Knot The One They Want

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.

I clear my throat into the microphone, waiting just a brief second for the noise to subside. Beneath my tailored suit, my heart beats steadily, though my mind races. For a fraction of a second, I hesitate. I contemplate whether I should really go through with this, whether stripping away the veil is the right move. The easy path would be to offer vague corporate deflection, to lie and hide in the shadows as I always have when it comes to Lorali.

No. The shadow-hiding thing is done. Lorali deserves the truth, and I am done cowering behind public relations strategies.

"Her name is Lorali Alma," I announce, my voice carrying an iron weight that cuts directly through the lingering murmur. "She is an orphan, and as many of you can deduce by her surname, she was a student of the prestigious Alma Academy. Furthermore, she is the fated mate of myself and members of my pack."

If the hall was chaotic before, it is an absolute storm now. Gasps echo off the high ceilings, and journalists scribble furiously on their pads while frantic camera operators lean over their tripods.

Before the security team can restore order, a sharp-tongued senior reporter near the front row shouts over the uproar, his voice piercing through the ambient noise. "And how does superstar model Walter feel about this, Mr. Spade? He has not been seen in public in weeks! Is his sudden absence tied to his declining mental health over sharing his status?"

"The allegations regarding Walter’s health are completely unfounded and false," I respond smoothly, not letting my face betray a single flick of annoyance. "Walter is currently resting in privacy."

"Is that so?" the reporter presses immediately, refusing to yield the floor, leaning forward with an accusatory scowl.

"Can you honestly tell us that every single member of your pack accepts this fated bond? Have all of you truly embraced a second omega?"

No, my mind screams instantly. Half my pack is spiraling, Walter is heat, and we are on the verge of tearing each other apart.

Outwardly, my expression remains as serene as still water.

"This is the will of the Goddess," I state calmly, raising my hand slightly to anchor the room’s attention. "We are all but her humble children, and as her children, we must accept the path she lays before us. It does not matter whether individual mortal minds struggle to comprehend it initially. It is the divine will of the Moon Goddess, and we must abide by it without question."

The reporter fires back instantly, narrowing his eyes. "So just because the Goddess dictates something, all traditional morals must simply go out the window? A pack cannot ethically maintain two omegas!"

A low coil of irritation tightens in my chest. My jaw clenches, though I keep my posture relaxed. The sheer nerve of this man to question my house and my faith in front of a national audience grates against my last nerve.

"Yes," I say, leaning closer to the microphone, my voice dropping an octave into a low, dangerous growl that chills the air in the room. "The Goddess is morality itself. For you to question the decisions of the Goddess is for you to declare yourself a heretic."

A collective, sharp gasp sweeps through the entire auditorium.

Silence falls like a physical weight. In a society that predominantly worships the Moon Goddess, being publicly labeled a heretic by a high-ranking Alpha, such as myself, is the ultimate social death sentence. It is an insult severe enough to blackball a journalist, strip them of their press credentials, and ruin their entire professional career in a single afternoon.

The reporter’s face drains of all color. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. Recognizing the sheer lethality of the line he just crossed, he instantly sits back down, ducking his head and covering his face with his notebook to hide from the snapping cameras.

I feel a small, smug wave of pride wash over me. One down.

Before I can wrap up the conference, another hand shoots up near the center aisle. A woman stands, holding a voice recorder high. "Mr. Spade! What about the rumors surrounding your pack member, Oracle Spade? Is it true that he is currently being held in a high-security enforcement jail?"

A sudden flare of genuine panic hits my chest, cold and sudden, though I do not let a single muscle in my face twitch.

Damn it. In the absolute whirlwind of dealing with Lorali. I completely forgot I left Oracle locked up in a cell.

"That is entirely false," I lie without missing a beat, looking the reporter dead in the eye with complete conviction. "Oracle Spade is not in jail. He is currently attending to private pack matters, and you will see him back in the public eye very, very soon."

I clear my throat, deciding right then and there to bring this circus to an absolute close before anyone digs up another mess I have to cover for.

"If there are no further relevant questions, I shall take my leave," I say, sweeping my gaze over the room one last time. "I want to leave you all with this absolute truth. My pack is stable, my company is firm, and we are moving forward. I am not advocating for other packs to go out and take multiple omegas haphazardly. No. But in our specific case, this is the explicit, divine will of the Goddess, and anyone who speaks against her sacred design is walking a treacherous line."

Without waiting for another word, I step away from the podium and stride toward the side exit.

The room instantly breaks into absolute frenzy once more. Reporters vault over chairs, thrusting long microphones and recording devices over the heads of the security guard wall, screaming out final questions as I move past.

"Mr. Spade! Just one more question!"

"Over here, Torin!"

The bodyguards shove their way through the narrow side corridor, physically pushing back the press to carve out a clear path for Erin and me. We keep moving at a rapid pace, but just as we near the heavy double doors leading to the private back hallway, a very young reporter manages to slip past a guard’s arm. He lunges forward, shoving a slick black microphone straight into my face, the red recording light glowing brightly on its tip.

He looks up at me, breathless and desperate, and asks the one question that cuts straight through all the corporate noise.

"Do you love her? Do you actually love the second omega?"

I stop dead in my tracks.

The heavy wall of bodyguards pauses around me. Erin turns his head, watching me closely from a few steps ahead.

The red light of the lens stares right into my eyes, broadcasting my face live to millions of screens across the territory.

I look directly into the camera lens, my chest swelling with a truth I am no longer afraid to own.

"More than you could ever imagine," I say softly.

Without another second’s delay, I turn on my heel and push through the heavy doors, leaving the roaring auditorium behind us as the thick soundproofing cuts off the noise of the crowd.

We hurry down the quiet, carpeted executive hallway toward the private elevator. My chief assistant, Clara, is already waiting by the doors, a tablet tucked tightly under her arm, looking visibly shaken by the broadcast but entirely professional as always.

"Clara," I bark out, not slowing my stride as I reach her side. "I need you to contact our head legal counsel immediately. Get the best defense attorney on our payroll and have them meet Oracle at the central enforcement precinct as soon as humanly possible."

Clara blinks, quickly tapping the command into her tablet with rapid speed. "Right away, Mr. Spade. I will handle it personally."

"Good," I say, stepping into the opening elevator doors with Erin trailing right beside me. "I need Oracle out of that cell immediately."

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