Chapter 75 Breaking silence

Chapter 75 Breaking silence
Kayla’s POV

The driver pulled into the parking lot of the media building and my heart already felt too heavy for my chest. As soon as the car stopped, I stared out at the tall glass doors and the bold logo above them. Cameras. Reporters. Bright lights. Questions that feel like bullets.

I closed my eyes for a second.

I should not be here. I knew that. Anyone with common sense would tell me to go home, sit quietly, and wait for the internet to move on. But how could I? How could I sit back and stay silent while Vivian, of all people, used her platform to spit poison about me?

No. Not today.

I opened the door and stepped out. The cold air brushed against my skin and snapped me fully awake. A few staff members outside looked startled when they recognized me. One whispered to another before rushing inside. I already knew what that meant.

By the time I entered the building, the entire hallway was buzzing. A tall man in a headset practically flew in my direction.

“Miss Brooks. My God. We had no idea you were coming. This is such an honor. Please, right this way.”

I followed him as people whispered around us. Phones came up to take photos. Assistants hurried to adjust things. Producers peeked out of office doors with wide eyes. The manager himself appeared at the end of the hall, holding a clipboard and breathing fast like he had run through the building.

“Miss Brooks,” he said with a trembling smile. “Welcome. We are so grateful you came here. Truly. This is big for us.”

I returned a small, tense smile. “Let us get to the point. You got my message?”

“Yes, yes,” he replied quickly, flipping through his papers. “I have the list here. We will ask exactly what you want. The topic, the clarifications, Vivian’s claims, the rumors. Everything. Are you sure you want to do this live?”

I looked him directly in the eyes. “If I do not speak for myself, Vivian will speak for me.”

His smile dropped. He understood.

He nodded to his crew. “Studio two. Cameras ready in one minute.”

They led me into a cozy studio room with a sofa, two chairs, and soft lighting. A woman with a mic smiled nervously as she clipped it to my top.

“Are you okay with sound?” she asked.

“I am fine,” I replied, though my stomach felt like a fist.

The interviewer sat opposite me, smoothing her notes. A young assistant counted down from behind a camera.

“On air in five, four, three…”

Silence swallowed the room.

“Good afternoon, viewers,” the interviewer began with her practiced voice. “We are here today with someone who has remained silent for a long time despite countless headlines, rumors, and online discussions. The one and only Kayla Brooks.”

I offered a polite nod, keeping my expression calm.

“Thank you for joining us today,” she continued.

“Thank you for having me.”

She shifted a little, preparing to dive in. “There has been a lot of public attention on you recently, especially after Vivian Ward’s podcast appearance yesterday. I will start with the simplest question. What is Vivian Ward to you?”

I exhaled slowly. There was no point sugarcoating it.

“She was my best friend,” I said. “But that changed when she slept with my ex husband, Adrian.”

A ripple moved through the crew. The interviewer blinked, caught off guard by how direct I was.

“So you are saying… the affair happened while you two were still married?”

“Yes,” I answered. “And after that, I cut ties with her completely.”

She swallowed and glanced at her notes. “And since you returned to the city?”

“There has been nothing to interact about,” I replied. “Vivian is the one who keeps imagining that I still want Adrian. I do not. I moved on. She did not.”

The interviewer gave a sympathetic look, but pushed forward.

“Vivian claimed yesterday that you are… cursed. That people around you experience misfortune or tragedy. That your presence brings bad luck. The internet has been repeating this for days now. What are your thoughts on that?”

My jaw tightened.

“The only reason Vivian is saying those things is because Adrian committed a crime and got punished for it,” I said clearly. “Vivian does not want to face the truth. She wants someone to blame so she can protect her own image.”

The interviewer slowly nodded. “You are referring to Adrian’s imprisonment.”

“Exactly,” I answered. “Vivian cannot handle that her husband made terrible choices. So instead of acknowledging that, she wants the world to look at me.”

Cameras captured everything. My voice was steady. Controlled. But there was a burning at the back of my eyes that I could not ignore.

The interviewer looked at the next card.

“There is also the matter of an unfortunate tragedy. The death of Melanin Curtis. The internet has been connecting this to Vivian’s statement about a curse. What do you say to that?”

