If I had to describe Darian Malhotra in one word,it would be control.
He doesn't raise his voice.He doesn't lose his temper.He doesn't show emotion unless it's profitable.
At least, that used to be true — until tonight.
The office is empty when I arrive.It's almost midnight.Mumbai glows below like a thousand restless thoughts.
Darian's standing by the glass window, back to me, tie loosened, jacket gone.He doesn't turn when I enter.
"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, my voice flat.
"I could ask you the same," he replies without looking.
"Well," I say, walking closer, "it's hard to rest when your marriage doubles as a criminal documentary."
That gets his attention.He turns — slow, deliberate, eyes darker than I've ever seen.
"What did you do?" he asks.
"Oh, I don't know," I snap. "Just hacked into your company's server, opened a cute little folder named Cassiopeia, and found video evidence of your ex-fiancée committing corporate fraud in your name. Casual Tuesday stuff."
For a second, there's silence.Then he crosses the room, steps stopping inches from mine.
"You had no right to go through my files," he says quietly. Too quietly.
"And you had no right to build an entire marriage on lies," I shoot back.
His jaw tightens. "It wasn't a lie."
"Oh please," I laugh bitterly. "Everything between us is one. The proposal, the press, the wedding — every single thing you said was scripted for PR."
He moves closer, voice low and sharp. "You think I did all that for a headline?"
"Yes!" I say, heart hammering. "Because that's all you care about — control! The perfect story, the perfect company, the perfect image!"
"Because perfection is the only thing that keeps this empire standing," he snaps, eyes blazing. "You think I wanted any of this? You think I liked watching you destroy me online, watching everything I built crumble because you couldn't wait one day to ask me the truth?"
That hits like a slap.I freeze.
He exhales, running a hand through his hair, pacing now."You want to know why I didn't tell you?" he says, voice cracking around the edges."Because I thought if you saw how ugly it was — how broken — you'd walk away."
"Guess what?" I whisper. "I did."
He laughs — hollow, painful. "Yeah. You did."
I pull the laptop out of my bag, open the Cassiopeia folder, and play the video.
Alina's voice fills the room.Darian watches silently — jaw clenched, fists tight.
When it ends, I say, "Why didn't you show me this?"
He looks up — and there it is.The crack.The first one.
"I couldn't," he says, voice low. "Because the night that was recorded… I lost everything. My company, my best friend, my reputation. And then you — you posted that photo, and it was like the final nail in the coffin. I didn't want to hate you."
His eyes glisten. "So I married you instead."
For a second, I can't speak.The air feels too heavy, the truth too sharp.
"You married me," I whisper, "because you didn't want to hate me?"
He steps closer, shaking his head. "Because I already didn't."
My throat tightens. "Stop. Don't say that."
"It's the truth."
"No, it's convenient," I choke. "You can't confess feelings every time the truth catches up to you."
"I'm not confessing," he says softly. "I'm admitting."
We just… stand there.Too close.Too broken.The hum of the city beneath us like a heartbeat we can't match anymore.
"Lyra," he says finally, voice fragile, "I didn't want to lose you."
"Then you shouldn't have lied."
He exhales, stepping back, the CEO mask sliding back into place — but it's cracked now, visible, human.
"I can't undo what I've done," he says. "But I can fix it. For both of us."
I shake my head. "You can't fix people, Darian. You can only tell them the truth and hope they stay."
And then I walk out.
He doesn't follow.Not this time.
When the elevator doors close, I catch one last glimpse —Darian, standing in the empty office, staring at the video still frozen on the screen.Alina's betrayal paused forever.His reflection fractured in the glass.
The cracks are showing.And this time, he can't hide them.