Chapter 23: The Presentation

Amelia's POV

I climbed the steps to the podium, my heart performing a nervous tap dance against my ribs. The committee sat in the front row, their expressions carefully neutral as they assessed me.

Scanning the audience, I spotted Isabelle and Wesley in the third row. Isabelle flashed me an enthusiastic thumbs-up while Wesley nodded with a reassuring smile. Their faith in me was almost enough to quiet the anxious whimpering of my wolf.

Almost.

Then I noticed him. Alexander Westbrook sat at the end of the judges' panel, his posture rigid in his perfectly tailored suit. Our eyes met briefly, and his brow furrowed slightly, causing my heart to tighten.

"Whenever you're ready, Ms. Throne," Professor Lambert, the committee chair, nodded encouragingly.

I cleared my throat. "Thank you. I'm prepared to present my research, The Molecular Mechanisms of Alpha-Omega Biological Connections and Their Clinical Implications." My voice came out steadier than I expected, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe this might actually go well.

Taking a deep breath, I plugged my USB drive into the computer. Over the past two weeks, I have revised and checked the content of my report countless times, with the help of Isabelle.

My hands trembled slightly as I clicked to open my presentation file. The projector hummed to life, and the screen behind me illuminated.

But instead of my meticulously prepared title slide—the one I'd designed with the perfect balance of academic gravity and visual appeal—the words that appeared made my blood run cold: "The Self-Improvement Guide for Freaks: Survival Tips for an Abandoned Omega."

A wave of confused murmurs swept through the audience, followed by scattered laughter. I frantically clicked to the next slide, hoping it was just a glitch, but the content only got worse—crude cartoons of a pathetic omega wolf, quotes about rejection, and humiliating "tips" for gaining acceptance.

"What the fuck?" I whispered, too shocked to censor myself. My fingers fumbled with the keyboard, desperately clicking through each slide, but every page was filled with more degrading content. The carefully crafted graphs showing my research findings, the literature review I'd spent months perfecting—all gone, replaced by this mockery.

The laughter grew louder, echoing off the lecture hall walls. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I stood frozen, exposed before everyone. The same people who'd begrudgingly acknowledged my academic prowess were now witnessing my complete undoing.

"Isn't that the Omega who caused a scene at the Luna Festival?" someone whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Looks like being rejected by the Head Alpha really did a number on her mental state," another voice added.

My wolf whimpered inside me, urging me to run, to escape this public execution of my dignity. I gripped the edges of the podium to steady myself as the room began to spin. How quickly it had all fallen apart—from academic star to laughingstock in the space of thirty seconds.

In the front row, I spotted Vanessa leaning into Daniel's space, her lips curved in a triumphant smile as she whispered something to nearby students. The realization hit me like a physical blow—she had switched my drive. This was her revenge for Daniel's continued interest in me, her way of ensuring I'd be humiliated beyond recovery.

Daniel's expression shifted from confusion to understanding, then to quiet anger. He inched away from Vanessa, his jaw tight as he stared at her with barely concealed contempt. At least someone in this room didn't think this was hilarious.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Isabelle half-rising from her seat, fury written across her face. Wesley pulled her back down, whispering urgently in her ear. Whatever he said made her stay put, though she looked ready to tear Vanessa apart.

"Ms. Throne," Professor Lambert stood, his voice cutting through the laughter. "Is this some kind of joke? This is hardly appropriate for an academic scholarship competition."

My mouth went dry. "I—I'm sorry, Professor. This isn't my presentation. Someone must have switched my USB drive. I would never—"

"If you weren't taking this competition seriously," he interrupted, "you shouldn't have wasted our time. There are students who have prepared for months for this opportunity."

"But I did prepare!" My voice cracked embarrassingly. Just yesterday, this same professor had told me how much he was looking forward to my presentation. "I can explain my research without the slides. I've been studying the adaptation patterns of—"

Vanessa rose gracefully from her seat, her expression a perfect mask of false concern. "Amelia, we all know you've been under a lot of pressure lately." She turned to address the committee. "Ever since she was expelled from the pack, she's been... unstable. We've all been worried about her."

More whispers erupted. "Always knew that freak wasn't cut out for real academic work."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. My wolf was howling to escape, to run from this humiliation. I dug my nails into my palms, using the sharp pain to keep myself grounded.

"I can still present," I said desperately, my voice barely audible. "I don't need the slides to—"

The committee members exchanged glances. One checked his watch impatiently. Another whispered something to her colleague, who nodded with a pitying look in my direction.

Then I saw him - Dr. Morgan, the one who had been praising my precise and fluent operation this morning. His eyes, usually warm with encouragement, now reflected profound disappointment. He slowly shook his head, looking away as if he couldn't bear to witness my failure.

The panic clawing at my chest intensified. My mother's medical bills, our rent, my tuition—everything hinged on this scholarship. I could almost feel the walls of our tiny apartment closing in, hear my mother's labored breathing as she insisted she was "just fine" despite the pain in her eyes.

I lowered my head, defeat washing over me. The meteoric rise from nobody to top candidate, all those nights of work, the brief taste of respect—all obliterated in an instant. "I guess I should—"

"Continue."

The single word cut through the chaos like a knife. The entire hall fell silent as Alexander Westbrook rose from his seat, his piercing gaze fixed on me.

"Present according to these slides," he said, his voice cold and commanding. "Since you've chosen this topic, you should see it through."

My heart sank. He wasn't helping me—he was ensuring my complete humiliation. The Head Alpha wanted me to dig my own grave deeper, to stand here and discuss how pathetic I was while everyone watched.

The silence in the hall was deafening as all eyes moved between Alexander and me. I'd expected many things from him—indifference, disdain, even anger—but this calculated cruelty was something else entirely.

As I stood there, trapped between Vanessa's sabotage and Alexander's challenge, one thing became clear: this wasn't just about a scholarship anymore. This was about survival—and wolves like me had always been survivors.