Back From Prison, Built For Revenge - Chapter 64: Chapter 64

At the Foster Group, at the entrance, Hayden stood rooted to the spot, his silhouette like a sword ready to cleave the heavens.
Dressed in a dark gray suit that should have been immaculate, he appeared disheveled, his heaving chest betraying his barely contained fury. His tie was slightly loosened, hanging limply over his chest.
His piercing gaze locked onto the human wall of black-uniformed guards before him, sharp enough to split the very air.
"Move." His voice was low, yet it struck like a thunderclap, making eardrums throb.
The security captain stepped forward, holding his ground. His tone was stiff and flat. "Mr. Stone, please calm down. This is Mr. Foster's private property. No entry without an appointment."
"Calm?" Hayden's lips curled into a cold sneer, utterly devoid of warmth. His razor-sharp gaze swept over the captain and the surrounding guards. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
The security captain nodded reluctantly. "Mr. Stone, of course, we know you're the heir to the Stone Group. But this is Mr. Foster's territory, and we're just—"
Before the captain could finish speaking, Hayden lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab the captain's collar—swift and decisive, like a predator closing in on its prey.
With a powerful yank, he hauled the man off his feet, the black uniform's collar twisting out of shape, the sheer tension in the air leaving everyone breathless.
"Rules?" Hayden snarled through clenched teeth, his voice a low, chilling growl that seemed to seep into their very bones. "Do you honestly think your so-called rules can stop me from doing what I'm about to do today?"
The lobby plunged into a deathly silence. Though the security guards were well-trained, not a single one dared to move under Hayden's overwhelming pressure.
Their walkie-talkies trembled slightly in their hands, the barely perceptible plastic clatter becoming jarringly loud in the oppressive quiet.
The security captain was forced to look up, meeting Hayden's burning gaze. He struggled, but found himself utterly immobilized, as if an immense, unseen weight was crushing him. His lips parted, yet no sound escaped.
"Tell Yael, I demand to see him." Hayden abruptly released his grip, sending the captain stumbling back several steps, nearly toppling over. His gaze swept sharply over the guards. "Right now."
The captain steadied himself against the wall, wiping cold sweat from his forehead, his eyes betraying a hint of cowardice.
Hayden glanced at the other guards, then at Hayden's sculpted, ice-cold face. Finally, he whispered, "Let him through."
The wall of black-uniformed guards slowly parted. Without sparing them a glance, Hayden marched resolutely across the spacious marble lobby.
Each heavy footfall struck the marble with sharp precision, the echoing cadence resounding like the insistent pounding of a war drum.
At the end of the corridor, the heavy mahogany door stood tightly shut. Without a moment's hesitation, Hayden pushed it open.
Inside Yael's office, the lighting was dim—a stark contrast to the lobby. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and a faint trace of tobacco, laced with an indescribable aura of decay.
Low, haunting music drifted from the speakers, each syrupy note clinging unpleasantly to the senses, as if whispering secrets no one wanted to hear.
Yael half-reclined in his executive chair, a wine glass dangling carelessly at his fingertips. Dressed in a crisp white shirt with the collar undone and sleeves casually rolled up, he revealed a sun-kissed wrist that spoke of recent leisure.
He looked fresh from a party, exuding a lazy yet refined arrogance that was both irritating and impossible to ignore.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Stone," Yael drawled lazily, swirling the wine in his glass so the liquid danced in the light. "What brings you here—got time for a drink?"
Hayden stood before the desk, choosing not to sit, his gaze fixed intently on Yael. The fury in his eyes was utterly unconcealed—a blatant accusation.
Suddenly, he slammed his palm onto the desk, the heavy thud barely making Yael raise an eyebrow.
"Yael," Hayden growled through clenched teeth, his voice dripping with venom, "what the hell did you do to Chloe?"
Upon hearing this, Yael's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "What did I do? Now that's an amusing question."
He slowly set down his wine glass, stood up, and faced Hayden directly. "Isn't she your sister? Don't ask me—ask yourself."
"Don't change the subject." Hayden roared. His fists clenched so tightly that the veins bulged with terrifying intensity. "Three years ago—was it you who framed Chloe and sent her to prison? Was it you—"
"Enough." Yael cut him off, his voice deceptively soft yet laced with an unshakable authority. "You know exactly what happened three years ago—better than anyone, don't you?"
Hayden's pupils contracted violently. He instinctively recoiled half a step, but quickly forced himself to regain his composure. Gritting his teeth, he offered no response.
Yael didn't let up. He sauntered closer, each step dripping with deliberate provocation.
"I heard she had a comfortable time in prison, didn't she?" He let out a cold chuckle. "And those scars—weren't they quite 'special'?"
Those words lit Hayden's fuse. He swung straight at Yael's face—but at the last possible second, a security guard burst in, shouldering the blow and taking it full force.
Hayden's fist landed squarely on the guard's shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground with a muffled groan.
The scene instantly erupted into chaos as more security guards, alerted by the commotion, swarmed in and encircled the two men.
Yet no one dared to make a move—for at the center stood Hayden, like a wild beast on the brink of explosion, radiating a perilous and untamed fury that kept everyone at bay.
Yael remained unfazed. He glanced down, casually brushing the wine stains from his sleeve, looking completely nonchalant. "Is this how the mighty Mr. Stone behaves? Throwing punches at the drop of a hat—aren't you worried about embarrassing yourself?"
"Shut up," Hayden roared, swinging his fist again—only to have it caught mid-air by a strong, unyielding hand. The grip was firm and unwavering, stopping him cold.
"Enough." The voice was deep and controlled, carrying indisputable authority.
Carlos emerged from the shadows, his navy blue suit impeccably tailored and exuding authority. He stepped between the two men, his body a solid barrier against the escalating chaos.
His large, fathomless eyes bore intensely into Yael, as if trying to pierce through his very soul.
"Mr. Foster," Carlos said, his tone cold and simmering with lethal intent. "You will explain why Chloe has ended up in this state."
Yael shrugged with an indifferent smirk. "What's that got to do with me? Shouldn't you so-called 'family' be the ones reflecting on yourselves first?"