Chapter 60 The Return Of The Devil
Hale’s POV
The sound that freed me wasn’t a gavel.
It was the soft, crisp snap of justice being folded, bent, and stuffed neatly into the pocket of the highest bidder.
“Mr. Hale Reed is found not guilty on all charges.”
The judge’s voice echoed across the courtroom like a sermon from a corrupt priest.
The court room erupted.
Some gasped, some cursed under their breath, and the media instantly leaned forward like vultures spotting fresh flesh.
Flash bulbs went off in rapid fire. I felt the old, familiar power settle over my shoulders.
I stood, adjusted the cuffs of my suit, and smiled politely at the judge who couldn’t meet my eyes.
Money buys almost anything,.except courage.
The reporters swarmed instantly.
“Mr. Hale, do you have a comment on the verdict?”
“Is it true the Simmons family orchestrated the charges?”
“Do you plan to reclaim your position in the Simmons Group?”
I raised a hand, feigning humility.
“I’m simply grateful the truth was allowed to speak today,” I said, smooth as silk. “This was a political witch-hunt. But justice… always finds its way.”
That was a lie.
But the kind of lie people like to believe.
When I turned toward the back of the courtroom, I found him.
Collins, Mark's trustee.
He was standing against the wall, jaw clenched, arms crossed, eyes burning like he wanted to put me through that wall.
The same board that kicked me out had reinstated me by legal compulsion, once I was cleared, they had no choice.
He knew it.
He didn’t move, didn’t blink, only his gaze,fixated on me.
I walked toward him slowly, savoring every step.
“Missed me, sir?” I said softly.
His nostrils flared. His fist tightened.
For one delicious second I thought he’d hit me.
“Careful,” I murmured, stepping closer, almost whispering, “the cameras are still rolling.”
His jaw flexed, a tremor running down his arm.
He swallowed his rage.
Good boy.
I leaned in, letting only him hear.
“The empire you’re trying to build?” I said. “I’ll burn it to the ground before your child even learns to walk.”
His teeth ground so hard I heard it.
Security moved in to escort me out, but I paused and smiled at him once more, deliberately slow.
Because there’s nothing more humiliating than watching the man you hate walk away free.
The Simmons building looked exactly how I left it.
My footsteps echoed through the lobby marble as employees froze mid-step, whispering, eyes wide.
Some feared me. Some hated me. Some missed the chaos I brought.
But every single one of them recognized one truth:
The devil had returned.
I stepped out of the elevator onto the executive floor, inhaling the scent of expensive wood polish and suppressed tension.
Mark was waiting for me.
He didn’t speak nor did he greet me.
He just stood there, blocking the hallway that led to my reinstated office.
A territorial gesture like a dog guarding a bone.
I flashed him a lazy smile. “Don’t worry, Mark. I’m not here to take your chair.”
His eyes narrowed at the hint of amusement in my voice.
“I’m here to take your peace.”
He stepped forward. “You come near my company again…”
I cut him off with a soft, mocking sigh.
“It’s not your company. It’s your father’s. And once the audit clears, the board will be quite excited to see their darling son crumble under pressure.”
“I won’t let you destroy this place,” he snapped.
“You don’t need to let me,” I murmured. “You’ll destroy it yourself.”
His brows knitted, confusion mixing with fury.
I tapped his chest lightly; the gesture of someone who owns the moment.
“You always do… when the stress gets too much.”
“When the pills stop working.”
His expression cracked for half a second.
I saw the terror buried under his anger.
And God, it tasted sweet.
The elevator doors slid open behind me.
I stepped in, winked, and let them close on his trembling silence.
Power doesn’t sleep. Power seduces.
And tonight, its scent led me straight to Milla Anderson’s apartment.
The door opened before I knocked twice.
She stood there with her dark hair cascading over bare shoulders.
Her lips painted the deep red she knew I liked.
Her smile was slow poison.
“Well,” she purred, stepping aside to let me in, “the devil truly doesn’t die.”
Inside, the lights were low, the curtains half-drawn, and the city pulsed beneath us like a heartbeat on display.
The air smelled like cinnamon and ambition.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, hernails grazing lightly.
I kissed her hard, claiming every part of her body.
She moaned softly against my mouth, pulling me toward the living room, straddling me as soon as we hit the couch. Her fingers traced my jaw.
“You did it,” she breathed. “You really walked out of that courtroom untouched.”
I smirked. “Money talks. Justice listens. Everyone wins.”
“Except Mark,” she said, tilting her head. “He looked devastated on the news.”
I leaned back, loosening my tie.
“He should be. I’m going to ruin him.”
She smiled wickedly and slid a hand down my chest.
“And Becca? She’s already insecure.”
I chuckled. “Exactly. Vulnerability is leverage.”
Her voice softened into a seductive whisper.
“So tell me… how do we break him this time?”
The thrill warmed my blood.
“We use the only thing he’s terrified of,” I said slowly, stroking her thigh. “His past addiction.”
Her lips parted in recognition.
“He hasn’t relapsed,” she murmured thoughtfully.
“Not yet,” I corrected. “But stress makes him shake. Fear makes him desperate. And once he falls,Becca will lose trust. The board will panic. The press will devour him.”
“And then?” she asked.
“Then I take back everything he stole from me.”
Milla kissed my neck lightly.
“You know what I love about you?” she said.
“You never attack your enemies from the front. You bleed them slowly.”
I smiled into her hair. “It’s more intimate that way.”
She shifted off my lap and walked toward her dressing table, hips swaying deliberately. She pulled open a drawer.
“What’s that?” I asked lazily.
“You’ll appreciate this,” she murmured.
She lifted a small brown pill bottle.
She held it with two fingers, letting the label catch the light.
Prescribed to: Mark Simmons.
The room went silent.
I sat up.
A slow, delighted smile carved itself across my face.
“Milla,” I whispered, “you are a very dangerous woman.”
She sauntered back toward me, bottle in hand, stopping right between my knees.
“And you,” she whispered, brushing my cheek with her thumb,
“are a man who knows exactly how to use danger.”
The bottle clicked open.
A single pill dropped into her palm.
“Time to destroy him,” she whispered.