CHAPTER 215: CHAPTER 215: IRRELEVANT TO TODAY’S ACHIEVEMENTS

~Evric’s POV~

I looked up. Evans and Zayn entered the hall together, instantly drawing every eye in the room. They walked straight to a reserved section on the side. Evans was discreet; he knew that only those closest to my father would recognize his true identity. Zayn, however, was dressed impeccably and drew a thousand stares—a risk we had accepted.

Vanya and I ascended the stage. The change in perspective was immediate: a sea of faces, and blinding flashes from the camera reporters stationed at the front. The air hummed with nervous energy and the constant metallic click, click, click of the shutters.

I stepped up to the podium first, adjusting the microphone.

"Good evening, everyone," I began, letting the gravity of the room settle. "Not long ago, this project was just an idea sketched on a napkin. Today, it stands as proof of what happens when vision meets dedication. We are not just launching a platform; we are launching a new global standard for efficient, sustainable resource management."

I kept my words concise, focusing strictly on the technical achievement and the economic future the project represented. I spoke briefly about the core innovations, avoiding all personal rhetoric, exactly as my father had advised.

When I finished, the applause was deafening. I stepped aside, and Vanya took the stage.

She was eloquent and charismatic, detailing the social impact and the ethical framework of the launch. She looked every bit the powerful, poised partner. As she spoke, the flashbulbs intensified, bathing the stage in bursts of white light. It was the quintessential major business event: powerful words, high fashion, and the constant presence of the media documenting every detail.

Finally, Vanya concluded, "We thank you for joining us on this momentous occasion, and we look forward to a successful future."

We both turned to face the audience, bowed slightly, and the crowd erupted in resounding applause.

My eyes, however, were fixed on the back of the hall, on the two figures who had just arrived.

Vanya and I descended the stage, the applause still roaring in the vast hall. We were immediately escorted toward a smaller, designated area intended for a controlled press conference, but any sense of "control" vanished the moment we were in range of the reporters.

The reporters surged forward, creating an intense media scrum. Microphones were thrust into our faces, the bright camera lights blinding us. The questions came fast and sharp, immediately veering away from sustainable resource management and toward the scandal.

"Mr. Draeven, sources indicate that your personal life has become quite complicated. Can you address the pervasive rumors that you are homosexual?" one reporter shouted over the noise.

"How do you reconcile your leadership role with your father’s public stance against the LGBTQ community?" another quickly followed, aiming straight for the conflict.

Vanya stepped forward, trying to interject. "This is a launch for a global project. We should focus on the technology, not personal speculation."

"Is it true you and Mr. Draeven are romantically involved, Ms. Vanya?" a third voice cut in, completely ignoring her.

I felt the immense pressure immediately. My father’s advice echoed in my mind: Protect Zayn first. Take things slow. I couldn’t deny the rumors, but I couldn’t confirm my relationship either.

I took a deep breath, raising my voice to cut through the din. "My focus, and the focus of everyone here, should be on the revolutionary technology we just presented. My sexuality, and my personal life, has no bearing on the success of this project. I use my brain for business, not my bedroom. Any further questions on this topic are frankly irrelevant to today’s achievements."

It was a standard, deflection answer, but it only seemed to fuel the frenzy. The reporters jostled closer, desperate for any reaction, any detail that contradicted the public persona I was trying to maintain. It was chaotic, tense, and absolutely exhausting. I could see the immediate frustration in their faces; some of them definitely thought I was being rude for shutting them down so sharply, but their questions hadn’t exactly been kind either.

Realizing they wouldn’t get the scandalous confirmation they were looking for, the atmosphere shifted slightly. The aggression faded into reluctant professionalism.

"Congratulations to both of you on the massive success!" one reporter finally shouted, conceding defeat.

"A truly groundbreaking launch!" another called out.

Vanya and I exchanged a look of relief. We quickly used the moment of goodwill to turn and walk back inside, leaving the scramble behind us.

The rest of the event unfolded as planned. Other partners and investors took to the stage, giving speeches on financial projections and market impact. The focus successfully returned to the business, and the initial drama was muffled beneath hours of professional rhetoric.

Finally, the closing remarks were made, the lights came up fully, and the crowd began to disperse. The launch was official. It was time to go back home.

I quickly navigated the sea of congratulating partners. The first person I sought out was my father, who was holding court with a small group of influential business figures.

"Father," I said, reaching him.

He clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Excellent work, son. A huge success," he said, his praise quiet but carrying immense weight.

Nuala was right beside him. "Good job, brother," she added, giving me a rare, genuine smile.

Just then, my phone vibrated. It was Evans: Zayn will wait for you inside the car.

I immediately replied: Okay.

I turned back to my father, who was still deep in conversation with a business partner. "I’m going to head back first, Father," I told him. "Long day."

"Okay, son. Get some rest. You’ve earned it," he replied, giving me a final nod before returning his focus to his colleague.

I turned and walked away, keenly aware that my every movement was now under scrutiny. I had given the media no definitive answers, and I knew that fact, coupled with Zayn’s visible presence, meant that my life and my car, would be heavily monitored now.

I slipped out a side door, and my driver was waiting. As soon as I opened the door and stepped inside, Zayn was there.

He immediately reached for me, pulling my face toward his, and kissed me deeply. It was a long, silent affirmation that cut through the noise of the entire day.

"Congratulations," he murmured against my lips, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. "You killed it."

The driver pulled away from the curb, but before the car could even make it to the main street, a barrage of lights hit the windows.

Suddenly, reporters seemed to materialize out of nowhere, surrounding the black sedan. They pressed close to the glass, snapping pictures in a frantic frenzy. We were momentarily blinded by the flash photography.

"How do they know which car I got into?" I wondered aloud, surprised by the swift targeting. It was a calculated move; they must have been tracking the movement of every key person leaving the event.

I immediately leaned forward. "Don’t stop," I instructed the driver. "Just keep moving slowly and safely."

I sank back into the seat, frustration boiling over. "Why so much drama?" I muttered. "This shouldn’t be like this. I’m a businessman, not a celebrity artist or actor. Why are they behaving this way?"

I turned to Zayn. His eyes, usually so bright and steady, looked scared and wide. He hadn’t said anything, but the look on his face accused me of dragging him into a dangerous, unrelenting spotlight. I reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the car slowly pushed through the flashing cameras.