Page 16 of Claimed By the Maharaja
The words echoed in her mind cruelly.
She had survived a broken marriage, empty accounts, and starting over from nothing.
But the cold silence from her family was shattering. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Before another tear could form, she wiped her face and straightened her back.
“No,” she said firmly under her breath. “I will not break.”
Taking a deep breath, Yamini steadied herself.
She loved her family. But their love was conditional. She knew there was no point in crying over that fact.
She turned back to her laptop. The screen was crowded with open tabs of photography agencies, editorial houses, conservation NGOs, and travel magazines. She moved from one application to the next with quiet focus, attaching her portfolio, adjusting cover letters, and sending them out one by one.
Her hand paused when a new email appeared.
The sender was familiar. A well-reputed international agency. They wanted her to return to her previous work.
For a moment, she just stared at the screen.
A part of her was tempted. That life had been stable. Predictable and safe.
She had come back to India for her family. Now, she wasn’t sure what she had come back to.
Her phone rang again, cutting through her morbid thoughts.
Hope flared instantly as she recalled how her mother called her when her father wasn’t around.
Yamini answered quickly. “Hello—”
“Yamini!” Pooja’s voice burst through. “You are not going to believe this!”
Yamini felt her hope fade.
Taking another deep breath, she leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess,” she said lightly. “More gossip about the maharaja?”
Pooja laughed. “No, silly. This is about you.”
Yamini straightened. “About me?”
“Yes! You’ve received an offer for a PR environmental project. Massive, high-visibility, with international stakeholders. Clean-energy messaging, sustainability, rebranding, and everything.”
Yamini frowned slightly. “PR?” She had expected another event.
“Yes, they want documentary-style photography,” Pooja continued. “Not staged nonsense. Real visuals. Ground impact. You’d be perfect. And—” Pooja lowered her voice dramatically. “—they’re paying very well.”
Pooja named the amount.
Yamini went still.
“What?” she asked, feeling stunned.
Pooja repeated it, slower this time.
Yamini stared at the cracked wall across from her. The amount wasn’t just good, it was absurd. It would cover her rent for months. A studio. Equipment upgrades. A fresh start.
“That’s…” Yamini swallowed. “That can’t be real.”
