CHAPTER 5
Nothing had been normal since the royal helicopter had landed at the environmental event.
Yamini stared at the message until the words blurred.
Jogra Steel.
Bharat.
She set the cup down carefully, as if even a small movement might disturb the fragile control she was holding on to. For a moment, she considered calling Pooja, and for another, she thought about switching off her phone and pretending none of this existed.
Instead, she inhaled slowly and typed back:
Yamini: Confirmed.
She dressed quickly and without overthinking, choosing comfort over appearance, function over anything else.
When she clipped her ID to her pocket, her fingers paused for a second.
Yamini Dhar.
Not Princess Yamini Gaur.
She picked up her bag and left.
The station was crowded and loud. She found her seat by the window and forced herself to focus on work. Today was simple.
Pictures of the plant. Workers in helmets. Clean branding visuals.
And worst case, maybe a few shots of Bharat from a distance if the PR team needed him in frame.
I can do this.
She repeated it in her mind until it sounded believable.
By the time the train reached the industrial town, heat already rose. She hired a cab, gave the address.
As the cab got closer to the plant, she saw the police barricades. And beyond them, the protest.
It wasn’t a scattered group or a handful of people with placards. It was a wall of people pressed against metal barricades, shouting slogans that rolled across the air like waves. Hand-painted placards rose and fell.
STOP POISONING OUR AIR
SAVE OUR RIVER
JOGRA STEEL = DEATH
A few protestors banged drums. Others screamed into megaphones. Most of them wore scarves covering their faces from dust and heat.
The cab slowed at a checkpoint where security stood alongside police, their posture alert and watchful.
Yamini’s mouth went dry as she stepped out.
The noise hit her full in the chest. People yelling. Police barking orders. Protestors pushing forward, then being shoved back.
She adjusted her camera strap and moved toward the gate.
A guard raised his hand.
“ID.”
She handed it over, steady.
“Photographer?”
“Yes. PR vendor.”
He scanned it, studied her face for a moment longer than necessary, and then stepped aside.
“Go in. No photos outside the perimeter.”
She nodded and walked through, the gate closing behind her with a heavy clang that felt almost final.
The noise faded slightly inside the compound, but it didn’t disappear. It seeped through the fencing. A constant reminder that outside these walls, people wanted the plant shut down.
Inside, the plant stretched massively. Pipes, towers, smoke stacks, giant sheds. Trucks moving in lines. Workers in orange helmets walking with purpose. The air smelled like hot metal and dust.
Was Bharat Jogra inside?
Her heart thudded hard.
You are here to work.
She signed in, received a badge, and was handed a bright yellow safety helmet.
“Madam, wear this at all times. And the vest.”
She did as instructed and followed the marked path toward the briefing zone.
That’s where she saw Tina Mehta.
Dressed in a crisp blazer that seemed completely unsuited for the heat, her hair in a sleek knot, Tina stood with a clipboard in hand. An assistant stood beside her, looking nervous.
Tina was pointing at a worker who looked like he wanted to disappear.
“Why is this area not cleaned?” Tina snapped. “If the chief minister is sending a team, the least you can do is keep the place presentable.”
The worker opened his mouth, then shut it again. He nodded and hurried away.
Tina turned, scanning the area, and her gaze landed on Yamini.
“Who are you?” Tina demanded.
“I’m the photographer,” Yamini said.
Tina’s eyes narrowed. “The international award-winning photographer?”
Yamini nodded.
Tina looked her up and down as though deciding whether Yamini was worth speaking to. “You don’t look too experienced.” She seemed unimpressed.
“I was hired for PR coverage,” Yamini said.
Tina’s lips curled. “Whatever, listen carefully. You will not photograph anything I don’t approve.”
Yamini held her expression steady. “I’ll follow the PR brief. If you have specific requirements, I can include them.”
Tina’s eyes narrowed, as if annoyed that Yamini dared to reply instead of simply agreeing.
“I don’t ‘have specific requirements,’” Tina said, voice dripping with superiority. “I decide what goes out. I’m leading the environmental compliance report.”
“Understood,” Yamini replied. “I’ll coordinate with the PR lead as well, so we’re aligned.”
A pause followed, brief but charged.
Tina’s jaw tightened. “Do that.”
Then Tina turned away sharply, barking at her assistant. “Get me the latest emission charts. And tell the operations manager I want a walkthrough of the effluent treatment plant first.”
Yamini did not react.
She’d seen people like Tina before. Wanting to throw their weight around and expecting to be obeyed.
But Yamini had seen real authority, and Tina, for all her confidence, did not belong in that category.
She lifted her camera and began working.
The morning passed steadily.
She captured wide shots of the plant, workers in motion, machinery in operation, and carefully staged moments meant for public consumption.
