Page 105 of Knot So Lucky
"This whole conference," he continues, voice sharp enough to draw blood, "all you fuckers have done is assault her with questions about her gender and designation. Not a single person has asked anything substantive about her racing technique,her mechanical knowledge, or how she's going to positively contribute to our team."
He pauses, letting that sink in while his blue eyes scan the crowd with open contempt.
"So why the fuck am I sitting here wasting my valuable time listening to this circus?"
No one answers.
The silence is so complete I can hear the air conditioning humming through the vents.
Luca's lip curls into something that might be a smile if smiles could carry that much disdain.
"You want to waste your own time? Go right ahead. But you're not wasting fucking mine."
Then he turns and walks out.
Just... walks out of his own press conference, leaving behind shocked reporters and scrambling publicists and the kind of media chaos that's going to dominate headlines for days.
The man who was standing with Elias—the one with rosemary and mint scent—immediately groans with the put-upon suffering of someone whose job just became exponentially harder.
"Luca—wait—damn it!" He takes off after the departing Alpha, moving with practiced efficiency that suggests this isn't the first time he's had to chase Luca down after a public relations disaster.
But Elias doesn't follow.
Instead, he walks toward the stage with calm purposefulness, weaving through reporters who instinctively move out of his path even though he's not doing anything overtly aggressive.
It's his aura. His presence. Something about the way he carries himself that broadcaststhreaton a frequency most people aren't consciously aware they're receiving.
He reaches the microphone before anyone can recover enough to ask more questions, and his voice carries across the room with quiet authority.
"Press conference dismissed."
Three words.
That's all it takes.
Richard—who's been standing off to the side looking like he's aged ten years in the past hour—immediately nods in agreement, recognizing the lifeline for what it is.
"That's all for today," he announces, already moving to start coordinating the exit logistics. "Official statements will be released through proper channels. Thank you for your time."
The reporters immediately erupt into chaos, shouting questions and demanding clarification, but Elias is already moving toward me with focused intention.
He offers his hand when he reaches the stage—not demanding, not assuming, just... offering with the kind of patient certainty that suggests he'll wait as long as necessary.
I don't hesitate.
My hand fits into his like it belongs there, his fingers closing around mine with gentle firmness. He guides me off the stage and toward the exit, and the most remarkable thing happens.
People move.
Not because he's pushing. Not because he's using size or aggression to clear a path. They just... move. As if his mere presence creates an invisible bubble that forces anyone close to step back automatically.
It's like he's aura farming or some shit.
The crowd parts before us with minimal fuss, and I feel Cale fall into step behind me—a protective presence at my back while Elias leads from the front.
We walk down a hallway that leads away from the main conference area, the noise fading with each step until it's just the sound of our footfalls and my own breathing in my ears.
That's when I stumble.
