Pooja made Bharat Jogra sound like a besotted, doting husband. Which he definitely wasn’t.
Yamini slowly nodded.
Pooja leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Have you considered kissing him?”
Yamini nearly dropped her lens cap. “What? No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he would—” Yamini stopped herself, shaking her head. “He would not react well.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Yamini said firmly. “I am not kissing a man who doesn’t want to kiss me.”
“Okay, okay,” Pooja said, holding up her hands. “Changing the topic before you combust.”
Thankful, Yamini nodded. “Good.”
Pooja’s disappointment lasted exactly two seconds before her face lit up again. “Did you know there’s an elite jewelry exhibition downstairs?”
Yamini blinked. “Jewelry?”
“Rare pieces. Royal collections. Apparently, some of them haven’t been displayed publicly in decades.”
Yamini wasn’t much for jewels. She preferred lenses to diamonds. But curiosity stirred, and so did the desire to redirect Pooja before she circled back to seduction strategies.
“Fine,” Yamini said. “Let’s go.”
Pooja grinned, already heading for the door. “You’re going to love this.”
As they stepped out of the studio and toward the elevator, Yamini glanced back once at the photographs on the wall. At the life she was rebuilding, piece by piece.
Whatever this marriage was—contractual, controlled, and confusing—it had brought her here.
And for now, that was enough.
???
The exhibition hall hummed with low, controlled energy.
Soft music floated through the air, barely noticeable beneath murmured conversations.
The crowd was unmistakably elite, with women in understated couture and men in tailored suits—the kind of people who were accustomed to being watched rather than watching others.
Yamini stuck out in the crowd in her casual clothes. She had worn comfortable clothing because she had spent the day hanging the photographs in the studio.
“I am underdressed,” Yamini murmured.
Pooja didn’t seem to care. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Pooja whispered, eyes darting from one display to the next. “You are the Jogra maharani. Even if you wear a sack, you are still more elite than the rest of the crowd.”
Yamini snorted a soft laugh. “You are biased.”
“Oh, I absolutely am,” Pooja said cheerfully. “And remember, your husband owns this building.”
Yamini hadn’t forgotten that fact. Not that she could even if she wanted to since the Jogra crest sat on top of the building as a reminder.
They moved deeper into the hall, past ornate necklaces, rare gemstones, and heirloom pieces displayed like artifacts in a museum rather than objects meant to be worn. Most of the jewelry was extravagantly heavy, dramatic, and unmistakably expensive.
