The Rejected Trillionaire Surgeon

CHAPTER 5

Back at the estate, the Governor and his wife held a dinner; and everyone was invited except Jaxon.

But he stood quietly near the back corner of the room, like a waiter who had missed his queue. His wife, Rosey Harrow, was all over her new lover boy seated beside her – DSS Lewis Brooks.

Governor Harrow leaned forward. “Rosey,” he said, his voice smooth but layered with steel. “It’s time you stop playing wife to that janitor you call a husband.”

Jaxon’s hands clenched behind his back.

“I agree, Father,” chimed in Judy, Rosey’s younger sister, flipping her blonde hair. “He’s... an embarrassment.”

Governor Harrow turned to Lewis with a proud smirk. “Unlike Jaxon, this man has backbone, discipline, and power.”

Lewis chuckled like an overpraised toddler. “Last month, I coordinated an intelligence op that saved an ambassador’s life. I’ve met presidents, generals, emperors, senators, name them. Trust me, I could give Rosey the life she deserves.”

Everyone at the table nodded, even Madame Clinton Harrow. “Jaxon is... well, he’s a piece of furniture. You don’t invite furniture to the table.”

That brought another laughter, and they had it to their fill.

Then he saw Lewis clinked his glass to call everyone's attention; and with steps oozing pride, he announced his interest to wed Rosey, Jaxon's wife.

“I want to marry Rosey Harrow, not out of pity, but out of the deepest desires of my heart.”

Jaxon stood straight. Rosey smiled faintly, Governor Harrow looked pleased, Judy gave a round of applause, everyone joined.

Jaxon felt like pulling a hose over the bastard’s neck. Wife snatcher.

“To new beginnings.” The First Lady raised a glass and everyone toasted.

As if to cement the insult, Lewis turned to him. “Do you have any objection, Jax!”

The room fell into an awkward hush.

Jaxon smiled faintly. “Nothing, sir. Please don’t let me interrupt your royal decision.”

“Then don’t stand there like a lost criminal,” Harrow snapped.

Another barrel of laughter.

But Jaxon didn’t flinch, he checked his watch. 12:05AM. The surgery should begin in forty minutes.

As he stepped into the hospital, necks turned and murmurs rose. The day before, he had been permanently suspended because of money he didn't take.

That didn't bother him, because he had just made a transfer of 1.2 million into the hospital’s account.

So once Charles saw him, he screamed across the reception.

“Jaxon Mason!. We didn't expect you to be back so soon. Where on earth did you get one point two million dollars from?!”

“Well, I have my ways, sir.”

“You don’t just wake up and drop that kind of money into a hospital account unless you’re a goddamn criminal, which I suspect you are.” Charles fumed.

Shirley appeared at the far end of the corridor, her lab coat trailing behind her like royalty.

“Jaxon!” she screamed. “You’re back?”

Her smile was as beautiful as sunset…God!

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Charles appeared behind her, jaw tight. “Why would you care if a janitor is back?”

Shirley raised a brow. “Because he’s kind and efficient. And unlike some people, doesn’t pretend to be a genius while struggling to perform basic surgery.”

God! This lady can deliver uppercuts and sidekicks in an adorable way. Jaxon chuckled.

Charles could barely hold himself together. Shirley had ignored his subtle attempts at flirtation earlier. And now, she's glossing over a mere janitor.

Women are terrible!. He spat.

Inside the theatre, the team of elite medical professionals got busy with scissors and scalpel. The patient, Maziya, the mysterious hit-and-run woman, had been prepped and stabilized as her vitals flickered steadily on the monitor screens. At any moment, the most anticipated neurosurgery in the hospital's history would begin but there was one more problem.

“Where is Dr. Brighton?” Charles asked, glancing at his watch for the third time.

“We can’t delay. If we wait any longer, her cerebral swelling might spike beyond salvage.”

“I say we begin,” Charles snapped. “Brighton’s just another foolishly overhyped surgeon. We don’t need him.”

As anesthesia was applied and the patient slipped into unconsciousness, the theatre doors swung open.

Gasps echoed as Dr. Brighton, M.A. stepped in dressed in a sleek blue surgical apron, masked and gloved. He didn’t speak. He merely walked to the basin, scrubbed silently, then nodded at the team.

Dr. Wen blinked. “Doctor Bright –”

Charles raised his hand for silence. It was standard surgical protocol to remain silent during critical procedures.

And there was something in the man’s posture and the way he held the scalpel like a maestro that made everyone look at him in admiration.

The surgery began.

Hours passed.

Every cut, every micro-movement was flawless. Shirley, Wen and Lorney assisted closely, struggling to keep up. Even the most experienced nurses exchanged glances, this wasn’t skill, it was genius.

And somewhere in the silence, as he adjusted the patient’s neural implant using a nearly impossible cross-cortical bridge... Shirley knew deep in her gut she had seen this technique once when Jaxon had given an illustration earlier.

Could it be…? No, it couldn't. Dr. Brighton can never be Jaxon, the janitor. She dismissed the thought.

Hours after phase one of the surgery had ended and everyone had left, Jaxon sneaked into the theatre to have a word with the woman.

“Maziya”

The woman's face lit up when she saw him, though groggy from sedation.

“You said you had a message… for me. How do you know my name?”

“The prophecy…” She gave a weak nod.

Jaxon asked. “What about it?”

“I can smell the prophecy all over you,” she whispered, “You were supposed to be dead at birth.”

Jaxon had heard this countless times from his father; it no longer bothered him.

“Check your origin, you've begun to fulfill a part of the prophecy.”

“I don’t understand.”

She looked at him hard and long, her pupils slightly dilated now. “Your parents and sister are all alive.”

Jaxon's heart skipped. She was lying, his parents, the Masons, had passed away years ago.

“Ohh… if they're alive as you say,” he scoffed, “Where can I find them?”

“They live…in…in…”

But her breathing began to slow, the effort to speak draining her strength. Her eyelids drooped. The sedatives were pulling her back into unconsciousness.

“Maziya, wait!” Jaxon whispered, urgency flaring in his voice. “Where do they live?”

But she had passed out.

Jaxon stood there in confusion. The prophecy had been dismissed long ago and yet, here it was, crawling back to him in whispers through the mouth of a stranger.

Maziya was dying, the surgery was slowly killing her one artery at a time. But her phase 2 surgery would begin in an hour – Time was running out.