“Oh, come on, Yamini. I know your ex was an untrustworthy jerk. But don’t lose out on this wonderful opportunity. Having a studio in such a place is a dream come true!”
Yamini sucked in a breath. Before she could say something, a woman in a crisp grey suit approached them, tablet tucked neatly under her arm.
“Miss Dhar,” the woman greeted with a polite smile. “I’m Zoya Mufti. I represent the Jogra Royal Estate’s commercial portfolio.”
Yamini returned the greeting. “Good morning.”
Zoya’s gaze lingered for half a second longer than professional courtesy required. Curious and assessing.
Yamini recognized the look instantly.
Who is she? How can she afford this?
Zoya and the rest of the world were yet to know that she was married to Bharat Jogra.
Pooja was restless with excitement. “We’re here to see the top floor.”
“Yes,” Zoya replied. “If you’ll follow me.”
They passed through the sleek lobby, marble floors gleaming under soft lights. Yamini caught glimpses of framed installations along the walls with minimalist sculptures, abstract photography, and names she recognized from international exhibitions.
Pooja leaned in, whispering, “Your work will fitperfectlyhere.”
Yamini didn’t answer. Her heart was beating too fast.
The elevator ride was silent, smooth. Zoya tapped the key card against the panel, selecting the top floor.
As the doors opened, Zoya stepped forward and slid the same card into a discreet slot beside a glass door.
There was a soft click and then she pushed the door open.
Light flooded the space.
Yamini stopped breathing.
The studio stretched wide and open, ceilings soaring high, windows lining the eastern wall exactly as Bharat had said. The light poured in clean and even without harsh glare or shadows fighting for dominance.
It was perfect. Too perfect.
“This is stunning!” Pooja spun slowly, eyes wide.
The floors were polished concrete. The walls bare but pristine. One side opened into a smaller enclosed room. Editing space, just as Bharat had described. Even the power outlets were placed thoughtfully along the walls.
Yamini walked forward, almost dazed, and stood where the light fell strongest.
She lifted her hand, watching the way the sun wrapped around her fingers.
Exactly right.
Her throat tightened.
“The space has been unoccupied by choice,” said Zoya. “The royal estate prefers long-term tenants aligned with certain standards.”
Pooja grinned. “Don’t worry. She’sperfectfor the royal estate standards.”
Zoya smiled politely, though her curiosity hadn’t faded.
“This place,” Pooja continued excitedly, “will bring you the best clientele. Galleries, designers, collectors. Everyone who matters passes through this building.”
