Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 179: Press conference (2)

Chapter 179: Press conference (2)

"First of all, I will be speaking right now as my father’s son." Chris let the disclaimer sink in.

He was not going to speak as a business heir since it seemed like they were more interested in his personal life instead. There was no need for any of them to pretend.

"Let me remind you," Chris continued, his voice growing sharper, "the Owen corporation has done more for this economy than any of you sitting here with your little microphones and your cheap, twisted narratives."

Okay...

His tone, as well as the look in his eyes, told every one of them that this was not going to be a nice speech. He didn’t look like a polite gentleman.

So they braced themselves.

"You want headlines? Fine. How about this? ’Without the Owen Corporation, a lot of you wouldn’t even be able to afford half the shit you take for granted.’ This corporation has contributed significantly to the economy. It has provided jobs, it has made essential goods accessible to countless people. All thanks to my father’s vision and hard work. And this is how you repay him?"

Silence.

Chris rolled his shoulders, eyes scanning the crowd. "Now, do I have experience running a company? No. But tell me—do any of you wake up one morning magically experienced at something you’ve never done before? Because if so, congratulations. That must be fucking nice."

A few gasps. A few clicks of cameras. A few disbelieved glances. But no one interrupted.

He seemed to be a wild one. A crazy wild one who had been pushed to the edge.

His mother looked like she wanted the ground to open and swallow them both, but she also didn’t stop him. It was like she was silently pleased that someone was saying the things she never would have been able to say.

Even though it was at their detriment.

"And yeah, I fought in high school." Chris continued, picking apart all their accusations one by one, "You want to know why? Because sometimes people are assholes and deserve to be punched. You all fought too, don’t act like saints." He smirked. "And the parties? Hell yeah, I threw parties. They were the best fucking parties. Sorry you weren’t invited."

Someone near the back choked on a laugh. Another reporter snorted.

Chris leaned forward, his gaze turning icy. "Did I do drugs? If I was a drug addict, do you really think I’d be sitting here looking this sane?" He gestured to himself. His crisp suit. His steady hands. "Be fucking for real."

His voice dropped lower. "And my sexuality? Why the fuck does that matter to you?" His tone was lethal now. His jaw tensed. "What I do with my body, who I love, is none of your fucking business. And honestly? If that’s the only thing you can focus on when my father is in a fucking hospital bed, then you’re not just pathetic—you’re inhuman."

The tension was suffocating. No one dared to move.

They weren’t sure they had heard someone use so many vulgar words at the same time before. And in a press conference? It was unheard of. But this boy spat it out. And he probably had every right to be pissed, right?

Chris sat back. "So let’s get this straight," he said. "You either stick to the actual purpose of this press conference, or you can get the fuck out." His voice dropped into a slow, razor-sharp drawl. "And if any of you ask another stupid fucking question, I promise you, you will be thrown out." He paused. "And I hope you eventually get blacklisted. Since it seems like basic human decency is too much to ask from you."

It was a subtle threat. The part about blacklisting. And everyone in the room understood it perfectly.

The Owen corporation wasn’t known to be evil. But if they wanted to be and choose to blacklist someone, they could do so until their 15th generation. And it wouldn’t be difficult. Because they did have a lot of supporters. Not even just business supporters. But for private reasons also.

Chris’ mother remained silent beside him. He could feel her eyes on him, her pulse thrumming with restrained tension. But she didn’t stop him.

Because she knew—so did everyone else—

That he wasn’t wrong.

Chris let the silence settle, watching the reporters shift uncomfortably under his gaze. Then, he delivered the final blow.

"And to the corporation investors," he said smoothly, his voice unwavering, "if any of you feel uneasy about my father’s condition or my ability to step up, then by all means—pull out."

Murmurs erupted. His mother sent him a sharp look, almost panicked.

"But don’t think for a second that we’ll come begging," he continued, his tone dripping with confidence. "If you leave now, stay gone. Because when we stabilize—and we will—I promise you, there won’t be a seat left at the table for those who ran at the first sign of trouble. You’re out." He made the cut throat sign with his hand on his neck and clicked his tongue to fully emphasize it.

The subtle threat was clear. Investors would have to think twice before making any rash decisions.

Chris exhaled, his moment of rage cooling just enough for him to become aware of his surroundings again. He felt his mother’s eyes on him—burning into him.

He turned his head slightly and—yep.

She looked five seconds away from striking. The way an African or Indian mother would look at you before throwing their shoe or a spatula.

Chris swallowed, suddenly remembering just how much he had been in the moment and sworn in the past five minutes. "Uh..." He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sit up straighter. Then, he muttered to her, "S-Sorry for swearing."

His mother’s lips twitched like she was restraining the urge to whack him. Instead, she reached over and tugged his ear.

Chris winced, jerking slightly. "Ow—Mom!"

Flash.

Flash.

Shit.

The cameras ate it up.

The press conference wrapped up soon after, but the damage—or rather, the impact—was already done.

Within minutes, his name and face was everywhere. As... The ’fucking’ heir.