His first trail was her

Rudransh POV:

It had been 45 days since I last saw the woman who made my heart skip a beat. I had gone to Germany on urgent work, managing one of my hospital branches there, and stayed for two weeks. I returned to India just three days ago.

Even surrounded by crowds and countless distractions, my mind refused to let her go. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t even know her name. And yet… just the thought of her made my chest tighten and my heart whisper in a way I couldn’t ignore. Her smile, the way she moved, the soft warmth in her eyes—it all lingered with me, like a tiny spark I couldn’t put out.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed my PA barging into my room without knocking—a habit I hate more than anything, because it instantly makes me irritated.

Before I could even yell at him, he suddenly showed me a video

A routine heart surgery has ended in heartbreak, and the blame is falling squarely on Dr Rudransh. The patient, Mrs Mehra, wife of journalist Anil Mehra, died following complications during the operation, leaving her family devastated and angry.

Anil Mehra did not hold back in speaking to the press: “My wife went in for treatment, and she never came out alive. Dr Rudransh promised care, but he failed. This is not just a mistake—this is negligence.”

Eyewitnesses and family members allege that the doctor ignored warnings and took unnecessary risks during the procedure. Legal sources confirm that a formal complaint has been filed, and investigations are expected to begin immediately.

Public outrage has grown, with many questioning whether even the most skilled hands can excuse what some are calling reckless decisions. For Dr Rudransh, this is not just a headline—it is a direct attack on his judgment, ethics, and responsibility in a life-and-death situation.

I was astonished. How dare that journalist try to put the blame on me? Anger surged, but I calmed myself, took a few deep breaths, and then asked my PA, “Arrange a meeting in three minutes. Everyone who operated on Mr Anil Mehra’s wife that day must be present.”

Three minutes later, everyone had arrived. I sat in my chair, my eyes red, my gaze piercing. My voice was serious, cold, and unwavering.

“Can anyone explain what’s happening here?”

The atmosphere in the room turned tense, thick with anticipation. Everyone knew the wrath of Rudransh, especially when it came to his hospital, his reputation, and his name. Suddenly, I slammed my fist on the table.

“Didn’t anyone hear what I asked? Or are you all deaf?” I roared.

One man stood, trembling slightly but forcing confidence. “Sir, we understand your anger, but please… hear us out. We have an explanation.”

I nodded, signalling him to continue. He explained the entire situation carefully, then concluded,

“Sir, we did our best to save the patient, but we couldn’t. Apologies won’t bring her back—but showing the evidence will reveal the truth.”

A heavy silence followed. After a few moments, I spoke, my tone sharp and cutting: “I appreciate your courage, Mr Pranav, and I thank you for your explanation and evidence. As for the rest of you… I think you are all deaf and dumb!”

I stood, leaving the room, my steps echoing in the tense silence behind me.

I returned to my room, my thoughts tangled as I tried to decide my next move. Although there was nothing wrong on our side—and we had evidence to prove it—my mind remained restless. I called my assistant and asked him to bring me the medical history of the deceased patient. Within five minutes, he returned with the file, and as I flipped through the pages, several intriguing details caught my attention.

Just as I was about to call my assistant again, I received a call from Mrs Aditi Joshi, a retired judge who had recently stepped down due to health issues. I answered the call and said, "How are you, Mrs Joshi? I hope you are doing well." I kept my tone polite. She replied, "I'm doing great, Mr Rudransh. Thanks to you, if you hadn't operated on me, I might not be here today." I smiled slightly and asked, "It's my duty, Mrs Joshi. May I ask why you called me? Sorry for asking like this, but I'm a bit busy right now."

She responded, "I know, boy. I've seen the news this morning. Don't worry, I know it's not your fault that's why I called you—to suggest some good lawyers who can handle your case effectively." I felt relieved that she had chosen to reach out and provide assistance during this challenging time.

She mentioned a few names but emphasised, "However, Mr Rudransh, I would highly recommend Miss Kashvi. She is capable of presenting the facts without fear and stands for justice no matter what. Just remember, she doesn't like recommendations, so keep that in mind and schedule an appointment with her quickly." I replied, "Thank you for your advice, Mrs Joshi. I will definitely keep that in mind." She responded, "I'm just showing my gratitude, so don't waste any more time. God bless you," and then she ended the call.

