CHAPTER 46
Night had settled deep over Jogra Palace.
Outside the tall windows, the snow-capped mountains glowed softly under the moonlight.
Inside the bedroom, it was warm.
Yamini lay half across Bharat, her cheek resting on his chest, her leg tangled with his beneath the sheets. His arm was draped around her waist, heavy and steady, his palm resting low on her back like he intended to keep her there.
The bed was no longer perfectly made. The symmetry that seemed to rule his life had been disturbed—pillows shifted, the sheet twisted, the blanket folded wrong.
Her eyes fell on the scarf on the chair. She realized she had left it there two weeks ago. But it hadn’t been moved. Just like the rest of her things, she left on his bathroom counters and dresser.
She had expected him to correct them immediately. But he never said a word.
He simply accepted her mess as if it belonged in his orderly life.
Yamini shifted, pressing her cheek more firmly to his chest. Under her palm, his heartbeat was steady. Not racing. Not uncontrolled. Like everything else about him, it felt steady.
He was lying on his back, the line of his jaw sharp even in the soft light. His hair was slightly disordered because she had pulled it moments ago during passion.
“Sanjana told me a secret this afternoon,” she said.
Bharat didn't ask what.
She knew he wouldn’t. Only because he knew she would tell him anyway.
She smiled.
“Sanjana is pregnant. They are expecting a baby this year-end.”
His thumb moved once against her waist.
Yamini lifted her head slightly.
“You don’t look surprised. Did you know she was pregnant?”
His gaze moved to her. “Yes.”
She realized Ram must have told him.
She smiled and lay back on his chest. She traced idle circles over his chest, following the line of muscle beneath her fingertips. His heartbeat was slow. Controlled. Like the rest of him.
“Sanjana was exasperated by Ram hovering over her constantly,” she said. “He was commanding her to drink water and eat in regular intervals.”
Yamini grinned, recalling how Sanjana was ready to yell at Ram when he filled up her plate to the brim during evening snack time.
“I think you will be the same too when I get pregnant,” she said. “You’ll most likely schedule my water and food intake.”
She smiled, imagining it.
She had always wanted a child. But now, she wanted a specific child. His.
“I want our child to have your beautiful golden-brown eyes,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “And your intelligence,” she added. “But my temperament.”
She raised her head and rested her chin on his chest. “Don’t you think that’s fair?”
She watched his face, expecting a flicker of amusement. Or a faint smile he would never give anyone else but her.
But he didn’t give any of those reactions. She realized he had gone very still, and his eyes darkened. There was visible tension in his body.
She frowned. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on her face, and for the first time tonight, she could not read what was behind his eyes.
“The child won’t have my eyes,” he said.
She laughed. “Oh please. Generations of Jogra royalty are born with golden-brown eyes.”
He looked at her then, but there was still no trace of warmth of amusement.
“The child won’t have my eyes because it won’t be mine,” he stated. “It will be from another man.”
Yamini blinked. Not understanding.
Then she let out a short laugh.
“That’s not all funny, maharaja,” she said. She realized she was yet to understand his strange sense of humor at times.
He didn’t smile.
His expression stayed the same.
“It is not meant to be funny. The child you will be carrying won’t be mine.”
Her heart gave a sick thud, and her lungs refused to fill properly.
Yamini pushed herself upright. She stared at him, waiting for him to blink first, to soften, to say of course it will be mine, to apologize for the sick joke.
He didn’t.
“Whenever you are ready,” he said in a calm tone, “we will choose the man whose child you’ll carry.”
The sentence punched the air out of her.
For a second, she couldn’t speak.
Her mouth opened, then closed. Her fingers tightened into the sheet.
“What?” she managed.
His gaze remained steady.
“I will make arrangements,” he said. “Since you want two children, the same man will father both.”
Arrangements. Another man.
Yamini stared at him.
“You’re… serious,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
The simple certainty of that yes snapped something in her.
Heat surged into her throat, into her eyes.
A sick, humiliating burn.
She shook her head once, hard.
“No,” she said, voice rising. “No. This can’t be right. You can’t—what is wrong with you!”
He didn’t flinch.
His calmness turned her nausea into rage.
“You think you can decide that?” she demanded. “You think you can decide whose child grows inside me like I’m a—like I’m a vessel you bought?”
His eyes remained on her face, unblinking.
“Yes,” he said. “The contract you signed allows it.”
Contract.
The word landed like a bomb between them.
And then, she slapped him.
Her palm cracked against his cheek, the sound loud in the quiet room.
For a heartbeat, her hand tingled, pain blooming in her fingers.
Bharat’s head barely turned.
He didn’t recoil or even blink. But the imprint of her fingers showed on his fair skin.
Yamini’s breath came hard.
“You sick bastard!” she shouted, voice shaking. “You—”
Her chest tightened until the words choked inside.
She couldn’t even name the humiliation properly. Because it wasn’t only what he’d said. It was what it implied.
That he could touch her every night. That he could kiss her with hunger and possession.
All the while, he planned to give her to another man.
A bitter laugh ripped out of her.
“Is this why you have been pulling out?” she demanded. “So I don’t accidentally conceive your child?”
She recalled the cold fury that one time, when she had forced him to climax inside her. The morning after pill that followed along with the blood test.
Bharat’s gaze held.
There was no denial.
Her eyes burned.
All the while, she had thought that he didn’t want her to conceive because he wanted them to get closer.
She had been hoping—stupidly—that there had been love in it somewhere. That the tenderness of the last few months meant something.
Now she saw only a cold-blooded revenge—the lake, the cabin, the weeks that followed. All of it had been lies to make her fall for him, only to destroy her.
She swallowed hard, forcing the tremor out of her voice.
“So this has always been your revenge,” she said, low and shaking. “This is how you punish me.”
His expression didn’t change as he watched her.
Her hands trembled as she pushed herself off the bed. She snatched her robe from the chair and yanked it on, fingers clumsy with fury.
Her throat hurt, and her eyes blurred. But she refused to cry.
Not in front of him. Where he could finally see the result of his carefully planned revenge.
She turned toward the connecting door, each step sharp on the marble.
She yanked the connecting door open and stepped into her room.
The familiar space hit her like a slap—feminine decor, tall windows, the faint scent of her lotion. Her life, separated from his by a door and a contract.
She slammed the connecting door shut so hard the frame shuddered.
Her back pressed against the door.
Her breath came in uneven bursts. Her chest hurt like she’d been punched.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
But the tears came anyway—hot, humiliating, and unstoppable.
She slid down the door until she hit the floor, robe pooling around her knees.
A broken sob escaped her throat even as she tried to stop it.
How could he do this to me?
Even as hot tears spilled down her cheeks, a part of her still waited.
She waited for a knock, his voice—something, anything that would prove he was joking and didn’t mean any of it.
But the room remained silent.
And he did not come.