And on this set, that meant something.
The realization settled over her with uncomfortable weight. She’d spent six months being invisible, and now peoplesawher. Respected her. Valued her input.
Because she’d married the right man.
The thought should have felt hollow. Should have reminded her this was temporary, performance, carefully constructed illusion.
Instead, it made her tired.
She pressed her fingers to her forehead where his lips had been, feeling the warmth still there.
He’s selling the story,she told herself.Maintaining the illusion.
But the words felt thinner than they had days ago. Less like truth and more like defense. Because the respect she was getting, thema’aminstead of being ignored, the opinions being valued, the space being made for her, it wasn’t about being his wife.
It was about people believing he actually loved her.
And the more real it looked, the more people treated her like she mattered.
Which meant the harder it would be when it ended.
Two years. Then divorce. Then back to being invisible Divya Mathur who took the bus and counted coins and nobody noticed.
She took a long drink of water, the bottle still cool in her hands.
Across the set, Vikram glanced back at her. Their eyes met. He smiled, not the public smile, not the actor’s smile. Something smaller. Private.
Her stomach flipped.
Two years,she reminded herself desperately.This ends in two years. Don’t forget.
But when she looked at him, really looked at the way he was watching her even while discussing blocking with Farhan, forgetting felt inevitable.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
Chapter 20
Two Weeks Into Marriage
The afternoon heat hit like a physical wall as Divya pushed through the studio’s side entrance. Her glasses slid down her nose as sweat gathered at her temples. She pushed them back up with her knuckle, squinting at the message on her phone. A delivery for Vikram was waiting at the main gate, documents he needed for a shoot in Dubai two months later, and it couldn’t be entrusted to just anyone.
She could have sent an intern. Should have sent an intern. But the courier required signature verification, and some habits died harder than others. Managing Vikram’s logistics was the one thing she knew how to do without second-guessing herself.
As she approached the main gate, she spotted a cluster of journalists and photographers loitering just outside the perimeter. Waiting. Hunting. Their cameras hung like weapons, ready to capture anything that might give them a headline.
She slowed her pace instinctively. The studio’s security guard spotted her, gesturing toward a package held by a courier who stood just inside the gate.
“Divya Madam,” he called, waving her over.
The movement caught the journalists’ attention. Heads turned. Cameras lifted. She forced herself forward, keeping her eyes on the security guard, not the lenses now pointed in her direction.
“Delivery for Mr. Vikram Khanna,” the courier said, holding out an electronic signature pad. “Needs authorized signature only.”
Divya nodded, scribbling her name where indicated. As she took the package, a voice called from behind the gate.
“Mrs. Khanna! Just a few questions!”
She didn’t turn. Just held the package and nodded thanks to the guard. But as she turned to leave, a woman’s voice cut through the babble.