CHAPTER 37
As soon as the helicopter landed, Yamini stepped out and walked straight to the office wing.
She didn't stop to greet anyone.
She didn't knock.
The heavy teak doors swung open and hit the stone wall with a sharp crack.
She stepped inside for the first time.
The room was larger than she had imagined.
Stone walls. Dark walnut paneling. A wide desk sat in exact symmetry beneath tall windows that looked out over the mountains.
Every file was stacked in perfect alignment.
A pen lay parallel to the desk's edge. There were no photographs, clutter, or softness.
The room felt exactly like him. Ordered. Impenetrable. Giving nothing away.
Bharat sat behind the desk, signing a document. He finished the line, placed the pen down, and closed the file.
Only then did he look up.
“Yamini.”
She didn't sit.
“Did you orchestrate my divorce?” she asked.
The air in the room changed.
There was no change of expression on his handsome face.
He didn't deny it.
Her pulse slammed harder.
“You sent those photos,” she said. “You made sure I saw exactly what I needed to see. You made the legal process move fast. You made sure he couldn't fight it.”
He said nothing.
“You destroyed him completely.”
He still said nothing.
That silence was worse than a denial would have been.
She had come here hoping he would deny it. She realized that now.
“And then the environmental event,” she continued. “You were the chief guest. You knew I'd be there.” She let out a short, hollow laugh. “Days later, I get a generous PR offer from a third party. And the client turns out to be your steel factories.”
He didn't respond.
“You knew who I was the entire time. You let me believe I found that opportunity on my own.”
Her breathing grew uneven.
“And then I proposed to you,” she said, her voice shaking with anger now. “I challenged you in the heat of the moment. And you agreed immediately.”
She looked directly at him.
“You are the most methodical, controlled man I have ever met. You don't make impulsive decisions.”
The words sat between them.
“And the contract arrived within two hours,” she said. “It was already ready.”
She watched his face for something. Denial. Anger. Anything.
There was nothing.
Her chest ached.
“You planned all of it,” she said. “From my divorce. The job offer. The marriage.”
His face remained composed.
“You married me for revenge.” The words came out quieter now, but no less sharp. “For your pride. Because a woman with less money and less power dared to humiliate you five years ago. You couldn't let that go.”
The faintest tightening crossed his jaw.
“You didn't even want me then,” she said, and hurt slipped through the anger despite herself. “When our mothers arranged the alliance, you were indifferent. You didn't care about me. And you don't want me now. You are careful to ensure I won’t bear you a child.”
Her eyes burned.
“You are punishing me for humiliating you and your family five years ago.”
Silence.
“I'm leaving,” she said. “I am not staying in a marriage built on revenge.”
He didn't move.
“I'm leaving this palace.”
That made him finally react. There was a flicker in his eyes.
“If you leave,” he said in a calm tone, “you will be in breach of contract.”
The words were simple. And deliberate.
“I don't care,” she said.
“You will,” he replied. “Contract breach won't affect only you.”
Her heart stuttered. “What does that mean?”
“The contract includes clauses that extend beyond personal separation. Financial penalties. Public consequences. Reputational damage.”
He let that sit.
“You signed it.”
She stared at him.
Her hands were trembling now. “You would hurt my family?”
“I would enforce what you agreed to.”
His tone was quiet, unemotional, and factual.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“You cold bastard,” she said, her voice breaking. “I hate you.”
“But you will stay,” he said.
That quiet, calm certainty snapped something inside her.
“Fine,” she said, her voice shaking. “I'll stay. But I won't let you destroy me.”
She turned and walked to the door.
At the doorway, she stopped.
“This entire marriage is your revenge for five years ago. Congratulations, Maharaja. You've won.”
The doors shut behind her.
The echo rolled down the corridor and faded.
He did not follow her or call her name.