The Rejected Trillionaire Surgeon

AAAAHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAH!!!

That was the scream which echoed from the maternity ward of the Hollowbridge Exquisite Hospital.

Outside, a woman stood before a man. Her name was Maziya. Some called her a prophetess, some, a seer, but most feared her.

She had only said one thing so far and it was enough to drain the color from the man's face.

“The child your wife carries… will destroy your house.”

The man gripped the armrest of the chair. “Speak clearly, damn you.”

Her voice, dry like the rustling of dead leaves, didn't rise.

“He will wear your name with shame. He will bring your legacy to its knees. He will be both your heir... and your ruin.”

A soft murmur erupted among his entourage.

“He will take what should never be his, marry his sister, and will kill his own blood.”

The man stood up, slamming a fist on the table. “Enough! My wife is in labor right now. Do you expect me to believe this superstitious madness? I am a man of logic. I build futures, I bend votes and run states …”

Maziya raised one hand and interrupted softly, chillingly:

“It is fate, and not even you can bend it. You can only delay it... or feed it.”

A silence followed, followed by painful screams from the maternity ward.

“What must I do?” The man turned away, frustrated.

“He must not live.”

The words, spoken so calmly, made the senator’s throat tighten.

“Woman!...you want me to kill my own child?”

“It is destiny,” she said. “It is fate.”

He swallowed hard. “Ohh..sharraaap!!”

“The universe is unfair, and so is his fate.” Maziya replied, unshaken.

“Dammit!!” The man cursed silently. His wife's scream in labour pierced his soul, and after a long pause, he declared:

“Then let it be done. He died... at birth.”

Maziya turned slowly and limped toward the door.

As she passed him, she whispered one last time, her breath like ashes:

“The child has already been marked. Even death will not deny him.”

The man entered the hospital with a storm inside him.

The VIP suite was locked down. No press, no photographers. Just his personal security and his sedated wife, unconscious after a difficult labor.

A doctor in round glasses stood in the hallway, gloves stained and eyes downcast.

“The boy is healthy,” he said quietly. “What are your orders?”

The Senator didn’t hesitate. “Get rid of him tonight. There shall be no record or photos. We’ll inform the public it was a stillbirth.”

The doctor hesitated. “Sir, this is…”

“Do it! And no one must ever know!.”

Inside the nursery, Nurse Maryon held the newborn. She had trembled as she had overheard everything.

Maryon had worked at this hospital for seventeen years. She’d seen life enter and leave this world. But this… this was something else.

She looked down at the baby as the doctor walked in and whispered into her ears.

She swaddled the boy tight, reached into her pocket, slipped a small pendant with the Vale family crest around his neck.

“Your name… your real name… is Jaxon. May the world never break you.”

Traffic hummed across the busy street of downtown Hollowbridge as she shielded the bundled child in her arms from the relentless rain.

At a corner, she pulled out her cracked phone and dialed a number.

A crispy voice answered. “Hello?”

“Darius… It’s me.” Her voice cracked.

A pause. Then, “You’re not at the hospital, are you?”

“No.” She looked at the baby again. “I need you. I need a name, papers… a way to disappear. For me and the boy.”

Darius sighed. “Maryon, what the hell did you do?”

“I saved a life. Their son, they wanted him dead.”

There was no reply.

“Alright,” Darius finally said. “There’s a woman in Eastbay. A retired immigration officer who owes me a favor. Go now, before they start searching.”

Maryon whispered a thank you and ended the call.

She cradled the baby, brushing his cheek. “We’ll make it, Jaxon. I promise.”

A week later, the man's mansion was draped in black and mourning.

Reporters and political allies stood under umbrellas as the man gave a carefully worded statement to the press.

“My wife and I suffered a tragic loss during childbirth. Sadly, our son passed away after birth. We appreciate your support and grief during this dark time.”

His wife stood beside him, pale, weak, and silent. She didn’t know the full truth. She believed the child had complications and had been dead.

And the man? He played the grieving father well. Cameras clicked, mourning tweets were posted, and donations to "Child Health Foundations" poured in.

All was carefully constructed.

“I’ll take just a few questions,” he said.

“Sir!” one reporter shouted. “Is it true the baby died of cerebral oedema, a rare childhood disease which occurs one time out of ten?”

The man looked down briefly, then he sighed, and looked back up.

“Yes,” he said softly. “My wife went into labor last night. We had been expecting a healthy delivery, but... fate had other plans.”

The woman's eyes widened at the word “fate,” but she said nothing. She looked at him, confused, but unsure.

“Was it dead on delivery or dead after delivery, sir?”

There was a beat, and the man exhaled. “We lost him shortly after delivery.”

“Was there anything that could’ve been done differently to rescue the situation?”

“The doctors tried their best,” the man said, voice low. “There were complications. They tried everything, but sadly it was too late.”

The reporters lowered their microphones slightly. The flashbulbs slowed, they weren’t heartless enough to press further.

“This is a period of grief for me and my family, and I urge you to condole with me and at the same time, respect our privacy as a family. Thank you.”

He guided his already sobbing wife back into the estate as the crowd pressed further to get a last minute shot and interview, but security held them back.

Days later, the press published the lie in every news outlet in Hollowbridge.