Page 99 of Trapped By the Maharaja
Her chin lifted. “Yes… both of them,” she continued, her words firm. “The situation has escalated faster than I anticipated.”
She rose from the desk, the soft rustle of her silk sari marking each step toward the window. With two fingers, she parted the drapes slightly, looking out over the palace gardens.
“I understand the risk,” she murmured, her voice lower now. “Discretion is paramount. I don’t want any trace of this leading back to me.”
The reply came as a quiet murmur, deep and measured. She closed her eyes briefly, something unspoken tightening in her chest before she forced it away.
“I need your most trusted people,” she said after a moment. “This time, there should be no lapses.”
There was another pause, and she listened, her gaze still fixed beyond the glass. The darkness outside pressed against the light like a living thing.
“If there is another incident,” she said, the words slower, heavier, “I expect a response before anyone else has a chance to act. Do you understand?”
A faint sound of acknowledgment reached her ear.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Good. I’ll send the details within the hour.”
She ended the call and stood for a long moment, the silence of the room pressing in. The phone remained in her hand, her knuckles pale, before she set it down with deliberate care on the desk.
Then she turned away from the window, her expression smoothing into that unreadable calm the world had come to expect from Suchitra Devi.
CHAPTER 42
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.
