Villainess Marked For Her Alpha-Chapter 121: Press Conference (Part 2)

"What about Viktor’s claims you ruined the company?" a VIP business reporter called from the front row, sharp suit crisp, voice booming authoritative over the rising hum.

"Lies," Hellen shot back instantly, eyes narrowing to lethal slits, alpha pheromones sharpening the air like a blade. "Emily saved it from bankruptcy—tripled revenue in months, factories repurchased, global pre-orders exploding."

"Is that what you define as success?" the VIP reporter pressed harder, smirking sceptical, notepad flipping open with a dramatic snap, eyes glinting challenging under the spotlights.

"Your success definition seems different—stuck in outdated metrics," Hellen retorted coolly, leaning forward unyielding, her tailored blazer straining over broad shoulders, honey-citrus pheromones thickening with alpha resolve. "Ours is growth, innovation, market domination."

A finance reporter in glasses jumped in next, voice measured and analytical, mic steady. "That is true—your Q1 revenue’s up 300%. Profits are off the charts, stock whispers starting."

"And what’s your point?" Hellen countered sharp, arching a perfect brow. "Should we apologize for profit? We aren’t a government company—private enterprise thrives on results, reinvesting in expansion."

"Is that your reason for the hype?" another reporter snapped from the side, younger and aggressive, phone recording. "Your partner’s alleged to have stolen designs from Viktor company’s archives."

Emily sighed soft but firm into her mic, emerald eyes steady and piercing despite the wheelchair’s unyielding shadow, raven tendrils framing her composed face.

"Can you prove it? Bring evidence. It’s pure speculation from bitter rivals. If true, how could I launch 100 original designs at once—each sketched, prototyped, patented?"

"Spies? You must have spies in your father’s company."

"What about the limited-edition fantasy series—angels with glowing halos, demons in spiked hoodies, elves with embroidered leaves? Custom fabrics sourced exclusive, copyrights filed months ago. Check the USPTO database; it’s all there."

The hall murmured, reporters tapping furiously as Emily’s logic landed.

"Are you sure that you are a reporter? From what I think, you work for Viktor Leonhart."

"What about your gender scandal?" a tabloid hack thrust forward rudely, mic practically in her face, greasy hair slicked back. "You’ve been taking illegal suppressants and drugs since childhood—admit it!"

"Are you sure?" Hellen interjected swift as a whip, voice dripping icy disdain, swivelling to glare daggers. "Can a child—say, 10 years old—procure black-market Karimoike suppressants alone? Forge prescriptions? Navigate underground dealers?"

"What if she... did?" the hack stammered, faltering under her stare, sweat beading.

"Where would she even find them?" Hellen pressed merciless, ice-blue gaze pinning him like a specimen, rising slightly from her chair. "No black-market access, no shady connections, no money as a kid. It can’t be possible."

"You..."

"What if someone slipped them to her discreetly? Dosed her food, drinks—poisoned her system for years, mimicking omega shutdown, paralyzing her legs? That’s not self-inflicted; that’s calculated sabotage. Emily’s the victim here."

"Do you have any proof?" another reporter pressed from the middle rows, standing tall with a recorder thrust forward, scepticism etched deep.

"You’ll get your proof," Hellen promised smooth, eyes glinting predatory. "Lab reports, timelines, witness statements—everything dropping next week. Stay tuned."

"Emily, do you hate your gender?" a softer-voiced journalist called, mic wavering slightly, eyes curious rather than cruel.

Emily sighed deep, emerald gaze distant for a beat, raven tendrils brushing her flushed cheeks. "I don’t hate my gender—it’s mine, omega through and through. But what would you do when your body betrays you overnight? Scent flipping, heats crashing uncontrolled? That’s what happened to me—puberty hit like a bomb."

"And that’s your answer?" the reporter pushed gently.

"What should I do then?" Emily shot back, voice edged wry, a humourless smile tugging her full lips. "Get pregnant on stage to prove it?"

Laughter rippled through the hall—nervous chuckles from reporters, outright guffaws from VIPs—the tension cracking as the reporter flushed and sat, mic dropping limp.

"Emily, who poisoned you?" a sharp-eyed woman demanded next, notebook poised.

"Her family," Hellen cut in venomous, leaning forward like a coiled serpent. "All of them—venomous snakes, dosing her since childhood to break her spirit." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"And proof?" the woman challenged, undeterred.

"Use your common sense, which you seem to lack fervently," Hellen mocked, lips curling disdainful, alpha pheromones spiking sharp. "Motive? Check. Opportunity? Daily access. Follow the trails—we’re handing it over soon."

A bald man in a rumpled suit rose hesitant from the back, voice booming awkward. "Ms. Emily, what’s your relationship with Ms. Hellen? You’re opposite genders—alphas and omegas. Are you a couple?"

Emily stilled, emerald eyes flicking to Hellen’s profile—heart stuttering faint, cheeks warming under the lights.

Hellen fielded it effortless, voice velvet steel. "That’s our personal business—not press fodder."

"What about the other alphas around her?" he barrelled on, bolder now. "Is any of them dating her?"

"That’s her life," Hellen shut down firm, gaze sweeping protective. "Are you questioning her life decisions now? Last I checked, omegas date who they want—poly, mono, none. Consent is hers."

"No... I..." the man stammered, deflating under her stare, sinking back red-faced.

"We’re here for the Helly Paws press conference," Hellen pivoted commanding, reclaiming the mic. "Fantasy drops, HIER launch, global stores—not bedroom gossip. Emily can date whoever she damn well pleases—focus on the empire we’re building."

A young reporter in the front row seized the opening, hand shooting up eager. "Ms. Hellen, back to HIER—price points? Size range for the human line?"

"Accessible luxury," Hellen replied smooth, gesturing grand. "Tees starting from $25, jackets to $150—size XS-5X inclusive, gender-neutral cuts. Pet matchers optional—$15 bandanas, hoodies syncing colours. Dropping wide online, pop-ups in major cities."

"Ms. Emily, how’s physio progress? Back on your feet for the launch?" a sympathetic fashion blogger called, voice warm.

Emily smiled genuine, emerald eyes softening despite the chair. "Slow but steady—daily sessions, Dr. Ana’s protocols. Legs tingling more each week. Won’t stop me strutting HIER runway mentally till I can physically."

"Any collabs planned? Celeb pets?" a glossy mag rep pressed.

"Announcing soon," Emily teased, raven updo catching lights. "Think A-list fur babies in demon capes. Charity tie-ins too—10% fantasy proceeds to animal rescues."