The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 799

The doctor wasn't an idiot. Keeping a professional distance was the only smart move.

As his last sliver of hope evaporated, the frantic light in Hackett's eyes completely died out. He opened his mouth, desperately wanting to beg for one more chance, but the words wouldn't come.

Defeated, he slumped back into the pillows, his voice a hollow whisper. "...Forget it. Just forget it all."

The doctor finished logging the vitals, offered a few more standard reminders about keeping his stress levels down, and exited the room with his intern.

Before walking down the hall, the physician pulled the floor nurse aside and kept his voice low. "Keep a close eye on Bed 3. The patient is emotionally volatile, and that family dynamic looks like a powder keg. His heart can't take much more stress. If anything flares up, page me immediately."

"Understood, Doctor," the nurse nodded.

The door to the room clicked shut.

Hackett stared up at the sterile ceiling tiles, the final embers of his fighting spirit extinguished. He was a dead man breathing. He didn't say another word; he simply closed his eyes, swallowed by sheer exhaustion.

...

Meanwhile, across the city, Milford Sherwood had stormed out of his house after a blowout fight with his father, Fitch. He had intended to book a suite at a luxury hotel, only to discover his credit cards had been completely frozen.

With nowhere else to go, he headed to a high-end club to drown his rage in alcohol.

Neon signs sliced through the heavy night air, casting a hypnotic, colorful glow over the entrance of "The Mirage."

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