Page 17 of Trapped By the Maharaja
He knew he had her trapped.
“You have until the day after tomorrow morning to sign the contract,” he stated. “My team will assist you in consulting a lawyer or anything else that is needed. Also, a car is waiting for you downstairs to drop you off at your apartment.”
“I have my own car,” she gritted out.
“It’ll be driven to your place by someone.”
She wanted to argue, to scream, to tear the folder apart in front of him. But the day’s exhaustion, the weight of everything that had happened, and the strange ache settling in her chest held her back.
Her hand snatched the folder off the table.
She stood and glared at him, fury flashing in her eyes.
Then she turned and stormed out of the room without another word.
CHAPTER 7
The heavy door clicked shut behind Sanjana with a finality that reverberated through the silent room.
Ram didn’t move.
He sat perfectly still in the high-backed leather chair at the head of the table, the only sign of life the slow curl of his fingers into a fist on the table’s edge. The echo of Sanjana’s footsteps in the corridor beyond faded, swallowed by the hum of the building’s central air and distant rain tapping against the high glass windows.
Armaan, his assistant, stepped into the room.
“Sir,” Armaan said cautiously.
Ram’s eyes flicked to him, cold and unreadable. “Make sure Dr. Shetty takes the car I arranged. I want her back in her apartment within thirty minutes,” Ram ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Armaan said, immediately tapping a message on his sleek device.
“And assign a legal team to her,” Ram added, standing up and adjusting the cuff of his charcoal sleeve. “Have them brief her thoroughly on her rights, her risks, and what happens if she refuses the contract.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Ram walked toward the doors without another word.
The hallway outside was silent, but the tension clung to the walls like fog. His bodyguards fell into step behind him immediately, flanking him as he descended the elevator to the ground floor.
When the polished doors opened, a group of hospital board members and senior staff stood in the lobby with tense, uncertain looks on their faces.
Dr. Rao stepped forward, his expression a mask of professional courtesy barely hiding his anger. “Your Highness,” he began, “I must emphasize that Sanjana Shetty has a documented history of insubordination. She has broken protocols repeatedly. Today’s events were merely the final breach. She should be penalized, if not dismissed outright—”
“Dr. Rao,” Ram said, his voice soft but razor-edged. “The Devara Trust now owns this hospital.”
The air changed in an instant. The staff froze, as if the building itself had gone silent to listen.
Ram continued. “Effective immediately, Dr. Sanjana Shetty is under the protection of the Devara Trust. She is not to be disciplined. She is not to be fired.”
Dr. Rao’s eyes flared with disbelief. “But… with all due respect, Your Highness… she is a repeat offender—”
“You’re welcome to resign,” Ram said coldly.
The color drained from Dr. Rao’s face.
The others didn’t speak.
Ram didn’t wait for their stammered acknowledgments. He walked past them, his bodyguards parting the sea of stunned silence as he exited the hospital into the heavy rain.
