Author's pov

New day.

New chaos.

Artika walked into the surgery department, a file in her hand. The nurses followed behind.

The hospital, which was calm a few moments ago, turned into complete chaos the moment she walked into it. She is the kind of woman who wants everything perfect, because why not? A doctor's life is dependent on perfection, and her patients' lives are dependent on how she wins the battle. And Artika Birla always likes to win.

"Did you read the case before writing the prescription for patient number 205?" Dr. Artika's voice was calm and controlled, navigating through patients, checking their reports and changes in their condition.

"Yes, ma'am. I read it thoroughly and recommended the prescription based on the reports mentioned by you."

"Good. Is he stable now?" she asked again.

"Yes, ma'am. He can walk now, not properly, but there are slight improvements."

"Hnm." Artika hummed, checking the pulse of one of the patients.

After checking on the patients, Artika walked into her cabin, going through another file. Just then, her telecom buzzed.

She answered it immediately.

"Good morning, Dr. Artika. For today's schedule, you have the morning shift. The night shift will be handled by Dr. Prarambh. The surgery for today is at sharp 11 in the morning. Dr. Megha and Dr. Virendra will be assisting you," the nurse on the other end explained in her usual cheerful manner.

"Thank you for the information, Seerat," Artika said. Yet her expression did not flicker. Her face remained calm and composed.

The operation theatre was filled with doctors and nurses rushing around the room.

Artika's hands worked with precise knowledge, her movements careful and composed. One flicker of hesitation and it would cost the life of someone.

Yet her hands did not shake. They worked with quiet determination, her focus solely on saving the life of the person lying there lifeless.

"Dr. Artika, we can't continue. Her blood pressure is dropping," the anesthesiologist said.

"We can't stop now, Dr. Megha," Artika said, signalling Dr. Megha to handle it.

"Check the heart rate," Artika said, her voice calm and composed, cutting through the tense atmosphere of the room.

"Her breathing is abnormal," Dr. Megha said, slightly tense.

"Dr. Artika, it's getting out of control."

Everybody's panicked voices called out, but Artika's hands did not stop for even a moment.

Beep.

Beep.

The equipment was dropped into the tray by Artika.

The patient's breaths turned normal.

And the once tense atmosphere was replaced by a relieved one.

Artika walked out of the operation theatre, not even sparing a glance at others.

The patient's family members rushed to her, asking about her condition.

"The patient is stable now. She will regain her consciousness in a while," Artika assured.

Walking towards her cabin, she removed her gloves and threw them in the dustbin.

The mask followed, and then her coat was hung onto the chair.

She went to the washroom to wash away the remains of the surgery.

Settling onto the chair, she closed her eyes, leaning back.

An exhausted sigh escaped her lips.

But the peace was short lived, because just then her phone buzzed on the table.

She looked at the caller ID, irritated to find her brother's name flashing on the screen.

She answered the call.

"Hello."

"What hello? You are supposed to be at home by five. You do have a meeting, remember?" Her brother's voice rang out from the other side, slightly rushed.

"Sorry, I forgot," Artika apologised.

"I am coming to pick you up and will directly drop you at the café."

"Don't worry, I will go with the driver."

"Why are you so chill? You are already late, and they don't like people who don't value time, especially that eldest bitch of the Mittals."Sameer gritted out from the other end.

"I will deal with it," I replied calmly.

"You are definitely going to ruin the first impression."

"You worry too much, bhai."

"Fine, but take the bodyguards with you. I definitely don't trust that eldest bitch of the Mittals."

"Okay, okay, I will. Bye."

The call was cut after her brother gave her all the tips on how to kill a man if he gets on her nerves.

"You definitely don't need to teach me that, bhai," Artika muttered before cutting the call. Her tone sounded playful, yet her expression remained the same as before, calm and composed.

The warmth of the café greeted Artika as she walked through the entrance, the familiar fragrance enveloping her senses. The atmosphere was peaceful, and only a few people could be seen there.

The receptionist straightened as Artika approached her.

"Artika Birla?" she asked, checking for the booking under her name.

The receptionist checked the laptop screen for a second.

"Sorry, ma'am, I can't find that surname.

By any chance, are you Artika Mittal?"

"Ugh, there we go again. I am here to meet the guy, but his family is already planning to change my surname," Artika muttered to herself.

"Ye- yes," I hesitated before answering.

"There, ma'am." The receptionist politely guided her towards the seat.

It had been fifteen minutes since Artika was waiting for the guy, but there were no signs of his arrival.

Frustrated by his behaviour, Artika was about to call her brother when someone addressed her.

"Miss Birla."

Someone called from behind.

