CHAPTER 9
Yamini stood outside the Jogra law office for a moment longer than necessary, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, her narrowed gaze fixed on the polished brass nameplate beside the entrance.
It was close to noon, and she was running late for the appointment.
This time it wasn’t because she had overslept. In fact, she had barely slept. She spent the entire night tossing and turning while the same thoughts ran through her mind again and again.
By morning, her anger and determination had only grown further.
Even though she was up and ready on time, she waited several hours before heading out to the lawyer’s office.
She refused to be intimidated.
Not by the cold, arrogant maharaja. Or his team of lawyers.
She knew Bharat Jogra wouldn’t even bother attending the so-called meeting scheduled for the contract signing.
His lawyers would handle everything.
He would stay out of it and simply wait for her to back down.
Yamini’s lips pressed together.
Jerk.
She adjusted her grip on her bag and climbed the steps without hesitation.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted the moment she crossed the threshold, the air cooler and quieter, carrying the subtle scent of polished wood, leather, and freshly brewed coffee.
The reception area opened into a wide corridor lined with dark paneling and discreetly placed artwork, each piece chosen with restraint rather than display.
Yamini took it in for a brief moment, then walked forward without slowing down.
At the reception desk, a woman in a tailored charcoal suit looked up as Yamini approached. Her gaze moved briefly over Yamini’s pink cotton kurta and embroidered bag, the assessment quick but practiced, before settling into a polite, professional smile.
“Good morning,” she said. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Yamini replied. “Yamini Dhar. I was asked to come here this morning.”
The receptionist’s fingers paused over the keyboard. She looked up, and her eyes widened slightly before she straightened.
“Please go right through, Miss Dhar,” she said, stepping out from behind the desk and gesturing toward the inner corridor.
Yamini nodded once and walked forward.
Inside, glass-enclosed offices revealed teams working in focused silence, screens filled with documents and data, their conversations low.
She knew this was not a place that handled routine disputes or small clients. It was the kind of place where outcomes were expected to be controlled long before they were signed.
Just as the receptionist turned a corner, Yamini saw them.
Two men in dark suits stood outside a conference room at the far end, their posture alert, their attention sharp even in stillness.
Her steps faltered slightly as she recognized them.
She had seen them at the Jogra steel plant.
Royal security.
He is here.
Her heart jerked hard.
Before she could decide what to do with that realization, one of the guards nodded respectfully, reached for the handle, and opened the door.
She saw two lawyers seated along one side of the long table, files open, pens aligned, their attention towards the head of the table.
Then the door opened wider.
And she saw him.
Maharaja Bharat Singh Jogra sat at the head of the table. He wasn’t leaning back or sitting relaxed. He sat completely still in a way that felt authoritative and intimidating. His hand rested on the table near the open file, the heavy gold signet ring catching the light for a moment.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.
He did not rise or greet her or even look at her. His attention remained on the file in front of him.
Anger flared in her chest.
Yamini took the seat opposite the lawyers and slightly to the left of Bharat.
The table was long, gleaming, and spotless.
Two advocates sat across from her with folders arranged in neat stacks, glasses of water placed with exact symmetry, pens aligned parallel to the edges of their notepads.
The whole room felt like it had been prepared according to the wishes of the maharaja who owned the entire law office.
“Princess Yamini Gaur,” the older of the two lawyers said with a professional smile. “I am Advocate Meera Khanna, and this is Advocate Rhea Malhotra. We’ll walk you through the highlighted terms before we proceed to signing.”
“The marriage is structured as a three-year contract,” Advocate Khanna continued. “All other clauses operate within that window.”
Of course Bharat Jogra would have known about her grandmother's trust deadline. The three-year clause in the contract was too convenient.
Yamini didn’t show any reaction.
She could feel Bharat’s presence without looking at him directly, the same way she could feel heat near a flame even when she wasn’t facing it. He sat in complete stillness, one hand resting near the file, the other on the arm of the chair, dressed in a dark suit.
Advocate Khanna began.
At first, Yamini pretended to listen politely.
