Chapter
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“Yamini, please don't hang up,” he said quickly. His voice was thinner than she remembered. “I need to talk to you. It's urgent.”
Her heart didn't soften.
It hardened.
“How did you get this number?” she asked.
Her voice was steady. No shake. No warmth.
“Your studio website,” he said. “You updated it with your India number.”
She remembered the argument with Bharat barely a day after their wedding. He had told her to change her number for security reasons. She had refused.
“Why are you calling me, Rahul?”
A pause.
Then his voice came through, frantic and raw. “You and your royal family have destroyed me.”
She frowned. “What?”
“My company has collapsed,” he said. “Funding pulled. Investors gone. Contracts canceled. International partners withdrew. Everything.”
“That sounds like business risk,” she said flatly.
“It wasn't.” His voice sharpened. “This was coordinated. Systematic. I thought it was bad luck at first. But it wasn't.”
“You cheated on me,” she said. “Repeatedly. You drained my bank account and left me with nothing. You don't get to call me and act like you're the one who was wronged.”
His breath came out ragged. “I know I cheated. Many times. You suspected. You argued. But you never had proof.”
Her jaw tightened. He was right. She had suspected for a long time and stayed anyway. She had told herself that loyalty to a marriage she chose mattered more than her self-respect. It had taken her too long to stop believing that.
“But the last time,” he continued, his voice dropping, “the photos just appeared out of nowhere.”
Her fingers tightened on the phone.
She remembered. An anonymous number. Clear, perfectly timed photographs.
She had never known who sent them. She had assumed it was someone from the hotel or a disgruntled business contact of Rahul's. She had been too relieved to question it.
“I thought it was someone from the hotel,” he said. “But those photos were too clear and taken at the right moment. Someone was waiting to take them.”
Yamini said nothing.
“You divorced me immediately after that,” he continued. “And right after the divorce, everything started falling apart. My funding. My contracts. My partners.”
“That divorce happened because I saw what you did,” she said.
“Your family made sure it moved faster than I could respond,” he said. “They made sure I couldn't contest it.”
“My family had nothing to do with the divorce,” she said.
But even as she said it, she recalled how quickly everything had moved with the lawyer and the paperwork.
She remembered signing papers while still reeling from the photographs. Everything had already been prepared. At the time, she had been grateful.
“You were supposed to marry the Jogra maharaja five years ago,” he pressed. “You ran away with me instead. Then, after the divorce, everything lined up again. I read the announcement. Your name as the new Jogra maharani. You think that's a coincidence?”
She didn't answer.
“It didn't stop with me,” he said. “The woman I cheated with lost her job within a month. No one will hire her. She's completely blacklisted.”
“That's also not my concern,” Yamini said.
“I'm nearly destitute.” His voice cracked. “I can't get funding. I can't rent a decent place. Doors close before I even knock. Someone is making sure I have nothing left.”
“You're blaming my family for your own failures.”
“I'm stating facts,” he said. “They have political reach. Social influence. Financial connections. It's not difficult for people like them to ruin someone if they decide to.”
Yamini didn't respond immediately.
Her family had pride and social standing. But international financial sabotage? Coordinated blacklisting across countries?
That seemed far beyond them.
“You were humiliated,” Rahul continued. “They wouldn't let that go.”
“You were humiliated because you cheated and stole from me,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “I know I was wrong. But this is driving me to the edge.”
Silence.
“Tell them to stop,” he said. “If this is about revenge, I've paid enough. I've lost everything.”
“My family does not orchestrate vendettas,” she said. “And even if they did, you brought it on yourself.”
“Yamini—”
“Don't call me again.”
She ended the call.
The studio was very quiet.
Across the room, Pooja was still reviewing prints, her back turned, unaware.
Yamini stood still.
Her family had influence, yes. But this level of reach?
She turned his words over slowly.
The photos. The timing. The speed of the divorce. The collapse of his business.
None of it sat neatly.
She straightened her shoulders. Whatever had happened to Rahul was not her problem. He had made his choices. She had made hers.
Still, the crease between her brows didn't smooth.
Rahul had always exaggerated. Manipulated. Shifted blame.
Yet one thing bothered her. He sounded genuinely afraid.
She knew she should put the phone down and get back to work, ignoring the call. But something made her pick up the phone again.
She found her brother's number and called.
He picked up on the third ring. “Yamini?”
“Bhai.” She kept her voice low. “I need you to answer something honestly.”
His tone shifted immediately. “What is it?”
