Page 7 of Trapped By the Maharaja
The door closed with a soft click, leaving a long moment of silence.
“The Royal Trust, my arse,” said Samar, breaking the silence. “It’s obviously Ma who is exerting her will on us. She wants grandchildren.”
Ram didn’t answer, but he knew Samar was right. No one from the Royal Trust would dare to put conditions on Maharani Suchitra Devi's sons without her permission.
Bharat shook his head slowly. “Knowing her, there wouldn’t be any loopholes. If mother is behind this, she must have made it ironclad.”
Samar frowned. “Mother simply expects us just to pick a wife from this folder and produce an heir?”
Viraj turned toward Ram then, brows raised. “Well? What are you going to do, bhai? You’re the one staring down the clock. You need to produce a child within three years of the deadline.”
All eyes turned to Ram.
Ram gave no reply.
A beautiful face flashed across his mind. Dark eyes. A smile that can be both fiery and soft. It struck him like lightning, followed by a surge of anger and an emotion he hadn’t felt in years. Betrayal.
CHAPTER 4
The emergency ward was crowded. Doctors, nurses, and staff rushed around, monitors beeped in uneven rhythms, and the waiting room overflowed with restless families.
“Please! Someone help!”
A woman’s desperate cry cut through the buzz of conversations. Heads turned, some with curiosity, but most with pity. In torn sandals, a faded green saree, her hair untidy and face smeared with tears, the young mother stumbled forward, clutching a limp, nearly unconscious child in her arms.
She fell to her knees beside the patient admissions desk.
“Please save him! My son is not waking up! Please help!”
A doctor on shift looked at the sick boy. When he checked the pulse, his expression grew grim before looking at the help desk. “High risk case,” the doctor muttered. “Will require surgery.”
The admissions staff at the desk understood what that meant. It meant that the young mother would not be able to pay for the treatment and surgery.
“Go to the government hospital,” the woman at the admissions desk said flatly.
The mother shook her head frantically. “But my son is not breathing properly! He’ll die by the time I take him to a government hospital!”
The staff member looked unfazed. “You need to leave, or we will call the security and have you thrown out.”
The mother clutched her son tighter. “I’ll do anything, please! I don’t have money right now, but I’ll pay somehow. Just save my son’s life!”
The staff member behind the desk sighed, her expression unmoved. “Surgeries cost lakhs. Even if we try, your son might die, and you will still have to pay the hospital fee.”
The words struck like a blow. The young mother’s face crumpled as she looked down at her son’s limp body. She knew she would do anything to save his life. She would sell her tiny home and the meager possessions she had. If only someone could help her son.
Just as the mother was about to lose hope, a middle-aged nurse approached her.
The nurse spoke in a low voice, so only the mother could hear. “There is one doctor who might help,” she whispered.
The mother blinked, desperate. “Who? Please tell me!”
“Dr. Shetty. She’s in pediatrics. Room 3B.” She pointed towards the hallway that led to the pediatrics department.
The mother clutched her child and staggered back to her feet. Thanking the young nurse, she ran in the direction mentioned.
She stumbled into the pediatric wing, scanning faces desperately.
“Where is Dr. Shetty? I need Dr. Shetty!”