Marriage terms. Public protocol. Residency expectations.
Media restrictions. Financial independence.
Professional autonomy. Confidentiality. Her eyes moved over the pages in front of her while the lawyer’s voice continued in smooth, practiced tones, but after the first several minutes, the words began to blur around the edges as her anger grew.
I can’t believe he had ordered a team of people to sit through this farce just to intimidate me.
Advocate Malhotra slid a page toward her. “This section deals with financial settlement, independent assets, and ongoing professional rights,” she said.
The lawyer read them aloud. A personal account structure protected from marital interference.
Independent control over her professional income.
Separate financial management. A settlement figure so large that, for a second, she thought she had read it wrong.
It made her grandmother’s inheritance seem like a paltry sum.
Her brows drew together.
This is ridiculous.
No, it was worse than ridiculous.
It was deliberate.
The generous clauses only made her angrier because she could suddenly see exactly what he was doing.
He thought a fat financial settlement and carefully worded protections would make her greedy. He thought she would get her hopes up, only to be humiliated when the whole thing collapsed.
Her fingers tightened against the paper.
So that was the game.
Not just intimidation. Temptation too.
How bloody clever of him.
Advocate Khanna continued, speaking about boundaries and future obligations, but Yamini only half-listened now. Her eyes moved over paragraphs while her mind ran somewhere else entirely.
She became aware of Bharat turning a page in his own file.
The sound was small, but in that quiet room it seemed to scratch lightly over her nerves.
She looked at him then.
He was not watching her openly. His gaze was lowered to the contract, his expression unchanged, as if the terms under discussion were routine and uninteresting.
That only annoyed her more.
At least have the decency to look pleased with yourself, she thought bitterly.
Instead, he sat there like a man reviewing a business merger.
By the time the lawyers reached the heirs clause, Yamini’s anger boiled and simmered.
Advocate Malhotra finished the final summary and closed her file neatly.
“Those are the principal terms,” she said.
“You have already had the opportunity to review the full document. If there are any additions, removals, or modifications either party would like reflected before signing, we can note them now.”
The room went quiet.
Yamini’s gaze moved slowly from the lawyer to the contract and then, finally, to Bharat Jogra.
He wasn’t looking at her.
She sat back slightly and folded her hands on the table, forcing her voice to be calm.
“Yes,” she said. “There is one change I want.”
Advocate Khanna picked up her pen. “Please go ahead.”
Yamini kept her eyes on Bharat.
“The heirs clause needs to be revised,” she said casually. “I want two heirs specified, not one.”
The lawyers looked shocked.
For the first time since she had entered the room, Yamini saw the smallest shift in Bharat’s face. It was not enough for most people to notice. A faint stillness around the eyes. The slightest tightening in his jaw.
Anger. Or maybe distaste.
Good.
She continued in the same offhand tone.
“One child is necessary to fulfill my grandmother’s trust condition,” she said, her tone casual. “The second is because I have always wanted two children. If this contract is supposed to account for obligations and expectations properly, then it should reflect that.”
The room remained silent for a long moment.
Yamini could feel her own pulse in her throat now, but she did not look away.
Come on, she thought. Say something.
Object.
Lose your bloody composure.
Finally, Bharat looked up, his golden-brown eyes meeting hers.
She held her breath at the sheer intensity of his gaze.
“Add the clause,” he commanded.
That was all.
The lawyer didn’t hesitate. She simply wrote it down.
“Noted. This will be reflected under the succession clause already present in His Highness's terms.”
Yamini stared at him.
Succession clause?
She recalled Pooja’s words about the rumors of Rani Suchitra having an heir clause for her sons.
For a brief and deeply annoying moment, uncertainty flickered through her.
Could this be real?
As soon as the thought rose, she crushed it.
The succession clause, which didn’t exist five years ago, was being conveniently used against her.
And he had agreed to her two heirs without argument.
That only proved he was committed to the performance.
He was so determined to make this look real that he would agree to anything as long as it drove her away.
Cold, arrogant man.
