If heartbreak had a ringtone, it would sound like my phone right now.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.Notification. Call. Headline. Ping.
The internet never sleeps — especially when it smells blood.
I wake up to chaos.My phone screen lights up like a slot machine of regret.Mentions. Hashtags. Breaking news banners.
#LyraLeaks#TheCancelledBridePart2#FakeMarriageExposed
Because apparently, karma didn't get the memo that I needed a break.
I open one of the articles.There it is — a video clip from last night.
Grainy. Shaky. Secretly recorded.
But my voice is clear as day:
"You built an entire marriage on lies!"
Cut.Zoom.Replay.
Then Darian's voice:
"You destroyed me online!"
The video ends there — perfectly timed to sound like a confession, perfectly edited to ruin us both.
The comments section is a massacre.
"So it was all fake?""She used him for fame.""CEO Malhotra caught in another PR scandal.""Lyra Sen = professional manipulator."
My throat goes dry.
Someone — someone recorded us.Someone wanted this.
And I already know who.
Riven Kaul: 1.Malhotra Marriage: 0.
Aria bursts into my apartment fifteen minutes later, waving her phone like a murder weapon."Tell me this isn't real!"
"It's edited," I say, pacing. "He cut it to look like a fight. He leaked it."
She's already typing furiously. "Damage control mode: activated. We need a counter-statement, ASAP. Where's Darian?"
"Still pretending emotions don't exist," I mutter.
"Lyra, this isn't funny!"
"Oh, I know." I stop pacing. "Because this time, they're not just cancelling me. They're cancelling us."
I check my phone again.Hundreds of messages.Most of them cruel.Some of them just… sad.
"We believed in you.""Love was supposed to be real.""Never trusting social media couples again."
It shouldn't hurt this much.But it does.Because I worked so hard to become something more than a scandal — and now I'm right back where I started.
The villain in someone else's narrative.
Then, my screen lights up again.Darian Malhotra — calling.
I pick up, too angry to hesitate."What?"
"Don't go online," he says immediately. His voice is tight — CEO mode, calm but dangerous.
"Bit late for that."
"I'm serious, Lyra. They're tearing you apart. I'm fixing it."
I laugh, hollow. "You? Fixing it? The last time you 'fixed' something, I ended up married to you."
"Lyra—"
"Save it. I don't need another rescue. I need the truth."
He's silent for a moment.Then quietly: "I'm on my way."
Twenty minutes later, he's at my door.No suit this time. Just a hoodie, tired eyes, and a look that says he hasn't slept since the confrontation.
"Who leaked it?" I ask before he can speak.
He runs a hand through his hair. "Someone inside the office. The file was sent to a tabloid under an anonymous name. We're tracing the IP."
"Riven."
He hesitates.
"Say it," I push. "Say his name."
His jaw tightens. "Probably."
"Probably?" I laugh bitterly. "He's been haunting us like a bad Wi-Fi signal and you're still in denial?"
"Lyra, listen to me—"
"No!" My voice breaks. "Every time I trust you, something explodes. I'm done being your PR project!"
His expression falters — for just a second, the control slips again."Then what are we now?" he asks softly.
I stare at him.For once, I don't have an answer.
By evening, the story's everywhere.News anchors dissecting my tone, influencers posting think-pieces about "toxic PR couples," reaction videos hitting a million views in an hour.
The world's laughing at us again.But this time, it feels like more than just a scandal.It feels personal.
Because somewhere out there, Riven Kaul is watching this unfold — smiling.
And I swear, if he wants a war…He's about to get one.