There's an unwritten rule about being married to a CEO:You are never just a person.You are optics.A walking, talking brand extension in heels.
Which is exactly why I should have said "no" when Darian asked me to attend the Investor Summit Dinner with him.
Correction — he didn't ask.He informed me.
"Keep it simple," he said that morning, buttoning his cufflinks like they personally offended him."Smile, nod, don't talk about journalism, politics, or morality."
"Got it," I said. "So, basically, don't be myself."
He didn't even flinch. "Exactly."
By 7 p.m., we're at a luxury hotel ballroom that smells like imported success and fear of public failure.Dozens of investors, partners, and self-proclaimed "visionaries" fill the room.Cameras flash. Waiters glide.And I? I'm already fighting the urge to stab someone with a canapé stick.
Darian, of course, is in his natural habitat — calm, commanding, cold.He shakes hands like he's signing treaties.Every smile is a press release.
I trail a few steps behind, nodding, smiling, resisting the impulse to roll my eyes.
Half an hour in, disaster strikes.
One of the major investors — Mr. Banerjee, a man with the personality of stale toast — suddenly decides to humiliate Darian in front of everyone.
"So tell me, Mr. Malhotra," he says loudly, glass in hand, "how can we trust a company run by a man whose personal life is a PR scandal?"
The air freezes.
Every head turns.Phones subtly lift.Aria, from across the room, looks like she's going to have a cardiac event.
Darian's jaw tightens. "My personal life has no bearing on—"
"Oh, but it does," Banerjee interrupts, smirking. "Your wife's little outburst before the wedding almost cost you a billion-dollar merger, didn't it?"
A ripple of uncomfortable laughter moves through the crowd.And I feel it — that mix of rage and adrenaline that tastes like old wine and injustice.
Before I know it, I'm stepping forward.Every sensible bone in my body screams don't.But my mouth doesn't listen.
"Actually," I say sweetly, loud enough for microphones to hear, "my little outburst saved his company."
Banerjee turns to me, surprised. "Excuse me?"
I smile — the kind that looks friendly but could slice marble."You see, Mr. Banerjee, when the public sees transparency, they trust you more. The scandal made people look deeper — and what they found was integrity. The Malhotra Group didn't hide, didn't run, didn't bury the truth."
I take a breath, eyes locked on him."People don't invest in perfection anymore. They invest in authenticity. And that's exactly what we gave them."
Silence.Then — applause.
It starts small, polite. Then it grows.Reporters nodding, investors murmuring, flashes going off again.Even Banerjee looks like he swallowed his own words.
Darian is staring at me.Not with annoyance this time.Not with irritation.Something else. Something softer.
Pride.
The real kind. The kind he's not sure he's allowed to feel.
After the event, he finds me on the balcony.The city below is a blur of gold and noise.
"You were out of line," he says quietly.
"Out of line?" I snort. "I just saved your quarterly projections."
He looks at me — that unreadable, calculating gaze that always feels like he's building a hypothesis out of my heartbeat.
Finally, he says, "You were brilliant."
I blink. "Wait—what?"
He steps closer, hands in his pockets. "What you said. About authenticity. You turned the entire room around."
"Oh," I say, caught off-guard. "Well, you're welcome."
He smirks faintly. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late," I grin. "It's already trending."
He laughs softly — rare, unguarded. "You really are impossible."
"And you," I say, "are lucky."
That night, the internet strikes again.
"LYRA SEN SAVES THE DAY 💼🔥 #QueenEnergy""She said 'authenticity' and I felt that.""Malhotra Group should make her VP of Damage Control."
By midnight, I'm half asleep, scrolling through fan edits.My phone buzzes — a message from an unknown number again.
"You're playing his game better than he expected. Be careful."
My heart skips.Because suddenly, this doesn't feel like just PR anymore.It feels like someone's watching.