NEXT MORNING – PRESS CONFERENCE HALL
The Wales Corporation's insignia glimmered behind the podium. Dozens of journalists sat, fidgeting nervously, as the air turned heavy with tension. Cameras were trained on the sleek stage.
Then, he walked in.
Allesandro Wales.
Clad in a sharp black tailored suit, his face unreadable but his eyes burning with fury, he commanded silence without uttering a word. He placed both palms on the podium, leaned slightly forward, and stared into the cameras like a king scolding his kingdom.
"I'm not here to entertain baseless drama," he began, voice cold and commanding. "I'm here to make things very clear."
He paused. Everyone leaned in.
"You disrespected my family. You turned what was supposed to be my son's sacred ceremony into a circus. For that—there will be consequences."
Gasps. Clicks of cameras.
