?Chapter 734:


    Emily had single-handedly turned the narrative against her. She had hoped to put the rumors to rest today, but now? She would never clear her name.


    And worst of all, Emily had mentioned Luna recanting her statement.


    Luna wasing with the police.


    Leah’s fingers trembled slightly. What should she do now?


    Leah let out a soft sigh, her voice carrying a note of exhaustion. “Bruce, I am not feeling well. I would like to rest in the office for a while.”


    Bruce studied her for a moment, then gave a slight nod. “Go ahead. I will take care of things here.”


    “Alright,” she murmured, turning away.


    This was more than just a retreat—it was a calcted move. She needed to get away from the prying eyes and relentless questions before the situation spiraled further out of her control.


    However, the reporters were sharp. They exchanged knowing nces, their instincts kicking in. Something was off. Leah was trying to flee, and they would not let her go so easily.


    Meanwhile, Corrine leaned back on the couch, her gaze fixed on the unfolding scene on her tablet. A satisfied smirk yed on her lips as she plucked a cherry from a ss bowl and popped it into her mouth, savoring the moment.


    Taking Leah down was never about a single, decisive strike. No, true destruction came through slow, deliberate dismantling—watching the other side struggle, gasp for air, and ultimately copse under the weight of their own mistakes.


    Like a fish flopping helplessly onnd, further and further from its water source.


    Leah had always excelled at winning people over, but today, Corrine’s n was working wlessly. By the time this was over, Leah would stand alone, stripped of the support she had so carefully cultivated. And without it? She would be nothing more than a figure of ridicule.


    Across the city, Andromache watched the live broadcast in silence. The situation had undeniably turned against Leah. Anyone with half a brain could see that.


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    Her assistant shifted uneasily beside her, stealing a nce at her face.


    “Ms. Hopkins, should we intervene?”


    Andromache loungedzily on the sofa, draped in a cinnamon silk slip dress that clung to her figure like liquid temptation.


    Reclining on her side, she rested one elbow on the sofa’s armrest, the loose neckline of her dress slipping just enough to tease a glimpse of smooth skin.


    At the sound of her assistant’s voice, hershes lifted slowly, revealing sharp, unreadable eyes. With deliberate grace, she extended one foot, the red polish on her toes gleaming under the light, and nudged his chin upward. Her voice,ced with mockery, slithered through the air. “What? Feeling sorry for her?”


    The assistant’s breath hitched, his pulse stuttering under her touch. He straightened quickly, swallowing down his nerves. “I just thought you seemed to care about her, so I dared to assume.”


    He hesitated, then added hastily, “It was thoughtless of me. I did not mean to upset you.”


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