Chapter 86 Her Last Price
Olivia’s POV
7:18 PM, Friday Night
Hale’s Mansion
“Why did you do it, Hale?” I asked, my voice trembling even though I tried to make it steady.
Yes I called him by his name, he didn't deserve the title ‘father’
He didn’t look at me at first. He kept swirling the whiskey in his glass as if the amber liquid was more important than the truth crashing between us.
His mansion felt colder tonight, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
“Do what?” he finally replied, his tone light… too light.
“You destroyed Mark,” I said. “You set him up.”
This time, he smiled.
It wasn’t the smile of a man who felt guilty.
No.
It was the smile of a man proud of his own cruelty.
“You think that was destruction?” he asked softly, tilting his head at me. “Oh, Olivia… that was only phase one.”
My stomach dropped. “Phase… one?”
He got up, walked slowly toward the window, and stared at the city lights below.
“Next step?” he murmured, almost dreamily. “Mark Simmons will be erased entirely.”
The words hit me so hard I staggered. “You’re talking about a company, Mark’s entire legacy like you’re talking about… cutting grass.”
He chuckled under his breath. “It’s business. To win, someone has to die. Figuratively… or literally.”
My breath caught.
He turned to me then.
And that’s when I saw it; The shift in his eyes.
The cold willingness to kill.
Not metaphorically.
Kill.
My hands shook before I could hide them. “Hale… stop. This isn't a strategy. This is psychotic. Mark didn’t do anything to you.”
“How do you know that?” Hale asked, stepping closer.
“You're only but a child, don't get messed up with things of the adults,”
“Hale, listen to yourself…”
“No,” he snapped, voice suddenly sharp as broken glass. “You listen.”
He placed the whiskey down and leaned close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath.
“I’m not done. Not even close. When I’m finished, Mark Simmons won’t have a name left to bury.”
My chest tightened. Fear crawled up my spine like something alive.
“Hale,” I whispered, “you can’t… you can’t kill him.”
His eyes narrowed. “And why not?”
That was the moment I realized absolutely nothing would stop him.
Except one thing.
My last card.
I took a shaky breath and reached into my bag.
“I didn’t want to do this,” I said, pulling out the envelope. “But you’re leaving me no choice.”
He stared at the envelope, uninterested. “What is that?”
“The truth,” I whispered, opening it.
The pregnancy test slid into my palm.
Then the DNA result.
I lifted my head to meet his eyes.
“You kill Mark,” I said softly, “you kill my baby’s father.”
The room froze, the light began to flickered as if they could feel the cold tension ongoing.
Hale went utterly still.
For the first time I knew my father, Hale Reed looked… speechless.
His eyes flickered from the test… to my stomach… to me.
“You’re pregnant?” he said slowly, voice suddenly hollow.
“Yes.”
“And the child is Mark’s?”
“Yes.”
My voice cracked, but I held his gaze.
Seconds stretched, long and suffocating.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t throw anything.
“Hale?” I whispered, terrified of the silence.
He didn’t answer.
He walked past me without a single word, the cold of his shoulder brushing my arm like ice.
He disappeared upstairs.
I stood alone in the living room, heart pounding. His silence scared me far more than his threats. Hale wasn’t a man who hesitated. He wasn’t a second-guessed man.
But now?
He was shaken.
And that made him even more dangerous.
I paced the room for what felt like hours before I finally heard it…
His voice.
But he wasn’t speaking to me.
He was in his office, and the door cracked open.
I froze when his words drifted out.
“Yes. Tonight,” Hale whispered into his phone. “Mark won’t survive the night.”
My heart stopped.
He wasn’t backing down. He wasn’t hesitating.
He was accelerating.
I covered my mouth to stop a scream.
Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying wouldn’t save Mark.
Only action would.
I stepped away from the door quietly, trying not to breathe too loudly. If he realized I heard that call, he wouldn’t let me leave this house alive.
I slipped into my room, locked the door, and barricaded it with a chair.
I tried calling Mark but he wasn't responding.
I tried Collins too but his number wasn't reachable either.
Suddenly, I felt this strong urge of courage. I pulled my drawer and began to gather everything single file I have been gathering for years.
The truth Hale thought he buried.
Videos of him choking me until I fainted. Recordings of him slapping me across the bathroom tiles. Footage of him, forcing himself on me.
Screenshots of the money he laundered through shell companies.
The trafficking ledger he thought I didn’t understand.
Names. Amounts. Dates. Victims.
The murder logs. The files of people who "went missing" after disagreeing with him.
He was a dangerous man.
My blood ran cold as I shoved everything into the thick black folder labeled ONLY IF I DIE.
I knew what I had to do. I knew what I had to risk.
My hands trembled as I pulled a hoodie over my head and tucked my hair inside. I wiped my face, took one more breath, and slipped out the back door.
Nobody saw me.
The night smelled like rain and gasoline. I ran across the street, flagged a cab, and kept my head down.
“Police headquarters,” I whispered.
The driver nodded and didn’t look at me.
Thank God.
The city lights blurred as we moved. My hands clutched the folder so tightly my nails cut through the cardboard.
When we reached the station, I stepped out, paid quickly, and walked toward the side entrance where anonymous tips were dropped.
Every nerve in my body screamed that someone was watching.
I kept going.
I pushed the folder into the metal box labeled EVIDENCE DROP.
It made a dull heavy thud.
A sound that felt like a heartbeat finally flatlining.
Was this enough to save Mark?
I didn’t know.
But it was all I had left.
I turned away, pulled the hood lower over my face, and walked back out.