Chapter 158

Vivienne's sharp instincts flared as she observed the interrogation room. Her eyes narrowed, fixing on the reporter stirring the pot. A faint, knowing smile touched her crimson lips. "Would you like me to explain?"

"Of course!" The reporter met Vivienne's icy gaze, her confidence momentarily wavering. She took a steadying breath, straightening with feigned composure. "Everything requires evidence. If you claim innocence, you need to provide proof."

A deep male voice interrupted: "I came as fast as I could—just made it."

All eyes turned toward the newcomer. He strode in, exuding effortless authority; his buzz cut emphasized the rugged sharpness of his features. Clad in a dark leather jacket, his tall, commanding presence stood out. His charisma momentarily stunned the reporters, a flush creeping onto their faces.

Owen moved purposefully, his gaze fixed on Vivienne. His sharp eyes swept over her, confirming her safety. Only then did the tension in his chest ease. She was safe. That was all that mattered; otherwise, he'd face relentless reprimands.

Walter, standing nearby, visibly stiffened. His eyes widened in disbelief, his pupils trembling. "Owen?"

The name carried weight. Owen was a legend, more formidable than Gideon. He'd enlisted at eighteen, becoming a lieutenant by twenty and a colonel at twenty-four—the youngest in history. But unforeseen circumstances forced his early retirement. Within a year, he founded Blue Core Technology, building a tech empire. Walter, who had served alongside him, shared an unshakeable bond with Owen.

Owen hesitated, then a faint smirk played on his rugged face. "Looking for evidence?" His voice held effortless authority as he stepped forward, dragging in a bruised man. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a crumpled testimony and handed it to the interrogator. "The last suspect is caught. Question him with the others."

Vivienne rose gracefully, offering her chair to the battered man. Under countless gazes, he confessed instantly. Vivienne's innocence was established in moments.

Stunned silence filled the room. No one expected such a swift resolution.

"How do we know this isn't a scapegoat?" the reporter's sharp voice cut through the tension. "Look at his injuries—he was clearly forced to confess!"

Owen, anticipating her interference—he'd been watching the livestream—exhaled. She always resurfaced, persistent, determined to see Vivienne fall.

"Sir, what do we do?" Milo asked Derek. His patience was wearing thin. He wanted to know what paper she worked for.

Derek's dark eyes flashed. "Find out who's pulling her strings." This persistence wasn't random; it was calculated.

Milo's lips twitched. Derek was finally acting. He nodded. "Understood."

Reaching the door, he encountered an incoming group.