Artika turned around, thinking that he had finally arrived.

She looked at the man from top to bottom. His clothes were decent, more like all black from head to toe. His aura was slightly intimidating, his posture straight, his presence commanding.

He looked handsome. His brownish hair and sharp features screamed perfection.

"Ahm." The man cleared his throat to bring her back from her haze of thoughts.

Artika blinked once, then twice.

"Mr. Mittal?" Artika confirmed, but the man shook his head in denial.

"No, Miss Birla. I am his assistant. He sent me here to give you this." He forwarded a bouquet of red roses towards her, maintaining a respectful posture and not even looking at her properly, as if one look at her would send him straight to heaven or maybe hell because of the deeds he had to do for his boss.

"Also, I am sorry to inform you that he couldn't make it here today," he said, still not meeting her eyes. Artika found it strange.

"Oh, okay. No problem," Artika dismissed him, thinking that further investigation would only create a scene here, though she wanted to shout at that idiotic boss of this man for such irresponsible behaviour.

She was really tired after the surgery, yet she came here only to receive this, as if her time meant nothing. Anger bubbled within her, yet she refused to show any of it.

She passed the man a fake smile.

"I will deal with that boss later in my own way," she thought to herself.

"Once again, sorry to waste your precious time, Miss Birla," the man said, turning on his heels and leaving the café.

Artika walked out of the café too,heading back to her car.

Settling into the car, she threw the bouquet away.

Red.

She hates that colour.

Any piece of cloth, fruit, or flower which is red in colour, she hated it.

Unknown to her, they were sent deliberately, because someone out there knows what she dislikes more than they should.

A small chit that had fallen from the bouquet caught her attention. A faint frown appeared on her forehead. Picking it up, she read it.

"This is your warning to reject the marriage proposal. I don't want any marriage, or the consequences won't be in your favour."

She read it out slowly.

A low chuckle escaped her lips.

"What a nice way to greet your future wife, Mr. Mittal," she thought to herself. Her expression flickered, settling into something darker, something unreadable.

The car came to a halt in front of the Birla mansion.

Getting out, she made her way inside.

The soft clink of her heels echoed through the quiet of the Birla mansion, but peace never stayed for too long around her.

Before she could even take a seat on the living room couch, her father bombarded her with questions about her first meeting with him and if she liked him.

First meeting.

It never happened, Dad.

That's what she wanted to say, but that is not her style. She plays differently.

"It went quite good," she said, her tone perfectly composed, and walked to her room before any further words could be exchanged.

The room was dimly lit. Artika was crouched on her bed with a laptop in hand.

The sharp tapping of the keyboard echoed in the silence, revealing the frustration she refused to show.

She scanned the screen, her brows furrowed in concentration.

"There is not a single detail about his personal life on the internet. How can this be possible? He is a well known businessman. Every damn person has heard the name of the Mittals, but still I couldn't even get a single picture of him, let alone the details," she thought to herself.

Someone who hides this well is not ordinary.

Still determined to get every piece of information about him, Artika dialled a number.

"Hello," a female voice answered from the other end.

"I want you to do something for me."

"At this hour? Can't I do it some other time?" the voice replied, still heavy with sleep.

"We don't have much time to waste."

"Is it serious?"

"It's about the person I am going to get married to." artika spike after a short pause.

"What?" The person on the other end nearly shouted so loudly that Artika was sure half the neighbours had heard it.

"Lower your voice, Meera."

"Fine. What about him?"

"I need all the details about him, from his birth till now. Every damn thing. By tomorrow morning."

"What is his name? At least tell me that."

"Vridansh Mittal."

"The Mittals?" Meera nearly choked on the water she was drinking.

"Why are you behaving like I said the name of a ghost?" Artika asked, her tone turning sharp.

"Because it would have been better. The Mittals are very dangerous for our good."

A faint, dangerous smile tugged at Artika's lips.

"And do you think I am any less dangerous than them right now? Because your reactions are pissing me off. I need the details by tomorrow morning at sharp eight. Am I clear?"

Her tone turned cold, precise, professional.

And when she uses that voice, it means she is not asking.

"Yes," the voice on the other end answered quickly.

"Make sure not to open that pretty mouth of yours in front of Dad and bhai."

With that, she hung up, throwing the phone to the other side of the bed.

Silence filled the room again, but it was no longer calm.

"Pathetic. Your futile attempt to scare me felt more like a challenge," Artika murmured to herself.

Her fingers brushed against the folded chit lying beside her.

"Wait for the return gift, Mr. Mittal, because Artika never accepts anything for free."

Her expression darkened, her eyes holding a glint that promised one thing.

This was not the end.

It was just the beginning.