The Billionaire's Wife |✓

Episode:- 6

Writer's POV

The harsh fluorescent lights of the operation theatre flickered off with a soft buzz, leaving behind a heavy silence. Dr. Rishabh exhaled slowly, his shoulders weighed with tension as he peeled off his gloves and pushed open the steel doors of the OT.

The corridor was dimly lit, a faint hum of machines and murmurs echoing down its sterile length.

He had barely stepped out when a panicked voice halted him, "Doctor! How is Ashok Sir?" It was Ashok Roy’s secretary—his usually composed demeanor now frantic.

Rishabh, ever the professional, began with quiet restraint, "We can’t say anything right now—"

But the words died in his throat as the echo of determined footsteps interrupted him from behind.

A tall man, flanked by a suited bodyguard and a lean secretary, approached with sharp urgency. His voice rang out before his presence was even fully registered, "What do you mean by that, Doctor?"

Rishabh turned swiftly, recognition flashed in his eyes, "Abhinav Roy!" He murmured.

The Abhinav Roy. One of India's most iconic superstars. Public darling. Private storm. And Avni’s childhood friend—the boy who had loved her in silence for years, guarding that truth like a sacred wound.

Abhinav’s jaw was tight, his sunglasses still on, though it was well past sundown. He didn’t wait for pleasantries, "Don’t waste my time. Speak clearly." His tone was clipped, impatient, and laced with suppressed fear.

Rishabh maintained his composure, "Relax, AR." He advised gently.

Abhinav ripped off his sunglasses with a dramatic flair, his eyes narrowed, ""Oh, okay. Relax!" He said mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Fine. I'm relaxed. Now tell me—what the hell is going on with my father?"

Rishabh inhaled deeply, "Mr. Abhinav, your father has suffered a third heart attack this year. It's extremely serious. Cases like this—three cardiac episodes in such a short span—are exceedingly rare and very dangerous. That’s what I meant earlier."

Abhinav scoffed, lips curling, "Yo, man. Are you sure you're a real doctor?" The mockery stung, more out of frustration than disrespect.

Before Rishabh could respond, a calm but firm voice interjected from behind, "He absolutely is. In fact, he’s one of the best doctors in this hospital."

All heads turned.

Avni.

She stood tall in the corridor’s dim light, her eyes sharper than the scalpel she wielded in her own OR. As soon as Abhinav heard that voice, his gaze snapped at her, "Avi..." He whispered, stepping toward her instinctively, arms opening to pull her into a hug—a place he’d always turned to for comfort. But Avni stopped him with a subtle raise in her hand. His brows furrowed, "What’s wrong?"

Her tone was even but resolute, "Abhi, I understand you're terrified. I understand your emotions. But you don’t get to speak to a doctor like that—not under my watch. You have every right to ask questions. But you have no right to belittle his profession." She shifted her gaze from Abhinav to Rishabh, "Especially not a doctor who’s as dedicated as Rishabh."

Rishabh nodded in silent gratitude, mouthing a soft, "It’s okay. I understand."

But Avni wasn’t done, "No. It's not okay. We, as doctors, are expected to remain calm, patient, and professional—regardless of what’s thrown at us. We’re trained to understand the emotional storm our patients’ families go through. But shouldn’t that understanding be mutual?"