?Chapter 493:


    “Defamation carries prison time,” Brenna said, looking at Sylvie. “Since you’re so eager for it, I will let you go to prison.”


    Sylvie’s bloodied fingers wed at the space between them, failing to reach the hem of Brenna’s dress. “Please don’t…” The words bubbled out through bloodied lips. “I’ll… I’ll do anything you want… Just don’t call the police. My life will be over if I go to jail.”


    But Brenna didn’t spare her a nce. Her gaze stayed locked on her phone screen. Surprisingly, Rosie’s name was nowhere to be found in Sylvie’s damning messages. It seemed Rosie was uncharacteristically cautious this time.


    “I gave you many chances to redeem yourself,” Brenna said coldly, her voice sharp. “But you threw them all away and schemed against me time and time again. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out about your schemes with Rosie? That little stunt with sending her to Jay… Tell me, Sylvie, how many years do you think the courts will hand you when they tally up all your crimes?”


    Ethan’s fingers moved swiftly over his phone screen, dialing the police with calm precision.


    Neville motioned for the reporters to step closer, herding them like sheep into a quieter corner.


    “Well?” he asked sharply. “What did you just see?”


    The reporters shook their heads repeatedly. The one in sses gulped audibly before speaking. “Nothing at all, sir. Sylvie reached out to us…”


    He paused, eyes flicking nervously to Neville’s expressionless face, searching for a signal. When none came, he continued, “She offered us money and showed uspromising photos of Miss Harper in bed. She wanted us to publish them to ruin her reputation. But we are professional journalists: we would never be part of something so hical. We n to expose Sylvie’s edited photo scheme. We’ll testify and give full statements to the police about her attempts at fabrication.”


    Neville’s lips curled with approval as the reporters began tripping over themselves to offer more dramatic testimonies. He chimed in now and then, subtly steering their story with precision.


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    By the time the police cars pulled up, the officers didn’t say a word as they took Sylvie’s battered body away. Her shallow breaths were the only sign that life still flickered inside her.


    “Thank you,” Brenna said softly, looking at Ethan with a warm smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you today.”


    Shirie University had mapped out Brenna’s teaching schedule for Tuesday afternoons—four consecutive weekly sessions stretching over two months. On that particr Tuesday, Brenna finished her lunch early and arrived at her temporary campus office by one in the afternoon. The university had assigned her a spot in the Mechanical Engineering Department’s graduate faculty area.


    The office was mostly deserted since professors were often tied up with graduate supervision. Only Brenna, the academic advisor, and a handful of lecturers typically frequented the space. For the lecture this time, Brenna had brought along Tommy, who was busy arranging automotive models at a table.


    As Brenna prepared her teaching materials, an unexpected knock broke the tranquil atmosphere in the office.


    Tommy opened the door to find several sharply dressed male students waiting outside. They looked to be in their mid-twenties, likely graduate students from Shirie University.


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