Page 35 of Claimed By the Maharaja
The world seemed to tilt.
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs, loud enough that she could hear it.
She had expected shock, anger, and then dismissal.
But not this. Not agreeing to her ridiculous proposal.
This was not how this was supposed to go at all.
CHAPTER 7
The door closed with a soft, final click.
Bharat did not move.
He remained seated behind his desk, the document still open in front of him, his fingers resting lightly against the edge of the page without turning it. The room felt altered, not louder or quieter, but alert, as though her presence had disrupted the structure of the space and the air had not yet settled back into place.
He let the silence remain.
Silence reduced interference. It allowed him to think without filtering unnecessary stimuli. No voices, no shifting expressions, no unpredictable interruptions.
He adjusted the file on his desk until its edges aligned perfectly with the table’s surface, then placed his pen parallel to it. The small act settled something in his mind.
He preferred clarity. Not just in vision, but in structure.
He pressed the secure console on his desk.
“Conference line,” he said.
The wall screen activated immediately, splitting into four sections.
Ram appeared first. He sat at Devara Palace, composed and steady, the kind of man who carried authority without needing to announce it. He ran the infrastructure and ports empire that connected half the country’s trade routes.
Samar joined next, his normally casual expression sharpened by instinct. He controlled the media and security networks, shaping narratives, silencing threats, and knowing things long before they surfaced. When he decided someone was a threat, they rarely got a second chance to prove otherwise.
Viraj appeared last, leaning back in his chair as if none of this required effort, a faint smile playing on his lips. He did not run a business. He ran power. Governments rose, shifted, and fell around him. He had made chief ministers. And he had removed them.
They did not operate as one empire. They operated as four.
Independent. Ruthless. Aligned only when necessary.
That made them difficult to contain. And impossible to break.
Bharat nodded once. “We’ll begin.”
There were no greetings. They didn’t need any.
“There’s a foreign firm funding the protests,” Bharat said.
Ram didn’t react immediately. His gaze held steady, measuring. “Confirmed?”
“Yes. Shell structures. Three layers. Funding protest groups near my plants. Pressuring regulators in two states.”
Samar leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening. “They tested the same approach near the ports,” he said. “Didn’t last long.”
“I’m aware,” Bharat replied. “Which is why we respond in coordination.”
Viraj exhaled a quiet breath that almost sounded like amusement. “They’re getting ambitious,” he said. “Or careless.”