My hands folded into my lap.

“Mel was an innocent woman,” I said quietly. “I hope her soul rests in peace. That is all I can say.”

The interviewer paused. There was a moment where she could have moved on, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned forward.

“Many people online believe Mel’s death fits the pattern Vivian described. They are calling it proof of a curse. Do you deny that?”

My heart stopped.

For a moment, I forgot I was on camera. I forgot about microphones, audiences, gossip pages, and headlines. I could only hear the word curse repeat in my head over and over like someone hitting the same piano key too hard.

The interviewer waited. The crew waited. I stared at her, dismayed, horrified, offended, and shocked all at once.

Then I stood up.

“Miss Brooks?” she called.

The manager jumped up instantly. “Miss Kayla, wait.”

I pulled off the mic and dropped it on the chair. The interviewer tried again.

“We are live, you cannot just leave in the middle of—”

But I did not wait for her to finish. I walked out.

The hallway erupted. Assistants scrambled. The manager rushed after me, calling my name as I pushed through the lobby.

“Miss Brooks, please, do not leave like this. The interview was going well. We can edit the last part. We can fix it for you. Please.”

I stopped at the glass doors and looked back at him. He looked like he was begging for his career, not just his job.

“No,” I said quietly. “I came here to clean my name. Not to let people paint me as a monster. I will not help you do that.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. I turned and stepped out.

As soon as I got into the car, the tears came.

I did not even know why I was crying. Maybe it was humiliation. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was exhaustion from carrying the judgment of strangers I never asked for.

My driver sat silently in front, pretending not to notice as I wiped my face and tried to breathe.

By the time we reached the house, my eyes were dry again, but my heart was still bruised.

The door opened and my mother marched toward me immediately.

“Where were you?” she demanded. “I went to your room and you were not there. I thought we talked about you not going out for work? You should not be—”

“I do not want to talk about this,” I muttered, brushing past her.

She followed me into the living room like a shadow. “Do not ignore me, Kayla. I am your mother. You left without a word again. Why would you—”

I cut her off by walking into my room and locking the door. She knocked once, twice, three times, then finally walked away.

I sank onto my bed and grabbed my phone with shaking fingers. I dialed Ashton.

He picked up in two seconds.

“Kayla?”

His voice alone loosened something in my chest.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“What happened? You sound off.”

“I do not know,” I admitted. “I just… need to hear something that makes sense.”

He chuckled softly. “Alright. Let us start with something simple. Do you know that chickens dream when they sleep?”

I blinked. “What?”

“They dream. Like little feathery dreamers. Probably about corn or world domination. Who knows.”

A tiny laugh escaped me before I could stop it. He kept going.

“And did you know that penguins give each other rocks as gifts during mating season? Very romantic. Better than most men anyway.”

I laughed again, this time harder. He had no idea how much I needed that.

“Feel better?” he asked gently.

“A little,” I said.

“Good. You want to meet? I am not doing anything important. Just ignoring work.”

“Where?” I asked.

He picked a location and texted it to me.

I stood up and began getting ready. Wiping away the last signs of crying, I grabbed my bag.

When I stepped into the living room again, my mother appeared from the kitchen.

“Where are you going now?” she asked suspiciously.

“To work,” I replied, walking toward the door.

“I do not believe that,” she said sharply. “And do not carry Steven around like he means anything, if he really does not. It makes you look confused.”

I froze with my hand on the doorknob.

She was not finished.

“And Ashton is a bad choice. He comes from the same family your horrible ex husband came from. You already know how that ended.”

My vision blurred for a moment. Not from sadness. From anger.

I turned slowly.

“Do you want to talk about bad choices?” I asked quietly. “Because I remember your ex boyfriend Thomas Wade. The man who kidnapped his own nephew and threatened to kill his niece. Just because he wanted his brother’s money.”

Silence shot through the room like a bullet.

My mother’s face went pale. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

I did not wait for it. I opened the door, stepped out, and shut it behind me. Tears slipped down my cheeks again as I got into my car.

I drove myself to where I would meet Ashton, without looking back.