Chapter 29
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Two hours later, Yamini stared up at the tall, sleek commercial building.
Pooja let out a low whistle beside her.
“Oh my god,” Pooja said. “Do you know where we’re standing right now?”
Yamini folded her arms, suddenly aware of the knot forming in her stomach. “I’m guessing you’re about to tell me.”
“This is the Dalview Collective,” Pooja said, eyes shining with excitement. “The most premium property in the entire nation! Ground floor hosts curated art exhibitions. Invitation-only previews. International collectors fly in just for those openings.”
Yamini swallowed. “I see.”
“I shot a launch party here last year,” Pooja continued in excitement. “You can’t just rent here. You need to earn the prestige of being worthy of it.”
Yamini felt the knot tighten in her stomach.
“What is it?” Pooja asked, reading Yamini’s expressive face clearly.
“He didn't offer me this because he's generous,” Yamini muttered. “He offered it because it keeps me in his close control.”
“What?” Pooja asked in a hushed voice. “Why wouldn’t he offer this place to you? You are the Jogra maharani.”
Yamini wasn’t too convinced.
“Oh, come on, Yamini. I know your ex was an untrustworthy jerk. But don’t lose out on this wonderful opportunity. Having a studio in such a place is a dream come true!”
Yamini sucked in a breath. Before she could say something, a woman in a crisp grey suit approached them, tablet tucked neatly under her arm.
“Miss Dhar,” the woman greeted with a polite smile. “I’m Zoya Mufti. I represent the Jogra Royal Estate’s commercial portfolio.”
Yamini returned the greeting. “Good morning.”
Zoya’s gaze lingered for half a second longer than professional courtesy required. Curious and assessing.
Yamini recognized the look instantly.
Who is she? How can she afford this?
Zoya and the rest of the world were yet to know that she was married to Bharat Jogra.
Pooja was restless with excitement. “We’re here to see the top floor.”
“Yes,” Zoya replied. “If you’ll follow me.”
They passed through the sleek lobby, marble floors gleaming under soft lights. Yamini caught glimpses of framed installations along the walls with minimalist sculptures, abstract photography, and names she recognized from international exhibitions.
Pooja leaned in, whispering, “Your work will fit perfectly here.”
Yamini didn’t answer. Her heart was beating too fast.
The elevator ride was silent, smooth. Zoya tapped the key card against the panel, selecting the top floor.
As the doors opened, Zoya stepped forward and slid the same card into a discreet slot beside a glass door.
There was a soft click and then she pushed the door open.
Light flooded the space.
Yamini stopped breathing.
The studio stretched wide and open, ceilings soaring high, windows lining the eastern wall exactly as Bharat had said. The light poured in clean and even without harsh glare or shadows fighting for dominance.
It was perfect. Too perfect.
“This is stunning!” Pooja spun slowly, eyes wide.
The floors were polished concrete. The walls bare but pristine. One side opened into a smaller enclosed room. Editing space, just as Bharat had described. Even the power outlets were placed thoughtfully along the walls.
Yamini walked forward, almost dazed, and stood where the light fell strongest.
She lifted her hand, watching the way the sun wrapped around her fingers.
Exactly right.
Her throat tightened.
“The space has been unoccupied by choice,” said Zoya. “The royal estate prefers long-term tenants aligned with certain standards.”
Pooja grinned. “Don’t worry. She’s perfect for the royal estate standards.”
Zoya smiled politely, though her curiosity hadn’t faded.
“This place,” Pooja continued excitedly, “will bring you the best clientele. Galleries, designers, collectors. Everyone who matters passes through this building.”
Yamini turned slowly, taking it all in again.
She didn’t want this.
She didn’t want to owe Bharat Jogra anything.
Didn’t want another invisible thread tying her tighter to a man who was cold, distant, and yet impossibly perceptive.
He’s a control freak.
And yet the light, the space, the endless possibility, pulled at her.
“I’ll take it,” Yamini said suddenly.
Pooja squealed with excitement.
Zoya nodded, unfazed. “I’ll prepare the paperwork.”
They moved to a minimalist desk near the window. Zoya slid a sleek folder across.
Yamini scanned the agreement, her signature line waiting at the bottom. The price was undisclosed. Blank.
Her jaw tightened.
As she signed, pen scratching across the paper, a strange thought crossed her mind.
Was she just renting a studio… or signing away another piece of herself?
She capped the pen and pushed the folder back.
Pooja hugged her tightly. “Congratulations!”
Yamini smiled faintly.
Inside, she wondered if she had just taken another step deeper into the orbit of a coldhearted maharaja who knew exactly how to make her say yes—even when she wanted to say no.