After I Torched Alive, My Alpha Went crazy novel Chapter 193

Alpha King's gaze swept over the room, pausing for just a moment on the offending reporter who had questioned my business practices.

I turned my head to look at him more directly. His face was a picture of composure, but there was an underlying tension around his mouth. He wasn't expecting the Alpha King to intervene.

But it was clear now that this reporter had been acting on his own. He wasn't one of the Alpha King's supporters trying to make things difficult for me.

This was his personal vendetta, and it was easy to see why the Alpha King was displeased with his tactics.

The Alpha King's words were sharp and deliberate. "If you want to ask legitimate questions, that's fine. But don't waste our time with fabricated stories."

The reporter didn't argue. He simply nodded and fell back into his seat, his eyes avoiding the Alpha King's gaze. That was the end of that.

I couldn't help but feel a small sense of relief wash over me. The room had been tense, and his intervention had given me a bit of breathing room.

I wasn't alone in this. The Alpha King had made it clear that he wasn't going to stand by and let them bully me.

The press conference continued, but the focus shifted. Some reporters asked more common questions, the kind I had been prepared for.

Questions about the growth of my business, my vision for the future, and how I planned to address the challenges that came with running a business in the Wolverine Kingdom.

I answered them fluently, my nerves beginning to settle now that I wasn't being attacked from all sides.

I glanced over at the electronic screen across the room. It displayed the real-time voting data of the werewolf crowd. My vote was climbing steadily. It wasn't a decisive number yet, but the rise in my count was enough to give me a boost.

High vote counts always felt like a small victory. They gave me something to hold onto, something to keep me grounded in the midst of this whirlwind of scrutiny.

The reporters around the room had been asking questions, jotting down notes, and listening intently. But then, just as quickly, their attention shifted to someone else in the room—Estelle.

I noticed her sitting across from me, her posture stiff but with a carefully constructed expression of meekness. It was almost laughable, the way she tried to play the innocent victim while all eyes were on her.

The reporters, now more focused than ever, were starting to get answers they hadn't expected. And Estelle, it seemed, was struggling to maintain her composure.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of vindication. She had underestimated me, thinking she could orchestrate this whole press conference to her advantage.

But I was here, standing my ground, and now the tide had turned. As I watched her try to regain her footing, I couldn't help but think that she might be regretting her decision to challenge me.

The reporters, sensing weakness, pushed further. Estelle's answers grew more defensive, her words faltering as the pressure mounted. It was clear now that the tables had turned completely.

The very same reporters who had been eager to tear me down were now focused on her. And I, for one, was enjoying the moment.

The room eventually became suffocating. The air crackled with tension as reporters hurled questions at Estelle. They weren't pulling punches either; their words cut like knives.

Initially, the reporters focused on simple questions and then they started off with the toughest ones. One of the reporters asked her, "Miss Estelle, is it true that you accepted bribes from those in the arts and culture industry?"