"But you did not. Because the truth is something I kept hidden. Something I kept secret for reasons that I now realize were wrong."
He took a breath.
"Three months ago, I got married."
A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd. Whispers started immediately.
"I married an incredible woman. A woman who is brilliant and kind and everything I never knew I needed. A woman who works at this company, who earned her position through her own merit, her own talent. A woman who had no idea who I was when we first met, and who fell in love with me anyway."
My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe.
"I kept our marriage secret because I was a coward. Because I was protecting myself and my own interests instead of protecting her. And that secrecy, those lies of omission, they caused her tremendous pain. Pain she did not deserve. Pain I am responsible for."
His voice grew stronger.
"But tonight, that ends. Tonight, I want the world to know the truth. I want everyone here to know that I am married to the most remarkable woman I have ever met."
He looked directly at me.
"Viya Khanna. My wife."
The crowd turned as one, hundreds of pairs of eyes finding me standing next to Aryan. I felt frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe.
My heart was doing strange things in my chest. Part of me wanted to run, to hide from all these staring eyes, from theweight of this public declaration. He had just announced our marriage to everyone. To the business world. To his colleagues and partners and competitors. There was no taking this back now. No more secrets. No more hiding.
And yet, another part of me, the part I had been trying so hard to silence, felt something else entirely. Relief. Validation. A tiny, treacherous flutter of hope.
He had called me remarkable. Had told everyone I fell in love with him without knowing who he was. Had claimed me publicly as his wife in front of everyone who mattered in his world.
This was not the action of a man who saw me as temporary. As disposable. As a shield against fate.
This was the action of a man who was fighting for me. Who was willing to expose himself, to make himself vulnerable, to prove that I mattered.
I did not know if I was ready to forgive him. Did not know if I could ever fully trust him again. But standing there with hundreds of eyes on me, hearing my name spoken with such reverence and possession in his voice, I felt something inside me shift.
Just a little. Just enough to be dangerous.
Armaan descended from the stage and walked directly to me. He extended his hand.
"Come here, baby. Stand with me."
I looked at his outstretched hand, then at his face. There was vulnerability there. A silent plea.
I could refuse. Could turn around and walk away, make a scene, humiliate him in front of all these important people.
But something in his eyes stopped me.
Slowly, hesitantly, I placed my hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine immediately, possessive and warm.
He led me through the crowd, which parted to let us pass, and up onto the stage.
Under the lights, in front of everyone, he turned to face me.
"This is my wife," he said into the microphone, though his eyes never left mine. "The woman I love. The woman who is carrying my child. The woman I will spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of."
Someone brought two champagne glasses and a bottle. Armaan took the bottle but immediately set one of the glasses aside.
