings, beams at us."Mr. and Mrs. Malhotra! You two have become everyone's favorite power couple. How's married life?"
"Balanced," Darian says smoothly, like he's describing a budget sheet.
I smile. "Chaotic. But in a balanced way."
The audience laughs. Darian glances at me — a warning glare that says behave.I respond with a smile that says make me.
"Aw, they're adorable!" the host gushes. "Tell us, who said 'I love you' first?"
My brain short-circuits.
Before I can answer, Darian says, calm as ever, "It was mutual."
I blink. "Mutual? I don't recall—"
He squeezes my hand under the table — firm, almost imperceptible.It's the kind of touch that says play along or else.
I smile again. "Yes. Mutual. Right after he apologized for calling my cat a PR hazard."
The audience laughs again.Aria, standing off-camera, gives me a double thumbs-up.We're killing it.
"Tell us more about how you two met," the host presses, smiling like she already knows the answer.
I grin. "Technically, in another interview — back when I was supposed to be asking questions and he was supposed to be terrifying."
Darian raises an eyebrow. "You spilled coffee on my laptop."
"And you threatened to sue me," I remind him sweetly.
The audience roars with laughter.
The host claps her hands. "So it all started with caffeine and conflict — what a love story!"
I shoot Darian a look. "More like caffeine and trauma, but sure."
He smirks. "You call it trauma, I call it destiny."
The host giggles. "You two have such an honest dynamic! So refreshing!"
If only she knew.
Halfway through, the segment takes an emotional turn.The host lowers her voice, smile fading into practiced sympathy."There were rumors, of course — about your relationship starting under… complicated circumstances. What do you say to those who doubt your love?"
I glance at Darian, expecting him to pull out a boardroom-level statement.But instead, he does something unexpected.Something dangerously un-Darian.
He looks at me.
Not like a CEO. Not like a man managing optics.Like a man who's remembering something he shouldn't.
He says softly, "People will always doubt what they don't understand. But love doesn't need their approval."
The entire room goes quiet.
Even the lights feel gentler for a second.
My pulse is doing weird acrobatics. I should roll my eyes, make a joke, break the tension. But I can't. Because he's still looking at me like that — like the line between fake and real just blurred in HD.
After the interview, the internet explodes.
"Darian Malhotra defending love like a poet???""Did he just admit they're real???""If this is PR, it's Oscar-worthy."
Aria calls me screaming, "You guys BROKE the algorithm!"
I stare at my reflection in the dressing room mirror, heartbeat still unsteady. "That wasn't acting," I murmur before I can stop myself.
Darian walks in, jacket over his arm. "We did what we had to."
"Right," I say, forcing a laugh. "Just PR."
He stops, eyes catching mine in the mirror. "Exactly."
But there's a flicker in his expression — something soft and dangerous that doesn't belong in contracts or photo ops.
As he leaves, my phone buzzes with another anonymous message.
He's lying again. Check tomorrow's news.
I stare at it for a long moment.And just like that, reality slides back into place.