Page 61 of Trapped By the Maharaja

But as soon as she reached the hallway, a door at the far end of the dimly lit corridor swung open, and a tall, broad, shadowy form stepped out and began walking towards her.

Her heart thudded. Even before the shadowy form became clearly visible, she knew who it was. The unhurried yet commanding walk belonged to just one man—the ruthless maharaja of Devara.

As he came closer, light from the corridor fell on him. He looked devastating with a black suit jacket, an open-collared shirt, sleeves casually rolled to his forearms, and the Devara royal ring catching the light. His jaw was freshly shaved, his dark hair slightly mussed as though he had run a hand through it after a long day of meetings.

His dark, intense eyes were watching her.

Her cheeks burned. Memories of his kiss, the strength of his muscular arm when he pinned her wrists, the hardness of his arousal against her, rushed through her mind.

She looked away quickly. “I’m… tired,” she murmured. “I’m skipping dinner tonight.”

He didn’t reply. But she could feel the weight of his gaze trailing after her as she hurried past, her pulse racing like she’d just sprinted.

Inside the suite, she went straight to the bathroom. The door shut behind her with a solid click, and she finally exhaled.

The shower was hot, washing away the day’s exhaustion, but it couldn’t rinse out the adrenaline that still lingered in her veins. She stayed under longer than usual, partly to soothe her nerves from the elevator accident and partly to delay facing the ruthless maharaja.

Knowing he would be at the dining hall, eating in his typical precise way, she stepped out, hoping to get dressed and then settle down for the night on the velvet sofa.

She stepped out, and put on soft cotton pajamas.

When she emerged, she stopped short.

The suite was filled with the warm scent of saffron, ghee and roasted spices. The dining nook glowed golden under the lamps. Lalita and Kumari moved silently, placing the final dish on the table before bowing and retreating.

And there he was.

Ram sat at the table, sleeves still rolled, posture relaxed but presence overwhelming. His eyes lifted to hers.

“Eat,” he commanded.

Her jaw clenched. She wanted to refuse. But her stomach, which was nearly empty since lunch before her surgery, betrayed her with a loud growl.

Glaring, she crossed the room and sat.

The space between them was intimate. The table was small and the lighting golden warm.

They ate in silence. And yet, every nerve in her body was taut. She could feel his eyes on her, a steady heat that made her grip her spoon too tightly.

She refused to look at him, but the pull was magnetic.

The scent of citrusy sandalwood filled her nostrils, the same maddening scent she woke up to each morning.

She hated that her body responded. he hadn’t even touched her, and yet she was coming undone.

Stop it, she scolded herself. He’s the one who trapped you here. Don’t romanticize the cage.

“My mother will be arriving at the palace in a week,” he said.

Her eyes flew to his. “Why?”

Ram’s gaze was steady, unreadable. “To host an event at the Devara Palace. That’s when you’ll be formally introduced as my wife.”

He had already warned her about it before, and yet the words dropped on her like bombs. Her pulse hammered, her breath coming shorter as panic coiled sharp and hot in her stomach.

She finished eating quickly and then set her spoon down with care, not letting her trembling fingers show. “Excuse me,” she murmured, pushing away from the table. “I have to finish work.”

She got up and went to the sitting nook, spreading the files around her on sofa like armor. She didn’t want Ram to sit next to her.