Chapter 12
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Yamini was inside her apartment when Pooja arrived just after six, carrying a paper bag that smelled like Chinese food and a plastic bottle of cola like she’d come to comfort a friend through a breakup.
Pooja took one look at her face and walked in without waiting for permission. “Okay. Tell me everything.”
She placed the bag on the table and pulled out two foil containers. The smell of chili garlic noodles and fried rice filled the room. She set out plastic forks and small sauce packets like she’d done a hundred times during their university days.
Yamini brought out two plates, transferring the noodles and fried rice before talking. “The protests outside the steel plant are huge. Police, private security. Tina Mehta was there too at the steel plant. She is the environmental consultant leading the program.”
Pooja twirled a forkful of noodles. “Oh wow. Were Tina and Bharat Jogra flirting?”
Yamini almost laughed, imagining Bharat flirting.
“No, he came later at sharp noon, did a factory walkthrough, and spent most of the time in his office.”
“He didn’t respond to Tina?”
Yamini knew Pooja wanted gossip. “He nodded once. That’s it.
No conversation. No… anything.” Yamini didn’t add the part where Bharat’s attention had flicked to her for a second.
She didn’t know why she held that back. Maybe because the fact that he didn’t bother acknowledging her still stung.
“He walked into the building like Tina didn’t exist.”
Pooja’s face lit up with the kind of joy only gossip could create. “Oh, this is delicious.”
“It’s annoying.”
“It’s perfect.” Pooja pointed the fork at her. “And what about you? Did he look at you?”
Yamini’s heart jumped like it had been waiting for that question. She kept her face neutral. “I was working. I stayed out of his way.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Yamini took a bite, chewing too long, buying time. “He… didn’t say anything.”
Pooja stared at her as though she could see through her lies. Then she sighed dramatically. “Fine. Keep your secrets for now. I’ll get it from you later.”
Yamini rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you.” Pooja leaned back, making herself comfortable.
Yamini reached for the cola bottle to pour herself a drink when her phone vibrated on the table.
It was an unknown number. Wondering if it was related to her job application, she picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Princess Yamini Gaur?”
The name was spoken softly, but it jolted her.
Yamini’s fingers stilled around the phone. Across the table, Pooja paused mid-bite, sensing the shift.
“Yes,” Yamini said slowly. “Who is this?”
“This is Mr. Sharma calling from the Sandhu Royal Trust Board.”
Yamini’s jaw tightened. Her mother must have given them her number because the royal trust belonged to her mother’s family.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“This is a formal reminder regarding the inheritance left to you by your late grandmother, Maharani Lachmi Sahiba Sandhu. As per the trust conditions, you have three years remaining to fulfill the eligibility criteria.”
Yamini’s grip tightened. She already knew what that meant.
“You are required to be legally married within the royal community and have an heir before the age of thirty-one in order to claim the inheritance. Given your personal circumstances over the past five years, the board has made a one-time adjustment to the original deadline. You have three years remaining as of today. Failure to meet these conditions will result in redistribution.”
The words were calm and precise, delivered without hesitation, as though they were not outlining the course of her life.
Yamini leaned back slightly, her eyes unfocused.
Five years ago, her mother’s voice had sounded just as calm.
Maharaja Bharat Singh Jogra is the right match.
Yamini had laughed back then. “You think I care for his money or titles?”
Her mother had looked at her steadily. “I know you are too proud and independent to spend your husband’s money.
But you will gain your grandmother’s inheritance after marriage.
You can use it however you wish… for your photography.
Papa won’t have a say in it. In fact, Papa will approve of your marriage with the Jogra Maharaja. ”
Those words had played a huge role in her decision to accept the alliance.
Not for the title. But for the freedom the inheritance would offer her. And for her father’s approval.
But then she had met Bharat Jogra. A man who hadn’t even looked at her on their engagement day. That had made the decision to give up the inheritance easy.
“I’m aware of the conditions,” Yamini replied in a steady voice on the phone to the Royal Trust enforcer.
“Of course, Your Highness,” the man replied. “This is just a reminder, given the timeline.”
Three years.
It sounded longer than it felt.
“If you have any questions, please reach out.”
“I won’t,” Yamini said, before she could stop herself.
