Page 218 of Claimed By the Maharaja
The realization didn't come slowly. It struck all at once.
He hadn't just painted what mattered to him. He had paintedher.
Not just once or twice. But for two decades.
There were no paintings of anyone else.
She stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by versions of herself as one thought arrived slowly yet firmly into her mind.
It was never revenge.
Bharat Jogra didn’t marry her for revenge.
Footsteps sounded somewhere beyond the studio door.
She knew the weight of them before she had time to think about how she knew. The rhythm. The particular quiet efficiency of the stride.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She had come here thinking she hated him.
She no longer knew what she felt.
But she knew she wouldn’t leave without finding out the truth.
CHAPTER 53
The soft echo of footsteps stopped just outside the studio.
Yamini didn't turn immediately.
She stood in the center of the room, surrounded by her paintings. Years of her life layered in oil and silence.
She felt him before she saw him.
The doorway darkened.
“You broke the lock.”
His voice was low and controlled.
She turned slowly.
Bharat stood just inside the threshold, suit jacket still on, tie loosened slightly as if he had come straight from work. His gaze swept the walls once, quick and assessing, then settled on her.
He didn't look shocked or embarrassed. He looked calm and controlled as always.
“You painted me,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
The word was simple.
Her throat tightened.
She moved toward one of the canvases, where she was muddy and laughing in the Rewa fountain. Her fingers hovered near it without touching.
“When did you paint this?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