Advocate Malhotra adjusted the page order and slid the final contract toward them. “If there are no further revisions, we may proceed.”
Yamini looked at the pen placed neatly above the signature line.
This was the point where he expected hesitation. Where he expected second thoughts.
Where he expected her to realize the enormity of the setup and lose her nerve.
She raised her chin slightly and picked up the pen.
For a brief moment, something didn’t sit right. The fancy pen felt heavy in her hand and her stomach fluttered nervously.
She ignored it.
She wasn’t backing down.
Her hand was steady as she signed in the places indicated.
When she finished, she closed the folder herself and pushed it back toward the lawyers.
“Done,” she said in a tone that held challenge.
Advocate Khanna gave her a polite smile. “Thank you, Princess Yamini. The revised final copy will be sent to you shortly.”
The lawyers stood. Yamini did too. Bharat rose last.
Even standing, he gave nothing away. There was no triumph or annoyance or even satisfaction. Just that same unreadable stillness that had irritated her from the beginning.
“It must have taken you a long time to prepare this contract,” she said, her tone slightly mocking. “Miss Mehta would be pissed when she finds out how you replaced her name with mine, even though it’s temporary.”
He didn’t react. His handsome face remained impassive as a marble statue.
Yamini wanted, absurdly and fiercely, to shake him. To force some kind of crack in that impossible composure.
For a moment, she hesitated. Then her heart thudded.
She knew what she could say that would infuriate him.
“By the way, when is the happy occasion?” she asked in a deliberate, sweet tone. “I can’t wait to be the Jogra Maharani. This time… I promise not to run away.”
Advocate Khanna and Malhotra’s eyes widened.
Bharat’s expression did not change.
“The ceremony will be held tomorrow morning,” he said.
Her smile nearly slipped, and her fingers tightened around her bag strap.
How can he not be furious?
Anyone would have. But he didn’t.
She had deliberately brought up their past.
A past that cost them both. It brought him humiliation. And a disgrace to her.
But it hadn’t just stopped with disgrace for her. She was disowned by her family. She trusted the wrong man and was left divorced and broke.
All of this while Bharat Jogra remained a powerful maharaja.
His humiliation most likely lasted a day, while she continued to suffer the consequences even now.
With a shuddering breath, she turned away.
Outside, the noise of traffic seemed louder after the controlled quiet of the office, and for a moment, she simply stood on the steps, breathing, letting the city pull her back into something normal.
Her phone rang almost immediately.
Another unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Princess Yamini,” a man’s voice came through, smooth and composed. “This is Imran.”
Yamini recognized the name. He was Bharat Jogra’s assistant.
“Yes?” Her tone held challenge.
“I’m calling to inform you that a team of stylists will arrive at your residence shortly.”
She drew a deep breath. He most likely expected her to panic. Or beg to speak with Bharat immediately.
“Sure,” she said in an even tone. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Imran replied smoothly. “Please keep your schedule clear for the next two days. Further details will be sent shortly.”
The line disconnected.
Yamini lowered the phone slowly.
A thought occurred to her.
What if this isn’t an intimidation technique? What if this is real? What if he really wants to marry me?
She immediately pushed it away.
Bharat Singh Jogra was not just any man. He was a maharaja, and men like him did not make decisions like this overnight. They did not get married without their family’s approval, especially not to a woman who had once humiliated them publicly by running away.
There was no way his mother would agree to this. Not within a day, and especially not to her.
The carefully staged contract and a few calls were meant to keep her unsettled.
Yamini’s lips pressed together, her earlier irritation returning, steadier now, more certain.
A styling team wasn’t going to show up at her apartment.
This was all part of the intimidation tactic.
He was waiting for her to break.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her bag.
He thought the contract would scare her or tempt her. He thought the speed, the scale, the sheer weight of it would make her hesitate, make her question herself, make her step back.
He thought she would do what she had done once before and disappear when things became too real.
Not this time.
She wouldn’t step back.
She wanted to see how far Maharaja Bharat Singh Jogra was willing to go.