“When I divorced Rahul, did Papa intervene? Did you? Did anyone from our side send the proof? Push the legal process?”
A pause.
“What?” Arjun said. He sounded genuinely confused. “We only found out when you called and told Ma.”
Her chest tightened. “You didn't know before?”
“No,” he said. “Papa didn't even want to discuss it. He was furious. Embarrassed.”
“And you?”
Silence.
“I wanted to come,” Arjun said softly. “Ma wanted to come too. But Papa stopped us. Said you had chosen your path.” His voice dropped further. “I still can't forgive myself. You called Ma crying, and I still listened to Papa’s order.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly. She had needed them then. She had told herself for five years that she hadn't. But she had.
“I know how Papa is,” she said. “I don't blame you. Or Ma.”
She heard him exhale.
There was a moment of quiet between them.
“My ex-husband called me today,” she said. “He's accusing our family of destroying him. He said Papa sent those photos of him cheating and then had his company collapse.”
“What?”
“He thinks someone used influence to ruin him.”
“It wasn't Papa,” Arjun said. “It wasn't me either.” A short pause. “I wish it had been and that we had that kind of influence. That bastard deserved everything he got and more.”
Yamini believed him without hesitation.
“Thank you, bhai,” she said. “Don't worry about this. Tell Ma I'll call her soon.”
She ended the call.
Yamini stood still while her brother's words settled in her mind.
Her family hadn't known. Hadn't sent the photos. And hadn't intervened.
Which meant it wasn't them.
There was only one family she knew with that kind of reach.
Her heart began to beat faster.
Bharat Jogra’s family.
He didn’t just operate in one city or one industry. Steel. Shipping. Infrastructure. Media. Security. Politics. They operated across states. Across borders. International contracts could be redirected with a phone call. Investors could be quietly steered away. Careers could simply stop.
She thought back.
The environmental event. Bharat had been the chief guest.
Then, barely days later, the offer had arrived. A PR photography project. Unusually well-paid. The kind of number that didn't make sense for a standard contract.
The client had been Bharat Jogra's steel factories.
She had told herself it was a coincidence. Irony. Fate.
Her stomach tightened.
But I proposed to him.
She desperately held onto that thought.
She had barged into his office. Said the words herself. It had been impulsive, reckless, half-challenge and half-frustration.
He had agreed immediately.
No hesitation. No time requested. No discussion.
Bharat Jogra, the most methodical, controlled man she had ever met, had agreed on the spot.
Her breath shortened.
The contract had arrived within two hours. A hundred pages. Drafted, structured, and airtight.
She had assumed it had been prepared for a faceless bride to fulfill an heir clause. She was even sure it was Tina Mehta.
But what if it hadn't been written for a faceless bride or Tina Mehta?
What if it had been waiting for her specifically?
The thought moved through her slowly and coldly.
The photography event, the project offer, the speed of the divorce, the systematic collapse of Rahul's business — none of it sat neatly.
What if none of it was a coincidence?
What if she had walked into something already planned?
She shook her head.
No.
This was paranoia. It had to be.
Bharat was controlled. Strategic. Precise. But cruel?
She thought of the studio he had arranged for her. The kitten he had allowed to stay. The emerald pendant that had belonged to her great-grandmother was recovered from an auction and left beside her breakfast plate without a word.
The ceremonial sword he had offered in front of an entire valley.
The way he kissed her now.
None of those things were in the contract.
Her chest tightened.
She was falling for him.
That was the part that frightened her most.
Because the man she was beginning to want could not be the same man who had been silently pulling strings from the beginning for revenge.
She pressed her fingers briefly against her lips.
His kiss last night hadn't felt like revenge.
It had felt like something else entirely. Something she didn't have a word for.
But what if he had done this?
To punish Rahul. To punish her for running away five years ago.
The studio felt too small suddenly.
She picked up her phone again. Her hands trembled slightly as she called the royal security number.
The security head answered immediately. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Mr. Tikku, I'm ready to return to the palace,” she said. Her voice came out even.
“The car will be at the entrance in five minutes.”
She ended the call.
Across the room, Pooja looked up from the prints. “Leaving already?”
“Yes.” Yamini kept her expression neutral. “I need to go home.”
She picked up her bag.
Home.
The word sounded different from how it used to.
She walked out of the studio with her heart still racing and one thought turning over and over in her mind.
If this wasn't a coincidence, she had been living inside a carefully constructed revenge plan the entire time.
And the worst part was that she desperately wanted to be wrong.