Page 26 of Trapped By the Maharaja

Rewa Palace

Moonlight spilled in through the silk curtains of the private study at Rewa Palace. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and old books.

Suchitra Devi sat behind a slightly worn teakwood desk that was carved well over a century ago. Soft lighting from a lamp spilled over the contents of the table.

It was close to midnight, but her back was perfectly straight, and her chin lifted with quiet authority.

In front of her lay a leather folder that was unremarkable from the outside.

But inside were the reports gathered over the years.

She opened the folder, and a single name was printed neatly on top.

Sanjana Shetty.

Devi had read the earliest pages enough times to know them by heart.

The first section was about Sanjana’s childhood.

She was an only child born to two doctors who had died saving lives during an epidemic.

Sanjana had been only three when she was sent to an orphanage.

The next pages chronicled Sanjana’s early years in the orphanage.

Names of caretakers. Records of donations and the list of benefactors who had kept the institution running.

School achievements. Scholarship awards.

The next section was Sanjana’s medical college years. Exceptional grades. There were notes on early hospital rotations, supervisors who praised her surgical instincts. On the surface, it was the spotless profile of a promising young doctor. Devi’s face remained perfectly neutral.

But then she reached the relationships section. This report was shorter than the others. With only one name. Ram Devara, His Royal Highness of Devara. Sanjana Shetty had no other relationships other than with Ram.

Devi’s fingers stilled on the page. Her lips pressed together, though the rest of her face stayed an impenetrable mask. The relationship between Sanjana Shetty and Ram lasted for three years before ending abruptly. Devi read every word twice before moving on.

The later reports were current. They covered Sanjana’s position at the hospital, the surgeries she had performed, the patients she had saved, and the friction she had with certain colleagues.

These pages also tracked the recent involvement of the Devara Trust in the hospital’s expansion, funding, policy shifts.

Devi’s gaze lingered on Ram’s name again, but this time her expression was unreadable.

When she finished, she closed the folder with deliberate precision and let her hand rest on it.

She had kept those reports for years, updating them quietly whenever a new piece of information surfaced.

Today, a fresh envelope had been delivered to her. The latest report.

She slit it open with a gold-handled letter opener and began to read. Her eyes scanned the neat lines, her expression impassive at first, until halfway down the page, something shifted.

Her grip on the paper tightened. Her gaze sharpened to steel. The faintest line appeared between her brows, though she forced the rest of her face to remain composed.

By the time she reached the end, she was holding the document just a fraction too tightly.

As she stared at the words, her mind replayed the family astrologer’s recent visit.

“Your son’s path has shifted into danger. Some recent event has invited it. He must course-correct immediately, or the harm will come to him… perhaps from someone close.”

Her anger burned low, controlled, but potent as she tied the astrologer’s words to the recent investigation report.

She placed the new report flat on the desk, resting her hand on it for a long moment. Then, with deliberate care, she lifted the old folder and slid the fresh report inside, tucking it neatly among the pages that told Sanjana’s story from the very beginning.

Devi locked the folder inside her desk with a decisive click.

Her gaze lifted to the moonlit window, her reflection staring back at her with regal calm.

“She must be stopped,” she murmured to the empty room, her voice quiet but edged with resolve.