Page 42 of Trapped By the Maharaja
The boardroom was silent except for the low hum of the projector. A dozen men in tailored suits sat around the long, polished table, their gazes fixed on the glowing charts of revenue projections.
“Your Highness,” one of the senior executives said, adjusting his cufflinks nervously, “if we move forward with the merger, our quarterly growth will exceed forecasts by twelve percent. But the risk—”
Another man interjected, his voice eager. “The risk is negligible, Your Highness. We’ve already secured favorable terms. If you approve today, we can finalize within the week.”
Ram leaned back in his leather chair, silent, assessing, his sharp gaze flicking between them. They squirmed under the weight of it, men who commanded empires of their own but bent here in deference to him.
The projector’s hum filled the pause.
“Your Highness?” the first executive ventured again, voice thin with tension.
Ram’s phone vibrated once against the polished surface of the table. His eyes flicked to it automatically. Normally, he ignored all distractions during meetings. His men knew better than to disturb him here. But when he saw the name flashing on the screen, his fingers stilled.
Ram slid the phone into his hand and lowered his gaze to the message.
Your Highness, Dr. Shetty is safe. But she looks sad. Silent tears in her eyes. We thought you should know—Hari, Head of Devraj Security
For a moment, the numbers and charts on the screen blurred. His jaw locked, and the hand gripping his pen went rigid.
Sanjana. Crying.
Sanjana never let anyone see her break. If she had cried, it meant something bad.
He pushed his chair back abruptly, the screech of wood against marble echoing in the stunned room.
“We’re done here,” he said flatly.
One of the executives stammered, “Your Highness, but the projections—”
Ram’s gaze snapped to him, cold and glacial. “I said we’re done.”
Not another word followed.
He strode out, phone in hand, already issuing instructions. The private elevator whisked him to the rooftop, where his helicopter waited. He had only one destination in mind.
As the blades roared to life and the helicopter lifted into the fading skyline, Ram leaned back in his seat, clenching his fists. He felt a flare of dark, consuming rage.
Whoever had dared to make her cry would pay.
His fingers tapped against the leather armrest. He thought of the ongoing investigation.
His team had unearthed troubling connections circling around Dr. Rao, the man who had long been a thorn in Sanjana’s side.
The man who had opposed her appointment, who had sneered at her dedication to patients, who had only grown more venomous since she became the representative of the Devara Trust.
But Ram’s gut told him this wasn’t Rao. Sanjana wasn’t the sort to crumble under a bully’s scorn.
She had endured harsher things. She had survived the weight of abandonment, betrayal, and rumors when she clawed her way up from an orphanage to medical school.
Rao’s petty malice wasn’t enough to draw tears from her.
This was something else.
Was it Rishan?
His jaw tightened as he recalled the incident from a month ago. Of Rishan standing next to Sanjana in the hospital.
Ram’s blood still boiled recalling the sight. He had always despised Rishan because his cousin was a snake. But what made fury coil in his gut was that Rishan was a threat to Sanjana.
Ram had learned from his security team that hospital staff had allowed Rishan inside only after scanning him for weapons.
Officially, his cousin had entered as a visiting guest of a former board member.
On paper, he was harmless. But Ram knew better.
Before Ram reached the hospital, he had already instructed his men to stay alert and watch every move.
If Rishan so much as breathed wrong in Sanjana’s direction, he was to be taken down.
And yet, when Ram had walked into that sterile reception area and seen Rishan next to her, it had taken everything in him not to strike first. The urge had been primal, raw. He had wanted to tear Rishan apart with his bare hands just for standing too close.
Ram pressed his thumb hard against the edge of his phone, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Sanjana had no idea how close she had been to danger.
Ram pulled his phone back out and dialed a number. It rang once before being answered with a respectful, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“I want a full report,” Ram ordered, his voice like cut steel. “Everything that happened with my wife at the hospital today. From the moment she arrived until the moment she left.”
“Yes, sir. When should I—”
“Thirty minutes.”
There was a sharp inhale on the other end, but the man didn’t argue. “Understood.”
Ram ended the call, his reflection staring back at him in the helicopter’s dark glass.
It had been well over two months since he had married Sanjana. He made her his wife and then his lover. Each night, her body responded to his seduction and was aroused by his touch. But even as she let him claim her body, her words held him at a distance.
She told him she hated him. She repeatedly reminded him that she was with him because of the contract he had forced her to sign.
He knew she wasn’t lying. And yet, he couldn’t keep his distance in a way that mattered.
He knew he should not allow her close enough to wreck him again. And yet, the thought of her crying, of her enduring hurt alone, burned his chest.
He raked a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes briefly. Damn her for still having the power to unravel me after all these years.