A small pause followed.
“Very well. Thank you for your time, Your Highness.”
The call ended.
For a second, Yamini didn’t move.
Pooja slowly lowered her fork. “Okay… who was that?”
Yamini let out a breath and leaned back in her chair. “My grandmother’s trust,” she said. “I have three years left.”
“For what?”
“To get married to a royal and have a child before thirty-one,” Yamini muttered.
Pooja’s eyes widened. “What?”
Yamini gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Those are the conditions. In royal families, love is optional, but bloodline and timing are not.”
Pooja leaned forward, suddenly fully invested. “That’s insane.”
Yamini shrugged. “They’re just controlling tactics dressed up as tradition. I didn’t even think about that inheritance after I left. I chose Rahul. I chose my stupid fairytale.”
Pooja’s face softened. “You chose what you thought was love.”
Yamini scoffed. “I chose a charming liar who cheated on me and then emptied my savings account.”
Pooja’s expression turned sharp with anger. “I still want to punch that asshole.”
“Get in line,” Yamini muttered.
Silence settled for a moment, heavier this time.
Then Pooja frowned. “You know I’ve heard rumors of similar conditions set by Rani Suchitra on her sons. Something about having heirs by the time they turn thirty-five. There was even some sort of selection event hosted last year by Rani Suchitra, where most of the royalty apparently attended.”
Yamini wasn’t surprised. Such conditions existed in most of the royal trusts. But she didn’t think Rani Suchitra would place such conditions on her sons. She hadn’t heard such a thing five years ago.
“Must be rumors,” Yamini muttered, taking a bite of her noodles.
Pooja tilted her head slightly. “Or maybe it’s true. Then you could just ask Bharat Jogra to marry you.”
Yamini nearly choked on her noodles.
She coughed, grabbing the cola while Pooja pushed the glass toward her, half-helpful and half-amused.
“Sorry,” Pooja said, though she was clearly not sorry. “I was joking.”
Yamini took a long sip, then glared at her. “You nearly killed me with that stupid joke.”
Pooja grinned. “But think about it. It solves everything. Your inheritance. Your social position. Your family drama. Both of you get the required heirs.”
“I am not marrying again,” Yamini said firmly. “And definitely not him. Tina Mehta is welcome to have that cold marble statue.”
Silence ensued, and Pooja’s expression softened again.
“You should marry again, Yamini,” she said. “You love children. You always have. You used to talk about wanting a big family back in university.”
Yamini’s chest tightened. “That was a long time ago.”
“It’s still you,” Pooja said gently. “You didn’t have kids with Rahul because you didn’t trust him. And you were right not to. He would have been a terrible father.”
Yamini nodded slowly. That part, at least, she had not been wrong about.
Pooja sighed, then brightened suddenly. “Still, I can imagine the kind of stunning babies you and Bharat Jogra would have had.”
Yamini grabbed a piece of fried noodle and threw it at her. “Shut up.”
Pooja laughed. “I am serious. Royal genes. Sharp cheekbones. Political power. It is practically a brand.”
“Get out,” Yamini said, but she was smiling now despite herself at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought.
Pooja stood, stretching. “Fine, I have to go anyway. I’m catching the flight to Jaipur tomorrow. But first, I need to speak to one bride who thinks ‘minimal décor’ means hiring only two elephants instead of four.”
Yamini laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all evening.
Pooja picked up her bag. “Keep me updated. Especially if Tina Mehta and the great Maharaja decide to create more drama.”
Yamini rolled her eyes. “Fine, I will.”
Pooja waved goodbye and left.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the apartment fell quiet again.
Maybe you should ask Bharat Jogra to marry you.
The words lingered in her mind, absurd and intrusive.
Yamini leaned back in her chair, staring at the half-empty plate in front of her.
It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
And yet, for a brief, reckless second, she imagined his reaction if she walked up to him and blurted the words.
Marry me.
He would finally react.
Not that composed, distant indifference. His handsome face would harden into a frown, real irritation breaking through. His golden-brown eyes would flash with anger as he ordered her out and fired her on the spot.
Yamini’s lips curved faintly.
Although it was just her fantasy, it gave her immense pleasure imagining the cold maharaja furious.