I immediately called my assistant and asked him to start the car for Miss Kashvi’s office. Without hesitation, he complied. The journey would take about forty-five minutes, and as the car pulled out, my mind wandered back to what Mrs Joshi had said.

I had heard Kashvi’s name before—often whispered in the news, spoken with a mix of respect and awe. She was no ordinary lawyer. Known for her fearlessness, she could silence an entire courtroom with nothing more than her presence. Every case she touched seemed to carry her trademark: precision, clarity, and an unshakable sense of justice. There was something about her fierce, unbending demeanour that demanded attention. She was bold, uncompromising. In Kashvi, I saw not just a lawyer, but the very embodiment of what a lawyer should be.

We arrived at the lawyer’s chambers, and to my surprise, the waiting area was crowded with people, including several officials. This sight made mpiqued my curiosity who this lawyer really was. My assistant approached the reception desk to arrange a meeting while I observed the crowd.

A few minutes later, he returned, looking uneasy. “Sir, I forgot to book an appointment. When I checked online, the earliest available slot was either a week or even a month from now.”

I looked at him firmly. “We don’t have that much time, Mr Sharma. Let me handle this.”

I walked up to the receptionist and said politely, “Excuse me, Miss. I apologise for the disturbance, but this is an urgent matter. Could you please inform your boss that Mr Rudransh from Aureus Hospitals would like to meet with her?”

She nodded with professional calm. “Please give me a few minutes, sir,” she responded before making the call.

I sat there impatiently, tapping my feet on the floor. After a few minutes, my assistant approached me and said we had secured the appointment, but we'd need to wait at least 25 minutes. I nodded at my assistant and continued to wait.

Kashvi's POV:

Lately, balancing my cases and personal life feels like a trial in itself. Today seems like it’s going to be hectic but certainly entertaining. Just now, I met a journalist who approached me seeking justice for his wife's death. Here's the interesting part: he brought some evidence that seems very credible. He wants me to take on his case, which has been making headlines since this morning. It's associated with Aureus Hospital and particularly involves Mr Rudransh.

I’ve seen this man receive awards for his exceptional surgical skills, intelligence, and ability to solve problems even in dire situations. However, what piqued my curiosity and excitement is the claim from the news and my client, the journalist, said that Rudransh must be punished by law and have his medical license revoked due to the negligence that resulted in a patient’s death. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something feels off. I opened the case file and began reviewing it again, searching for any discrepancies.

Just then, I heard a knock on my door. "Yeah, come in," I said. My PA entered and informed me that someone was there to see me, and it was urgent. When I looked up, I was taken aback to see none other than the famous Mr Rudransh walking toward me.

For a fraction of a second, I was surprised. His reputation preceded him, people like him usually sent their assistants, rarely showing up in person. But I quickly masked the thought and gestured toward the chair opposite mine.

"Please, have a seat, Mr Rudransh," I said, my tone even and professional. "I wasn’t expecting you here today. May I know what brings you to my office?"

He sat down, Something in his look hesitated, just barely. He recovered instantly. “You go straight to the point,” he said, composed and unreadable.

I didn’t flinch. "That’s how I work. Time is valuable, and so is clarity. So, tell me the issue, and I’ll tell you whether I can handle it or not"

For a few moments, silence lingered in the room, but I held his gaze, waiting. Then he leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on the armrest. "There’s a case I’m involved in - a very serious one. And I need your help with it. That's why I'm here.

"Okay", I replied. "If you’re here expecting favours or hoping for me to play around with half-truths, you’re in the wrong place. If I take this case, I’ll need facts. Clean. Unfiltered. And I’ll decide my strategy only after I listen to them."

He studied me for a moment and let out a small smile - "I like how you straightly come to the point, Miss Kashvi. You don't waste time with pretences. Most people I meet circle around before speaking the truth."

"I'm not here to impress you Mr Rudransh! I replied my voice calm but edged with firmness. "I'm here to do my job. Now if you want me to take your case, speak up. What exactly happened?"

He let out a quiet breath, then leaned forward again, and he said, "Okay, let's begin".

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