Torin Pov
The blinding flash of camera lenses hits me before I even step fully inside the grand auditorium, but I do not so much as flinch.
The press hall is an absolute madhouse. It is filled to the brim, bursting at the seams with a chaotic sea of journalists, camera operators, and broadcast crews crammed shoulder-to-shoulder into every available inch of floor space.
There were even dozens of desperate reporters swarming the street outside the building, braving the cold just to catch a glimpse of my car as it pulled up to the curb.
None of it phases me in the slightest. I am not even remotely intimidated. I have conducted countless high-stakes press conferences in this exact room over the years, steering multi-million-dollar narratives with a flick of my wrist. Still, I have never seen the hall this choked with people.
The only reason it is packed to the roof today is because the media consists of nothing more than gossip-hungry snakes, eager to sink their fangs into a carcass before it even stops breathing.
They want blood, and they smell a scandal.
"Mr. Spade! How do you address the catastrophic plunge in your stock value?"
"Mr. Spade, over here! Is it true your pack has secretly taken a second omega?"
"What is happening within the Spade Pack leadership?"
A barrage of shrill, overlapping questions bombards me from every direction as I walk down the central aisle toward the elevated stage. Microphones are shoved toward my chest, and the near-constant strobe of camera flashes paints the room in harsh white light. I do not answer a single one of them.
I do not even glance at the shouting faces. My expression remains a mask of cool, unbothered composure as I maintain a steady, powerful stride straight toward the wooden podium.
Beside me, Erin keeps pace, his quiet presence a grounding tether in the chaos, while my security team forms a moving wall to keep the pressing crowd at bay.
I step up onto the stage, approaching the microphone, and turn to face the room. I let my eyes sweep across the restless audience, taking in every single face in the room.
Every reporter here is practically salivating, desperate to unearth the intimate details of my personal life and gut my legacy for headline views. They know as well as I do that what happens at this podium today will decide the ultimate fate of Spade Industries. If I falter, the market collapses. If I stand firm, I rewrite the narrative entirely.
I lean toward the microphone, the room instantly falling into a dead, expectant silence the moment my shadow settles over the podium. "Good afternoon, everyone," I begin, my voice deep, smooth, and echoing clearly through the high-end audio system. "I appreciate you all coming on such short notice."
The silence in the hall stretches tight, heavy with anticipation.
"Recently," I continue, keeping my cadence measured, "rumors have been circulating regarding the status of my household. Not so long ago, I announced that my pack had taken a second omega into our residence. I am here today to state clearly that those reports are, in fact, true."
The hall instantly explodes into pure bedlam.
A fresh wave of camera shutters clicks furiously, light strobing wildly across the ceiling as reporters leap from their seats, shouting over one another in a frantic frenzy to be heard.
"Who is she?"
"What is her identity?"
"Where did she come from?"
My security staff surges forward along the perimeter of the stage, hands extended, forcing the surging reporters back behind the barricades.