Tina moved through the space constantly, issuing instructions, correcting details, and inserting herself into every frame.
Yamini acknowledged her when necessary and ignored her when she could.
By noon, the heat had become almost unbearable. Sweat gathered under her helmet, and the weight of the equipment pressed against her shoulder. She stepped into a shaded area, took a long drink of water, and checked her shots.
They were good.
Just as she adjusted one of the shots, she felt a sudden shift in the energy.
It was subtle at first, but unmistakable. Workers straightened, security adjusted positions, and conversations lowered.
Tina’s posture changed instantly, her expression shifting into something more polished, and her voice softened to nearly sweet.
Yamini didn’t have to look.
She already felt him.
Her fingers tightened around the camera as she slowly turned.
Bharat Singh Jogra walked into the steel plant like he owned the ground under everyone’s feet. Which he did.
He appeared tall even when surrounded by large machinery. His posture was straight and his movements precise. His dark suit looked untouched by the dust and heat around him, and he wore no helmet. He held sunglasses in his hand, and the gold insignia ring on his finger caught the light.
His bodyguards moved with him, two in front, two behind, scanning everything. Two male assistants walked close, holding tablets.
Tina moved toward him quickly, her smile bright.
“Your Highness,” she said, her tone suddenly measured and soft. “We’ve started the walkthrough. The team is ready whenever you are.”
Bharat acknowledged her with a brief nod and continued walking. He did not slow down or engage.
Tina stumbled briefly before matching his pace, continuing to speak as if she had not been dismissed.
“We’re going to make sure the report addresses public concerns. We can highlight your CSR efforts too—”
Bharat said nothing. Didn’t even glance.
And yet Yamini felt it, the quiet force of his presence pressing through everything else.
She lifted her camera slowly and framed him through the lens.
Click. Click.
His steps remained steady.
Then his head turned. Not towards Tina. But towards her.
Their eyes met. And this time, she saw a flicker in the golden-brown eyes.
Recognition was clear. There was no mistaking it this time.
Yamini felt it like a jolt, sharp and undeniable.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
The protests outside faded. Tina’s voice became background noise. The air seemed to thicken.
It was only Bharat Jogra looking at her while she stood there in a yellow helmet, suddenly aware of her own heartbeat.
She held still.
Then the next moment, he turned away.
He put his sunglasses back on and continued walking, his expression unreadable, his pace unchanged.
As if nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just seen his runaway bride from five years ago.
Yamini slowly lowered her camera, forcing her hands to stay steady.
Her chest felt tight.
He recognized me.
She knew he did.
She held her breath as she waited. She expected him to turn and command, “Remove her.” Or for the guards to step toward her and ask her to leave.
But nothing happened.
He walked inside the offices, and the doors closed behind him.
Tina had to wait outside as security didn’t allow her to follow.
Yamini let out an exhale.
For the rest of the day, she kept working.
She did her job and didn’t look in the direction of Bharat’s office more than necessary.
But she could feel time stretching.
Every hour that passed without him doing anything made her nerves worse.
Tina continued her act, floating around the plant with a clipboard, snapping at workers since Bharat wasn’t around, then smiling and being pleasant when his security passed by.
Tina strode towards Yamini.
“You,” Tina said sharply. “What are you doing?”
“I’m working,” Yamini replied.
Tina’s eyes hardened. “Just remember your place. This project isn’t about your ‘creative vision.’ It’s about showing Maharaja Bharat Singh Jogra’s company in a good light.”
Yamini met her eyes. “My job is to capture what happens. If you want staged images, you can hire a studio team.”
Tina’s pale skin flushed. “Excuse me?”
Yamini didn’t raise her voice. “I’ll send the PR lead a draft set by evening. If you have objections, send them through official channels.”
For a moment, Tina looked like she wanted to slap her.
Then a security guard walked past, and Tina’s expression switched back to polished and pleasant.
“Fine,” Tina said tightly.
Yamini turned away before she could say something she’d regret.
By late afternoon, her feet ached. Her hair was sweaty under the helmet. Her camera bag dug into her shoulder.
She packed up her equipment, signed out at the PR desk, and waited in the shaded area near the gate for her cab.
She kept expecting Bharat to appear. To call her into his office. To demand an explanation.
He didn’t.
No one approached her, and no one said anything.
She was allowed to leave like she was any other vendor.
Outside, the protest noise hit her again as she stepped into the cab.
She stared ahead, her thoughts circling the same point.
He had seen her. He had recognized her. And he had still walked away without any reaction.
Her grip tightened on her bag.
It wasn’t relief she felt. Relief would have been easier.
It was irritation.
A sharp, unexpected sting to her pride.
Five years ago, he hadn’t noticed her. Today, he had.
And she still wasn’t worth a word.
Yamini let out a noisy breath.
Cold bastard.