The Rejected Trillionaire Surgeon

CHAPTER 6

After the first phase of the surgery, the surgeons peeled off their bloodied gloves as monitors and stabilizers hummed steadily.

“His performance was ... transcendent,” Shirley whispered to Jaxon. “It felt like watching a Demi-god at work. Perfect and skillfull.’

Jaxon smiled. “You sound like you just watched a symphony.”

“I did,” Shirley said, turning to him. “I’ve read about Dr. Brighton. They say he once sutured a ruptured aorta in ninety seconds. I thought it was a legend. But now... seeing him work...”

Jaxon felt flattered, she wasn't aware she was praising Jaxon, who also was Dr. Brighton in disguise.

“He slipped out right after. Didn’t even wait for the post-op rundown.” She sounded sad.

“I saw him on the seventh floor,” Jaxon replied. “Private wing. He rests there after major procedures. And trust me, Brighton doesn’t love to be disturbed. Especially not after something like this.”

Shirley’s shoulders sank slightly, but her eyes still shimmered. “I just wanted to thank him. Or ask him how he became so god-level brilliant. The incision, the timing, the way he handled the hemorrhage, it was like he saw it before it happened.”

Jaxon watched her speak. “You really admire him.” he said, half-smiling.

“I do,” Shirley replied. “It’s rare to witness mastery. And rarer still to feel it change you.”

Jaxon tilted his head. “You know, I’ve worked with Brighton for years. But I’ve never heard anyone describe him like that.”

Shirley laughed gently. “Maybe you’ve never paid enough attention.”

“Well... maybe.”

They walked slowly toward the recovery wing, where Maziya lay unconscious, her vitals were now steady.

“She’s stable,” Shirley said, scanning the chart. “But I wonder why she has no listed relatives, no emergency contacts, no initials on her ID band. Just ‘Maziya.’”

Jaxon frowned. “I noticed that too. No birth records. No national registry. It’s like she appeared out of nowhere.”

Shirley looked up. “You think she’s undocumented?”

“I think she’s... unrecorded,” Jaxon said, his voice low. “There’s a difference. Even undocumented people leave traces. But Maziya, she’s a ghost.”

There was silence.

“Do you think she'll make it through the second phase of the surgery?”

Jaxon was careful not to give her hope. “With Dr. Brighton, she'll stand a chance.”

Shirley clasped her palms together as if in prayer, and raised her eyes to the heavens. “God, let her not die!...pleeeeaaaase!!!”

Jaxon looked at her, the weight of uncertainty pressing into his spine, he could see tears circling her eyes.

His watch beeped – Two hours to phase 2 of the surgery. He had to hurry.

Just then his phone pinged, it was a notification from his wife, Rosey Harrow:

Come home soon, Honey, I have a surprise package for you.

“Family calls?” Dr. Shirley asked.

Jaxon nodded. He excused himself , grabbed his keys and rushed towards home.

Dammit! He had almost forgotten to buy her favorite jewelry.

He pulled up outside Jewelcraft Royale, one of the most exclusive jewelry houses in Hollowbridge.

The moment he entered, silence fell and everyone turned.

The receptionist, a red-lipped woman with attitude glanced at his faded clothes, then exchanged looks with the security staff. Whispers followed him like shadows. He ignored them and approached the main counter.

“Good evening,” he said.

The British woman behind the counter barely masked his disdain. “We… uh… don’t have anything in your price range, sir.”

“I didn’t ask for prices,” Jaxon replied calmly. “I need something special for my woman.”

A few younger staff giggled. One whispered, “Maybe he’s lost.”

The store manager, a round figure overfed man in a blue suit, walked over briskly.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” he said with a plastic smile. “This is not… a store for homeless peasants. Our clients have appointments.”

Jaxon tilted his head. “Is that how you treat all new customers?”

“We treat our clients with standards,” the man said, his voice stiff. “Now you’ll kindly leave, before I call the security.”

He was offered the door, but shame couldn't make him move.

“I’ll take the store.”

The words fell like thunder.

Silence, then snickers.

The manager blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’ll buy everything in here. Everything. The building, the inventory, your appointment lists. Name your price.”

Jaxon pulled out his phone and secure banking app loaded with thousands of digits displayed, waiting for a fingerprint.

The manager jokingly turned to the inventory staff standing by the counter. “How much are the jewelries in this store valued at?”

She laughed. “960 million dollars, sir”

Everyone joined in the laughter.

Just then, the manager’s phone pinged:

$980,000,000.00

INSTELLAR NOTIFICATION OF PURCHASE: JEWELCRAFT ROYALE

The manager’s expression changed from laughter to surprise to shock. His mouth was opened in a soundless gasp.

“I’ll have my legal team reach out,” Jaxon said softly. “You may want to prepare your resignation.”

“I'm…. sorry sir, I mean…” The manager trembled as he walked to assist him.

Jaxon walked to the counter, pointed to a necklace of black opals and platinum filigree. “Wrap that and the sapphire set in the back. And the diamond cufflinks. I’ll take them all.”

The man scrambled to obey, hands trembling.

He turned, walking toward the door as the once-arrogant staff scrambled to offer help.

“Sir! We’re so sorry! Let me show you…”

But he ignored them.

At his apartment, he carried the velvet boxes in one hand, a quiet smile playing on his lips. He imagined Rosey’s face, her eyes lighting up.

“Rosey?” he called.

No reply.

In the living room was the surprise package she had dropped for him: a cream-colored envelope sealed with wax stamps.

Jaxon’s smile disappeared.

He opened it slowly.

PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.

His breath stopped.

The words blurred as he stared at the Legal jargons, signatures and Dates.

He sat down, a second envelope lay beneath the first. He opened it.

I'M SORRY, JAX. I CAN NO LONGER DO THIS MARRIAGE WITH YOU.

TO THAT EFFECT, YOU'LL FIND THE DIVORCE PAPERS IN THE LIVING ROOM.

—ROSEY HARROW