Chapter 37
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The exhibition hall hummed with low, controlled energy.
Soft music floated through the air, barely noticeable beneath murmured conversations.
The crowd was unmistakably elite, with women in understated couture and men in tailored suits—the kind of people who were accustomed to being watched rather than watching others.
Yamini stuck out in the crowd in her casual clothes. She had worn comfortable clothing because she had spent the day hanging the photographs in the studio.
“I am underdressed,” Yamini murmured.
Pooja didn’t seem to care. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Pooja whispered, eyes darting from one display to the next. “You are the Jogra maharani. Even if you wear a sack, you are still more elite than the rest of the crowd.”
Yamini snorted a soft laugh. “You are biased.”
“Oh, I absolutely am,” Pooja said cheerfully. “And remember, your husband owns this building.”
Yamini hadn’t forgotten that fact. Not that she could even if she wanted to since the Jogra crest sat on top of the building as a reminder.
They moved deeper into the hall, past ornate necklaces, rare gemstones, and heirloom pieces displayed like artifacts in a museum rather than objects meant to be worn. Most of the jewelry was extravagantly heavy, dramatic, and unmistakably expensive.
Yamini had seen such pieces worn by royalty during some of the events she had attended along with her parents.
She was passing by one such display when she suddenly stopped.
She didn’t realize she had until Pooja took two steps ahead and turned back, puzzled.
“Yamini?”
Yamini stood frozen before a glass case near the far wall.
Inside lay a gold chain. It was simple, almost understated compared to the other pieces. But the pendant stole her breath.
A fish.
It was crafted in emerald so deep it bordered on forest green, and it was edged delicately with diamonds that caught the light without overwhelming the stone.
Something about it reached into her chest and tightened.
She stepped closer, her pulse quickening as she read the small placard beside the case.
Late 19th century.
Commissioned by a northern ruler for his consort of coastal origin.
Emerald and diamond pendant.
Privately held for generations.
Entered auction mid-20th century.
Yamini’s breath caught as her mind flooded with memories.
Her mother’s voice, warm and nostalgic, telling her stories at bedtime.
You get your skin from her, you know.
Her father’s exasperated sigh whenever Yamini came home scraped, bruised, or covered in dirt.
Those fisherwoman genes, he’d mutter. No fear at all.
And the pride she’d always felt.
The fisherwoman maharani. Her great-grandmother. Rani Vidharba Singh Gaur.
A woman who had grown up by the sea, wild and unpolished. She had caught a king’s attention who fell in love with her at first sight.
The necklace had been a gift. A declaration of undying love.
Yamini had always loved that story. It wasn’t because of the king falling in love, but because of the woman. Wild and unpolished and completely herself, and someone had looked at her and seen a queen.
She had wanted that, once. To be seen completely and chosen anyway.
She wasn't sure she still believed it was possible.
Pooja leaned closer. “Do you know who this belongs to?”
“Yes,” Yamini replied softly. “It belonged to my great-grandmother.”
Pooja looked at her in surprise.
Before Pooja could ask anything more, Yamini turned slightly and addressed the exhibition hostess standing nearby.
“What’s the price?”
The hostess smiled politely, preparing to answer when another voice cut in.
“Well, well. I didn’t expect to see you here, Miss Dhar.”
The voice was smooth. Familiar. And laced with quiet superiority.
Yamini turned.
Tina stood a few feet away, impeccably dressed in designer silk, diamonds gleaming at her ears and wrist. Her gaze moved over Yamini slowly, deliberately, lingering on the lack of jewelry, the practical shoes, the absence of anything that screamed status.
A smile curved Tina’s lips. It wasn’t warm.
“This exhibition is quite exclusive,” Tina continued lightly. “Most people come here knowing they can actually purchase what they’re admiring.”
Pooja bristled instantly. “Excuse me—”
Yamini squeezed Pooja’s hand subtly while she met Tina’s gaze. “I wasn’t aware there was a dress code or an income requirement for appreciating art.”
Tina’s smile tightened, just a fraction. “There isn’t. Officially.” Tina turned to the hostess. “What’s the base price on this piece?”
The hostess hesitated, then quoted the figure.
It was astronomical.
A ripple of interest passed through the nearby listeners. Pooja inhaled sharply but kept quiet.
Tina looked back at Yamini, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “Can you afford it, Miss Dhar?”
The question hung there, designed to humiliate. Yamini felt the weight of it.
Her hand moved involuntarily toward her bag before she stopped it.
The sleek black card was there. Had been there, untouched, since the first breakfast at the Jogra palace.
She thought of Bharat Jogra placing it beside her plate without looking at her.
She then thought of her ex-husband, who had helped himself to her money, leaving her bankrupt.
She dropped her hand.
Some things you didn't buy with someone else's money. Not because you couldn't, but because of what it would mean if you did.
Yamini knew she could easily reply yes to Tina’s question. But she didn’t.
There was a smug look on Tina’s face before she turned to the hostess. “I’ll be buying it.”
“The bidding closes tomorrow evening, Miss Mehta,” the hostess said.
“Oh, I’ll win for sure,” Tina replied without hesitation.
She looked at Yamini one last time. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the next factory shoot, Miss Dhar. Although I doubt you’d be allowed to stay long.”
With that parting shot, Tina Mehta walked away.
As Tina disappeared into the crowd, Pooja let out a sharp breath, her hands curling into fists. She leaned in close, her voice tight with outrage.
“I was this close to telling her exactly who you are,” she hissed. “Princess. Maharani. Bharat Singh Jogra’s wife. Just watching her face fall would’ve been worth it.”
Yamini laughed softly, the tension easing from her shoulders. She shook her head and nudged Pooja with her elbow. “You better not blurt out anything.”
Pooja scowled. “Can’t afford it? As if! Your husband literally owns the entire building. He can buy the entire collection without batting an eyelid.”
Yamini was touched and amused by Pooja’s outrage. “You need to shh,” she said teasingly. “Or we’ll start a scandal that lands me deeper into my formidable mother-in-law’s bad books.”
Pooja groaned. “Fine. I’ll wait until the announcement.”
Yamini smiled before her gaze drifted back to the emerald pendant.
Her stomach clenched with longing.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to step away from the glass.
Some things belonged to stories.