Chapter 89 Unanswered calls

Chapter 89 Unanswered calls
Kayla’s POV

The door had barely closed behind the police commissioner when I reached for my phone.

I did not bother returning to my seat. I stood there, fingers tight around the device, staring at the screen as I dialed Ashton’s number. My heart was already beating faster than it should have been, irritation and unease twisting together in my chest.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Then it went unanswered.

I ended the call and immediately tried again, pacing the length of my office as if movement alone could force him to pick up. When the call went unanswered a second time, frustration flared sharply. By the third attempt, I stopped walking altogether, my jaw clenched as I stared at the screen.

“Of course you won’t answer,” I muttered.

I dropped into my chair and leaned back, exhaling slowly. The office felt too quiet, too sterile, stripped of the confidence and authority it usually gave me. Outside, the city moved on as usual, unaware that my thoughts were spiraling faster than I could control.

The commissioner’s words replayed in my head, calm and factual, yet deeply unsettling. Vivian had been cleared. According to their findings, none of the shell companies were linked to her directly. No records. No trails. No evidence strong enough to hold.

Yet nothing about it sat right with me.

I had learned long ago to trust my instincts, and right now, they were screaming.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I said, straightening instinctively.

One of my employees stepped inside, holding a stack of files. Her expression was careful, like she was already anticipating my reaction.

“These need your signature,Ma’am,” she said, setting them down. “Also, ma’am, I was asked to inform you that two of our investors have officially pulled back.”

I looked up sharply. “Pulled back?”

“Yes,” she replied. “They cited delays due to your recent absence from scheduled meetings.”

My fingers tightened against the armrest. “Which investors?”

“Mr. Collins and Ms. Rivera.”

The words landed heavily. Those were not minor stakeholders. Losing them was not just an inconvenience; it was a warning.

“I understand,” I said after a moment.

She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“I’m fine,” I answered automatically. “Thank you. You can go.”

When the door closed again, the silence pressed in on me. I stared at the files for a long moment before pulling them closer, flipping through pages filled with numbers and contracts I usually reviewed with precision. Today, my focus slipped in and out. I signed where required, my movements mechanical.

This was exactly why I needed to pull myself together.

I had allowed my personal life to interfere with my work, and now it was costing me so much.

Once I finished, I reached for my phone again, intending to check my schedule. Instead, my thumb scrolled through my contacts without conscious thought until it stopped.

Steven.

Seeing his name made my chest tighten.

He had not called in days. No messages from him either. The silence felt deliberate, and I did not know whether that hurt more than anger would have.

What was he thinking about me now?

Did he regret getting close to me? Did he think I had dragged him into something dangerous without warning?

Or had he simply decided that whatever we were was not worth the trouble?

I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes briefly. I regretted letting things become so complicated. Spending time with Ashton without clarity. Letting Steven stay close without defining anything. Existing in a space where nothing was certain and everything was vulnerable.

I locked my phone and dropped it into my bag, deciding firmly not to call him.

The decision barely lasted seconds.

As I shifted, the phone slipped from my bag and hit the floor. Before I could bend to pick it up, the screen lit up and began to ring.

My breath caught when I saw the name.

Steven.

I grabbed the phone and answered almost immediately. “Steven?”

There was a pause on the line, then his voice came through, flat and distant. “Kayla.”

Something in his tone made my stomach twist. “What’s wrong? I’ve not heard from you ever since you left my house.”

“Yeah. I’m currently in England,” he said in a tone I’ve never heard him speak to me before.

I frowned. “England? You didn’t tell me you would be returning?”

“That’s not the point,” he replied, his voice lacking its usual warmth. “The FBI paid me a visit.”

My grip tightened around the phone. “The FBI?”

“They asked about you,” he continued. “About our relationship. How well I know you.”

A cold sensation crept down my spine. The commissioner’s earlier warning echoed in my head, unsettlingly clear.

“Steven,” I said carefully, “did they mention a name? Gia?”

There was silence on the line.

Then he spoke again, briefly. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” I said quickly. “Steven, don’t hang up. Please.”

The call ended.

I stared at the screen in disbelief and immediately tried calling back. Straight to voicemail. I tried again. No answer.

My heart pounded as questions flooded my mind. Why did he return back to England so suddenly? Why would the FBI question him? 

By the time I found myself back in the police commissioner’s office later that day, my nerves were stretched thin.

“I need a detailed explanation,” I said as I took a seat. “I want to understand exactly how you concluded Vivian was clean.”

He nodded. “Your private investigator did extensive work before his death. We followed his findings and expanded on them.”

“And?” I pressed.

“We traced the shell companies thoroughly,” he said. “None of them lead back to Vivian. The ownership points to an anonymous entity, someone who deliberately covered their tracks.”

“So you still don’t know who it is,” I said.

“Not yet,” he replied. “But we’re working on it.”

I hesitated before asking, “Is it possible the FBI will take over?”

His gaze sharpened. “It’s likely.”

The word sent a chill through me.

When I left, my thoughts were tangled and heavy. By the time I got home, exhaustion weighed on me like a physical burden. I poured myself a drink, then another, the alcohol dulling the sharp edges of my anxiety but not silencing it entirely.

Steven in England. The FBI. Investors pulling out. Ashton unreachable.

Everything felt like it was closing in.

As the room spun slightly, one thought became clear. I need to be completely done with Ashton.

I grabbed my keys and headed for his apartment, my resolve steady despite the haze in my head. 

When I reached his door, I knocked once. No answer.

I tried the handle. It was unlocked.

I stepped inside and froze instantly.

Ashton was in the living room with another woman, their bodies close, hands roaming, their lips fighting each other for dominance.

What did I just see?