?Chapter 822:


    A voice—low, firm, and far from amused—answered from behind, “You’re suspected of leaking private information. We need you toe with us.”


    A loud tter nearly echoed through the alley as the paparazzi jolted in fear, their cameras almost slipping from their hands. Spinning around with trembling limbs, they came face-to-face with three cops in dark suits, each gripping a pair of glinting handcuffs and wearing a stern expression.


    No sooner had panic set in than the paparazzi were forced into a ck vehicle, the doors mming shut behind them, and driven straight to the local detention facility.


    Overwhelmed and confused, the paparazzi stuttered in disbelief, “Who are you people? We didn’t do anything illegal!” In their minds, they had only snapped a few pictures—how could that possibly warrant an arrest? Since when had snapping public photos turned into a criminal act? It wasn’t like they had captured anything obscene or ssified.


    Two agents with steely gazes settled into the seats across from the paparazzi. “Do you understand the reason for your detainment?” The paparazzi shook their heads rapidly, their expressions pale with confusion. They were desperate for an answer.


    Without a word, one of the agents produced a badge and held it up. “We’re with the National Security Bureau. You’re currently under suspicion for leaking ssified information. We’re here to question you.” The paparazzi’s mouths dropped open. National Security Bureau? Leaking ssified information?


    “Officers, we only took a few photos. How could that have anything to do with ssified information?” The agent slid a stack of freshly printed photographs across the table. “Are these your shots?”


    The paparazzi stared at the images before nodding slowly, still dazed. “Yes… We took those.” To their eyes, the photos looked great—Elena and Ellis were captured clearly, the angles ttering, the lighting near perfect. There was even a narrative feel to the sequence.


    Gulping, one of the paparazzi asked hesitantly, “Please… We swear we won’t do it again. We honestly didn’t know these photos wouldnd us in trouble with the National Security Bureau.”


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    The agent tapped his finger on one of the photos, right over Ellis’s face, and narrowed his eyes. “Tell me—why were you following this man?”


    Perplexed, the paparazzi exchanged nces before one of them muttered, “Him?”


    Their cameras had been trained on Elena—the man had simply wandered into the background.


    Leaning in, the agent continued his line of questioning. “Do you have any idea who that man is? Who sent you to get those shots?”


    With wide eyes and frantic gestures, the paparazzi shook their heads. “W-we weren’t hired by anyone.”


    Without warning, the agent mmed his palm against the table, the sound sharp and powerful. “You’d better start telling the truth, or you’re not going anywhere.”


    Desperation crept into their voices, and one of the paparazzi quickly added, “We swear! Nobody sent us. We were just hoping to get some usable shots of Miss Harper. Thought they’d sell well.”


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