Page 101 of Trapped By the Maharaja

She gasped, her hands pushing against his chest. “Put me down, Ram!” she snapped, her voice sharp with anger and fatigue. “I said I’m not hungry! Just leave me alone!”

Her fists pressed against him, her body twisting in protest, but he held her. He didn’t stop until he reached the long velvet sofa where the soft glow of evening lamps cast shadows across the room.

Lowering himself into the cushions, Ram kept her cradled firmly against him. She shoved at his chest again, but he didn’t relent.

“You’re so arrogant and infuriating,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “Why can’t you ever listen?”

He said nothing and simply sat there

Sanjana’s body trembled in his arms, her resistance slowly fading. She turned her face away, pressing it against hisshoulder. And then, with a broken sound that twisted something deep in his chest, she broke.

Tears spilled over, hot and unchecked, soaking into his shirt as sobs shook her slender frame. Her words tumbled out between gasps.

“There was a ten-year-old boy,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “He was so sick. We rushed him to surgery. I thought—I thought if I could just get him in on time—”

Her shoulders heaved as she clutched at his shirt. “But he didn’t make it. I lost him before I could even try. He died, Ram. A child. I couldn’t save him.”

Her pain seeped into the room, filling every corner. Ram tightened his arms around her, his hand resting against the back of her head. He could feel the tremors of her grief, the way her sorrow hollowed her from within.

“You did everything you could,” he said quietly, his voice even, calm.

Her head jerked against him in denial. “It wasn’t enough. I should have—”

“No.” His tone sharpened, cutting through her spiraling anguish. He angled her face up slightly so she had no choice but to hear him. “You gave everything you had. Sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do.”

Fresh tears blurred her gaze. “Tell that to his parents. Tell them it wasn’t my fault when all they wanted was their son alive.”

Ram felt the tightness in his chest deepen. He knew loss. He knew the weight of helplessness when power, wealth, and will couldn’t bend fate. He had felt that loss when he had lost Sanjana once.

He held her tighter, his chin brushing the top of her head. He offered her his strength.

Her tears soaked his shirt, her sobs echoing softly in the vast bedroom. She clung to him, the anger and hatred gone during her grief. For once, she didn’t push him away.

Ram sat unmoving, silent but unyielding, letting her pain pour out into him, letting her draw steadiness from the strength of his embrace.

Sanjana’s sobs slowly stopped, and her breathing steadied little by little, though each breath was still hitched, uneven. She had cried until she could cry no more, leaving her body limp in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest.

Ram looked down at her. Strands of her damp hair clung to her temple. Her lashes, still wet with tears, fanned against her cheeks. The faintest tremors lingered in her shoulders, but exhaustion was pulling her under.

He adjusted his hold, sliding her more comfortably against him, his arm firm around her waist. She murmured faintly in protest, something about wanting him to leave her alone, but it was too soft, too weak. Within moments, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder, and she surrendered to sleep.

Ram sat there, unmoving, staring into the dim glow of the bedroom lamps.

Every instinct in him warned him not to make the same mistake of the past again. Not to give the power to a woman who would undo him.

He reminded himself of the promise he had made to himself when he married Sanjana. That he would keep his emotions locked away. And marriage to her was supposed to be duty and revenge. Nothing more.

And yet, none of those promises remained.

He had sold his soul to her once again. Gave her the power to undo him.

His hand lifted almost of its own accord. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, his thumb grazing her cheek. Herskin was warm, soft, still faintly damp. She stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.

He leaned back against the sofa, pulling her closer, his lips brushing her forehead for the briefest second.

“You are mine,” he murmured under his breath, his voice low and rough.

She was his. No matter what it cost them both.