I should've known it would be a long night when Darian said, "Just be yourself."
That's what people say right before walking you into a battlefield.
The Malhotra house is not a house.
It's a statement.
High gates. Symmetrical garden. Lights placed perfectly enough to look effortless. The kind of place that doesn't shout wealth — it assumes you already know.
I smooth my dress once before we step inside.
"You're tense," Darian murmurs.
"I'm preparing," I reply.
"For what?"
"To be evaluated like a mutual fund."
That almost makes him smile.
Almost.
The doors open before we knock.
A house manager greets us by name. Not warmly. Professionally.
Inside, the living room is already occupied.
Nandini Malhotra sits straight-backed in a pale blue silk sari.
To her right — an older man I recognize from business magazines: Mr. Rajeev Malhotra, Darian's uncle.
Across from them — a younger man leaning back too casually in his chair.
Kabir.
He looks exactly like trouble dressed in expensive tailoring.
"Well," Kabir says, standing lazily. "The internet's favorite couple."
"Hello to you too," I reply.
His grin widens.
I'm not sure if that's good.
Nandini rises gracefully.
"Lyra," she says. "You look appropriate."
Appropriate.
I decide to take it as a compliment.
"Thank you for having us," I say.
Rajeev studies me with the quiet intensity of someone who has built empires and buried rivals. He doesn't smile.
Darian's hand rests lightly at the small of my back. Not possessive. Anchoring.
I don't pull away.
Dinner is served in a room that feels older than the rest of the house.
Portraits line the walls.
Men. Mostly.
Legacy stares down from gilded frames.
I feel it — the weight of history.
"Wine?" Rajeev asks.
"Yes, please," I answer before Darian can decide for me.
Kabir raises his glass slightly in approval.
Conversation begins harmlessly.
Markets.
Infrastructure.
Policy changes.
Then it shifts.
"As entertaining as your livestream was," Rajeev says calmly, cutting into his food, "public vulnerability is rarely strategic."
The fork in my hand pauses mid-air.
"It wasn't meant to be strategic," I reply evenly.
"That," he says, "is precisely the concern."
Nandini doesn't intervene.
She observes.
Kabir sips his wine, watching like he's at a theater.
Darian sets his glass down. "Lyra's independence isn't a liability."
Rajeev's gaze sharpens. "Independence is admirable. Unpredictability is expensive."
I swallow irritation.
"I didn't realize love required quarterly projections," I say.
Kabir coughs to hide a laugh.
Rajeev doesn't.
"Love," he says calmly, "has destroyed more powerful men than enemies ever did."
There it is.
The warning.
Not aimed at me.
At Darian.
"Uncle," Darian says quietly, "this marriage isn't a weakness."
"No," Rajeev agrees. "It's leverage."
Silence.
I feel it then — not hostility.
Calculation.
To them, everything is leverage.
Even me.
Kabir finally leans forward.
"Let's not pretend this is about romance," he says lightly. "It's about narrative control."
Nandini glances at him sharply.
He ignores it.
"The public likes you," he continues, looking at me. "That makes you valuable."
"I'm not an asset," I say.
He tilts his head. "Everyone here is."
The honesty of it unsettles me more than cruelty would have.
Dinner continues.
Polite. Controlled. Thinly veiled tests.
Rajeev asks about my career plans.
Nandini asks about my father.
Kabir asks nothing — but watches everything.
At one point, Nandini says gently, "Lyra, do you understand what you've stepped into?"
I meet her eyes.
"Yes."
"Do you?"
I hesitate.
Just for a second.
And she sees it.
After dessert, we move to the balcony overlooking the garden.
The air is cooler.
Quieter.
Kabir joins me while Darian speaks with his uncle inside.
"You handled that well," Kabir says.
"Did I?"
"You didn't flinch."
"I wanted to."
He smirks. "Good. Fear keeps you sharp."
"That's a comforting philosophy."
"It's accurate."
I study him. "Why are you being nice to me?"
He shrugs. "Because you don't belong here."
I stiffen.
"Relax," he says. "That's not an insult. It's… refreshing."
Inside, I see Rajeev place a hand on Darian's shoulder.
Firm. Heavy.
A legacy passing pressure down a bloodline.
Kabir follows my gaze.
"They'll test him harder than you," he says quietly.
"Why?"
"Because he's next."
Next.
Not husband.
Not man.
Successor.
On the drive home, neither of us speaks at first.
The city lights blur past.
"Do you regret it?" I ask finally.
"Tonight?"
"Us."
He grips the steering wheel slightly tighter.
"No."
"But?"
He exhales.
"But I underestimated how much you'd be scrutinized."
"I can handle scrutiny."
"I know," he says. "That's what scares them."
I turn toward him.
"And you?"
He doesn't answer immediately.
"I'm more afraid of becoming them," he says quietly.
The car falls silent.
And for the first time tonight, I realize something unsettling:
The wolves aren't circling me.
They're circling him.
And I'm standing in the middle of it.