Chapter 62 SELENA'S PRESS CONFERENCE
POV: Selena
The microphone squealed when I stepped up to the podium, and the sound cut through the room like a warning.
I wanted silence. Not the polite kind. The kind where people stop whispering and actually listen.
Cameras were already rolling. Reporters packed the room shoulder to shoulder, some standing on chairs, others craning their necks like they might miss the moment where I cracked. The banner behind me had my name printed in clean black letters, which felt surreal. I had not asked for that. Someone else decided this was official enough to label.
Adrian stood off to my right, close but not touching me. His presence grounded me, but this was not his fight to speak. This one was mine.
I took a breath and leaned into the microphone.
“My name is Selena Alvarez,” I said. “I asked for this press conference because a lot of people have decided who I am without ever hearing from me.”
A few hands shot up immediately. I ignored them.
“I am not pregnant,” I continued. “That rumor is false. It was invented because it was convenient, not because it was true.”
The room shifted. I saw pens pause. Phones lowered just a little.
“I am marrying Adrian De Luca because I love him,” I said. “Not because of money. Not because of pressure. Not because of some imaginary deadline.”
A reporter near the front scoffed quietly. I met his eyes and held them.
“I come from nothing,” I said. “I grew up watching my mother work double shifts so we could keep the lights on. I wore borrowed clothes to job interviews and pretended I was not counting the days until my rent was due.”
That part had not been planned. It came out anyway.
“I did not claw my way into this family,” I went on. “I did my job. I told the truth. I refused to look the other way when it would have been easier.”
Someone in the back muttered something about ambition. I ignored that too.
“I will not apologize for where I come from,” I said. “And I will not apologize for loving a man whose last name scares people.”
A murmur rippled through the room. This time it was not hostile. It sounded curious.
Hands went up again. I nodded toward a woman near the aisle.
“Miss Alvarez,” she said, “people say you are manipulating the situation. That you saw an opportunity and took it.”
“I see how that story works,” I replied. “It is neat. It makes sense. It also ignores the part where I turned down every offer meant to make me disappear.”
Another hand. A man with a network logo pinned to his jacket.
“Why should we believe you are not marrying for money?” he asked. “Given the timing, the pressure, and the history here.”
The question hung there, heavy and familiar.
I opened my mouth.
Before I could answer, a voice came from the back of the room.
“Because she refused every dollar I offered her.”
The room froze.
I turned slowly.
Senator Richard De Luca stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. He wore a hospital gown under a dark coat, his face pale, his posture unsteady. Two aides hovered near him, clearly panicked.
Adrian moved instantly, crossing the room in three strides. “Dad, you should not be here.”
“I am fine,” the senator said, waving him off with a weak but stubborn motion. “If they want a statement, I will give them one.”
Cameras swung toward him like metal flowers chasing the sun.
He stepped forward, each movement deliberate.
“I offered Selena Alvarez money,” he said. “A great deal of it. I offered her protection, distance, silence.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“She said no,” he continued. “Every time.”
I felt Adrian’s hand brush mine. Not gripping. Just there.
“She did not ask for my son,” the senator said. “She did not ask for my influence. She did not ask for my approval.”
He looked at me then. His eyes softened.
“She earned it anyway.”
The room exploded with questions.
“Senator, are you endorsing this marriage?”
“Did you fabricate the pregnancy rumor?”
“Are you admitting wrongdoing?”
He lifted a hand. Silence crept back, slower this time.
“I am saying this,” he said. “Selena Alvarez is not a threat to my family. She is the reason it still stands.”
I swallowed. That was not part of the plan either.
He turned back toward the reporters.
“If you want to talk about money,” he said, “ask me why she refused it. If you want to talk about power, ask yourselves why she never tried to use mine.”
A reporter shouted, “What about Diana Ashford’s statement?”
The senator’s mouth tightened.
“Diana is grieving the loss of control,” he said evenly. “That is not the same thing as heartbreak.”
The room buzzed again, louder now.
I stepped back up to the microphone before it could spin away from me.
“This is not a performance,” I said. “This is my life. I am not asking you to like me. I am asking you to stop lying about me.”
I paused, letting that land.
“I am marrying Adrian because I choose him,” I said. “If that makes some people uncomfortable, I can live with that.”
A reporter near the back raised her voice. “What about the foundation? The will? Are you benefiting from this legally?”
I shook my head. “I did not write the rules,” I said. “I just refuse to let them decide my worth.”
The senator nodded once, like that was the answer he had been waiting for.
The questions kept coming, but the tone had changed. Less blood in the water. More caution.
When the conference finally broke, it happened slowly. People lingered, whispering into phones, typing frantically.
Adrian helped his father back toward the exit. I watched them go, something tight and unfamiliar settling behind my ribs.
Bella appeared at my side. “You just did something very dangerous,” she said quietly.
“I know,” I replied.
“And very effective.”
I allowed myself a small smile.
Outside, the crowd was still there. Still loud. Still hungry.
But when I stepped into the sunlight this time, the shouting sounded different.
Less accusation. More curiosity.
As we moved toward the car, my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
You think this changes anything?
I did not reply.
The senator was already being ushered back into the waiting vehicle, his strength fading fast. Before the door closed, he reached out and caught my wrist.
“Do not let them scare you,” he said softly. “They will try.”
“I am not afraid,” I said.
He studied my face, then smiled faintly. “Good. Because this is only the beginning.”
As the door shut and the car pulled away, I knew he was right.
The narrative had shifted.
But the war was not over.