The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 118

The room was completely dead.

That piercing cry of "Daddy" felt like a branding iron, searing itself onto Hackett and the eardrums of every guest in attendance.

All the screaming, the crying, the fighting—everything just halted, as if someone had hit the pause button on reality.

Hundreds of stares locked onto the man standing by the stage like aggressive spotlights.

He was rooted to the spot, completely cornered.

His perfectly knotted tie had somehow been yanked loose in his panic. The open collar of his crisp white shirt exposed a pale neck, stripping him of the polished, elite aura he usually carried as Cresthaven's top surgeon.

The seconds ticked by in a suffocating silence.

That single minute stretched on for what felt like a century.

The shock in the guests' eyes slowly morphed into morbid amusement and blatant, unmasked disgust.

Finally, Hackett moved.

He slowly lifted his head.

He didn't look at Clarissa, who was practically in rags from his mother's assault. He didn't look at his own crying son, who was still reaching out for him.

His gaze bypassed the crowd entirely, landing squarely on Annelise, who was still standing behind Elias.

He spoke.

His voice was no longer that of the calm, calculating surgeon.

It was a hollow, exhausted rasp, completely drained of all emotion.

"Annelise, I never loved you," he said, enunciating every single syllable.

"Not from the very beginning."

Gasps echoed through the room.

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