Chapter 76 Proof of curse

Chapter 76 Proof of curse
Kayla’s POV

The bar was dim, the low hum of music and chatter around me barely registering. I hadn’t spoken a word since Ashton had led me to the booth. My thoughts were elsewhere, spinning around the woman who had been killed—Mel.

I tried to narrow down who could have done it by ruling out those who weren’t at the hotel inauguration that night. A few names immediately came off the list. They should have been there, yet weren’t.

And then there was Vivian. Of course, she was on my radar. She had been all over the racing fundraiser, posting about me online, stirring whispers and gossip. Every action of hers seemed like a calculated push against me, trying to make me stumble, to make me look guilty in the public eye.

I barely noticed Ashton leaning across the table, his brows furrowed, watching me.

“You okay?” he asked, voice careful.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

“You don’t look fine,” he said, frowning. “You’re tense. You’ve barely touched your drink.”

I sighed. “I’m angry… about what happened to Mel.”

Ashton nodded slowly. “I get it. But you can’t carry all this alone. You need a break. Maybe a vacation, just a few days. I can go with you, if that helps.”

I shook my head. “I can’t. Not now. If I leave, I don’t know what might happen. My enemies… they’re watching. They’re waiting for a moment to strike. This is when I need to be available the most.”

His hand brushed against mine, gentle. “You don’t have to do it alone. Let me help you. Talk to me—tell me what you know about Mel. Why do you think her death is connected to you?”

I hesitated, glancing away. “It’s complicated. I’ve been trying to figure out who would want her dead… and why. I can’t shake the feeling someone is trying to get to me through her.”

“Who?” he asked softly. “Who do you suspect?”

I looked down into my glass. I could feel his eyes searching my expression.

“Vivian,” I whispered.

His eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “Vivian Ward? My brother’s wife Vivian?”

I nodded.

He blinked at me. “Kayla…”

I already knew what was coming before he said it.

“I know you have history with her,” he continued carefully, “but Vivian? Murder? That is a serious accusation.”

“She does not have to murder anyone herself,” I snapped. “All she has to do is create the right atmosphere, stir the right rumors, provoke the right people, or fund the wrong ones. People like her use other people as weapons.”

He shook his head. “Look, I am not saying you are wrong to be cautious, but accusing Vivian of being involved in a homicide is extreme. She is family, Kayla. She is annoying and rude and obsessed with attention, but she is not a killer.”

My chest tightened with anger and disappointment. Of course he would say that. He grew up with shields around him. Vivian was the kind of threat he would never see unless she slapped him across the face.

“You would never understand,” I said, pushing back my chair.

Ashton reached across the table, startled. “I am not dismissing you. I am trying to understand. Just explain why you think she is involved.”

“You want reasons?” I demanded. “Fine. She joined the racing fundraiser only after I did. She started posting about me on her platforms. She began reviving old rumors about me being cursed and spreading them like wildfire. And as soon as Adrian got arrested, she acted like I was the root of all evil. Now a woman who knew nothing about me or about the event is dead, and everyone is chanting Vivian’s narrative. Is that enough for you?”

He stared at me. “Or,” he said gently, “you are connecting things that are not connected. You are stressed. This is a lot. It is easy to overthink under pressure.”

There it was.

That painful, suffocating sentence that made my skin burn.

“You think I am overthinking,” I whispered.

“I think you are drowning in stress,” he replied softly. “And when people drown, they grab at anything to stay afloat.”

I felt anger rising in my throat like smoke.

“Of course you would not understand,” I snapped. “You live a simple life. Even with your wealth and fame, you keep clean. You avoid scandals. No one plots against you. No one wants you ruined. You do not need to watch your back because you do not have enemies.”

“Kayla,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, “I am not your enemy. I am just asking you to breathe.”

“I cannot breathe,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Not when everyone around me is pretending everything is fine. Not when people are dying. Not when Vivian is out there throwing gasoline on fire and everyone calls it perfume.”

I stood up. Ashton stood too, reaching for my arm but stopping before he touched me.

“Kayla, wait.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I should not have come. You will never understand the gravity of any of this.”

Without waiting for another word, I walked away. I heard him exhale behind me, but he did not follow. He was a good man, but he belonged to a quiet world. And quiet worlds rarely believe chaos until it reaches their doorstep.

Outside, the air was cold. I wiped my face without knowing if there were tears or just frustration. I got into my car and drove home in silence.

When I entered the house, I almost wished my mother would be asleep. But she was standing in the living room, arms crossed, waiting.

An awkward stillness settled between us.

“Where have you been?” she asked stiffly.

“Out,” I answered.

Her expression tightened. She pretended it did not bother her, but it did. She inhaled sharply before speaking again.

“The next race in the tournament has been postponed,” she said abruptly.

I blinked. “Postponed? Why?”

“They said due to the investigation and the woman’s death. Things are on hold until the commissioner gives clearance.”

I nodded. That was expected, though it added to the weight already on my shoulders.

“I am going to my office,” I said, walking away.

My mother did not stop me. There were too many unsaid things between us anyway.

In my office, I turned on the lamp and sat down, staring at my phone for a few seconds before dialing the commissioner.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Commissioner speaking.”

“It is Kayla,” I said.

His tone immediately shifted. “Miss Brooks. What can I do for you?”

“I need you to look into someone,” I said. “Vivian Ward. I want to know if she has made any recent large transactions, suspicious donations, or payments to private parties. Anything unusual.”

There was a long pause.

“Miss Brooks,” he finally said, “we cannot do that without a warrant or actual evidence. Financial investigations require legal clearance. We cannot just look into someone’s account because you ask for it.”

“I am not asking for her entire account,” I argued. “Just movements. Just patterns.”

“That is still illegal without cause,” he replied. “I am sorry.”

My jaw clenched. “Fine.”

I hung up before my frustration could spill into yelling. I sat back in my chair, tapping my fingers against the table. If the police could not do it, then I needed someone who could.

I scrolled through my contacts and found the number I needed.

My private investigator answered after a few seconds.

“Miss Brooks,” he said. “It has been a while.”

“I need a favor,” I said, my voice steady again. “Can you get access to the details of Vivian Ward’s previous transactions? I need movement records. Anything that stands out.”

There was a pause, then a low whistle.

“That is not an easy job,” he said.

“I will pay whatever it costs.”

“Alright,” he said. “Send me her full name and any identifiers you have. I will see what I can pull.”

“I will text you now.”

“Understood.”

I hung up.