His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 167: Olive's Pov

My eyes widened as I read the message once, then twice, then a third time, my hands starting to shake so badly I almost dropped my phone.

This wasn't a reporter trying to get a statement. This wasn't some random person who'd seen my name in the news.

This was a threat.

Someone was actively threatening me.

I read it again, my mind racing through different possibilities, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

And then suddenly, my mind flashed back to the flowers that had shown up at my office weeks ago. The strange messages I'd been getting. At the art gallery when I'd felt like someone was watching me even when they had sent me.

Was it the same person?

Had someone been monitoring me this entire time?

What did they have to do with Judy's death?

‘People who know too much tend to die.’

Judy had known something. Had hinted at secrets about Klaus, about connections I didn't understand.

And now he was dead.

And someone was warning me to stay away from whatever he'd known.

Or I'd be next.

My hands were shaking so badly, enough for me to barely hold my phone steady as I screenshot the message for some weird reason, then blocked the number even though I knew it probably wouldn't matter, that whoever was doing this would just get another burner phone and keep going.

I started my car with trembling hands and pulled out of the parking garage, checking my rearview mirror every few seconds like someone might be following me.

Every car behind me felt like a threat. Every shadow in my peripheral vision felt like someone watching. Every red light felt like an opportunity for someone to pull up beside me and—

I forced myself to stop spiraling and focus on driving.

By the time I got home, I was so paranoid I checked every room in my apartment before I could even think about relaxing, looking in closets and behind doors and anywhere someone could hide, my heart racing the entire time.

No one was there.

But the feeling of being watched didn't go away.

I grabbed my laptop and collapsed onto my couch, pulling up everything I could find about Judy Byron with shaking hands.

News articles about his steel company. Business profiles listing his accomplishments. Social media accounts showing a normal, successful life.

Nothing that explained why someone would want him dead.

Unless it wasn't about his business at all.

Unless it was about something else entirely.

For a second, my mind went completely blank, white noise filling my head as something clicked into place.

Unless it was about Klaus.

I gasped…actually gasped out loud like someone had punched me in the stomach…and instantly started pulling up old articles about my brother's death, digging deeper than I ever had before.

LOCAL RACING PRODIGY DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT

KLAUS MONROE, 19, KILLED IN HIGH-SPEED CRASH

All the same story repeated across different news sites. Racing accident. Lost control of his car. Died on impact.

Tragic but straightforward.

But then I found something buried deep in the archives, a small article that most people probably never saw.

‘YOUNG RACER QUESTIONS RACING CORRUPTION BEFORE TRAGIC DEATH’

My heart stopped.

‘Klaus Monroe, 19, had reportedly been asking mysterious questions, shortly before his death. Friends say he'd mentioned concerns about illegal betting and suspicious race outcomes. Monroe died in a racing accident before any formal investigation could begin.’

I read the article three times, each pass making my stomach twist harder, because Klaus hadn't just died in some random racing accident—he'd been investigating something, had found something dangerous enough to get him killed before he could tell anyone what he knew, and now thirteen years later the same thing was happening to Judy Byron and I was sitting here realizing my brother's death had never been an accident at all.

My phone buzzed and I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart slamming against my ribs.

But it was just Brenda checking in.

Brenda: You okay? Saw the news. Call me.

Me: I'm fine. Just processing. I'll call you tomorrow.

Except I wasn't fine at all and we both knew it, but I couldn't handle a phone call right now, couldn't handle explaining what I'd just discovered when I was still trying to wrap my own head around the fact that Klaus had been murdered thirteen years ago and nobody had done anything about it.