[BL] CRAVING HIM: Addicted to His Voice 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 imdiate: a sea of faces, and blinding flashes from the cara reporters stationed at the front. The air humd with nervous energy and the constant tallic 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 ets dedication. We are not just launching a platform; we are launching a new global standard for efficient, sustainable resource managent."

I kept my words concise, focusing strictly on the technical achievent 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 frawork 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 dia docunting every detail.

Finally, Vanya concluded, "We thank you for joining us on this montous 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 imdiately escorted toward a smaller, designated area intended for a controlled press conference, but any sense of "control" vanished the mont we were in range of the reporters.

The reporters surged forward, creating an intense dia scrum. Microphones were thrust into our faces, the bright cara lights blinding us. The questions ca fast and sharp, imdiately veering away from sustainable resource managent and toward the scandal.

"Mr. Draeven, sources indicate that your personal life has beco 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 imnse pressure imdiately. 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 achievents."

It was a standard, deflection answer, but it only seed 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 imdiate frustration in their faces; so 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 mont 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 ca up fully, and the crowd began to disperse. The launch was official. It was ti to go back ho.

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

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

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

I imdiately 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 so rest. You’ve earned it," he replied, giving a final nod before returning his focus to his colleague.

I turned and walked away, keenly aware that my every movent was now under scrutiny. I had given the dia no definitive answers, and I knew that fact, coupled with Zayn’s visible presence, ant 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 imdiately reached for , pulling my face toward his, and kissed 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 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 seed to materialize out of nowhere, surrounding the black sedan. They pressed close to the glass, snapping pictures in a frantic frenzy. We were montarily 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 movent of every key person leaving the event.

I imdiately 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 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 caras.