Kashvi didn't respond to the message immediately.
She never reacted impulsively anymore.
The terrace noise faded into the background as she opened the chat again.
Unknown number.
International code — India.
Her pulse didn't race.
It sharpened.
She typed three words.
"Identify yourself."
The reply came within seconds.
"Regarding Ved obroi."
The world didn't stop.
It narrowed.
For a moment, the lights of Singapore blurred — not from emotion, but from calculation.
Ved was dead.
Officially. Publicly. Documented.
Her expression remained neutral.
Across the terrace, Anvi was mid-conversation with investors, composed as ever.
Kashvi typed again.
"Be specific."
This time, the reply took longer.
Then—
"There are discrepancies in the accident report. We need to discuss in person."
Her grip on the phone tightened — not visibly, but enough.
Discrepancies.
The word echoed.
Ved's death had been sudden. Chaotic. Tragic.
But investigated.
Closed.
Or so she had believed.
She locked her phone again and slipped it into her clutch.
Anvi approached a minute later, dismissing the last investor with a polite nod.
"You left the conversation quickly," Anvi observed.
"Jet lag," Kashvi replied smoothly.
Anvi studied her face for signs of fracture.
Found none.
"Something changed," Anvi said quietly.
Kashvi met her gaze.
"Business always changes."
A beat.
Anvi's eyes sharpened slightly.
"If this is about India—"
Kashvi didn't let her finish.
"It isn't."
Not yet.
Not here.
Anvi didn't push.
But the silence between them thickened.
"You should be careful," Anvi said instead. "Success attracts scrutiny."
"I'm not afraid of scrutiny."
"I know."
That wasn't disagreement.
It was acknowledgment.
Back in her hotel suite, the city lights flickered below like coded signals.
Kashvi stood by the window again.
Five years of rebuilding.
Five years of stabilizing every weak structure in her life.
If there were discrepancies in Ved's accident report—
It wasn't emotional.
It was strategic.
If something had been hidden…
Why now?
And who benefited from reopening it?
Her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
"This involves financial transfers made weeks before the accident."
Her eyes darkened slightly.
Financial transfers.
That meant motive.
That meant planning.
And that meant—
This wasn't just about the past.
This could affect the present.
Her company.
Her son.
Her position.
Across the ocean, in another hotel suite, Anvi was likely reviewing numbers, projections, market entries.
Unaware.
Or perhaps—
Aware of more than she had revealed.
Kashvi picked up her phone and typed one final message.
"Send proof."
Then she placed the device face down on the table.
Whatever was coming—
She would not panic.
She would not retreat.
She would investigate.
Because if the past had been manipulated—
Then someone had underestimated her.
And that had always been a mistake.
Outside, Singapore glittered calmly.
Inside, the ground had just shifted.
And this time—
The truth wouldn't be buried quietly.