Chapter 192: "I Am Her Boyfriend"

At once, the fragile silence shattered, and the auditorium erupted into chaos once more.

What had been an awkward press conference only moments ago was transformed into something resembling an open-air fish market, with reporters shouting over one another in a frantic scramble to seize the next sensational headline.

Aren watched the spectacle through half-lidded eyes, her expression gradually settling into one of profound exhaustion.

Apparently, there really was no bottom to this particular barrel of stupidity.

With a quiet sigh, she finally gave up altogether and sank back into her chair.

Beside her, Jordan wasn’t faring much better.

He still hadn’t fully recovered from the shock — and, admittedly, the admiration — of watching Aren stand up to the entire room without flinching.

Now, before he’d even had a chance to process what had just happened, the attention of every idiot below the stage had somehow shifted entirely toward him.

Unwilling to let Biscuit be startled by the sudden uproar, Jordan gently lifted the dog and placed him on Aren’s lap instead.

Once Biscuit was safely settled, Jordan shot upright in his chair and seized the microphone. His voice exploded through the sound system with enough force to rattle the entire hall.

"Will all of you crazy people just shut the fuck up already?! Stop asking fucking stupid questions and ask something actually relevant to this event, for fuck’s sake! I am her boyfriend, and I am not going to let any of you turn her debut conference into some cheap-ass fishing pond for clickbait and your next shitty headlines!"

For the briefest moment, the sheer volume of his anger made most of the reporters recoil in shock.

Unfortunately for Jordan, one particular sentence in his outburst reached the reporters’ ears with considerably greater clarity than everything else:

"I am her boyfriend."

Instantly, the room exploded into a feeding frenzy.

"So you really are her boyfriend?!"

"How do you feel about your girlfriend having gangbangs with other men?"

"Are you actually comfortable sharing her with other men?"

"Does she have other boyfriends as well?"

Jordan stood there in speechless silence beneath the barrage of an entirely new storm.

’Oh, for the love of God...’

His eye twitched violently.

He desperately wished he didn’t have an unhealed stitch in his shoulder — if only so he could launch himself off the stage and straight into the madness below.

His hand closed around the microphone again, fully prepared to unleash another roar at the unruly reporters.

But before he could say a word, another voice smoothly took over the speakers — pleasant, polished, and devastatingly charming.

"Well, indeed, Ariana does have another boyfriend," Jeremiah casually confirmed, as though he were merely announcing the schedule for the next fight. "That boyfriend is none other than myself. This young man and I are both dating her at the same time."

The declaration plunged the entire auditorium into an entirely new state of dumbfounded silence.

For one magnificent second, everyone seemed to stop functioning.

Even Jordan looked as though he’d forgotten how to breathe. He stared at the back of Jeremiah’s head, his expression a raw mixture of disbelief and unmistakable jealousy.

’Wait, what...?’

’She’s... dating this jerk too?’

The memory surfaced immediately.

Aren had once casually confirmed that she had some sort of arrangement with Jeremiah Castellano, back when the two of them had been in the pantry.

At the time, Jordan hadn’t thought too deeply about it.

Now, however, the implications slammed into him with considerably greater force.

Meanwhile, Aren — the person actually being discussed — had gone completely rigid in her chair.

’...Hah?’

She blinked rapidly and looked down at Biscuit with utter bewilderment, expecting Biscuit to somehow provide an explanation.

’Since when did I start dating him too?’

Biscuit stared back at her with exactly the same bewilderment.

He had absolutely no idea either.

Down below, however, the reporters recovered far more quickly than the three of them.

The initial shock lasted only a few seconds — before exploding into an entirely new storm of questions.

This time, however, their attention was no longer centered on Aren or Jordan. It was aimed squarely at the man who had just made the shocking revelation himself.

"Mister Castellano! Please tell us more about the nature of this relationship!"

"Do you have sex separately, or are you more comfortable with threesomes?"

"Jeremiah! What about the rumors that you’re gay? Is Ariana’s boyfriend also your boyfriend?"

The questions became even more relentless, invasive, and shameless than before.

And yet, amid the storm of accusations and insults, Jeremiah remained perfectly poised at center stage.

His posture stayed relaxed, his expression bright, and that infuriatingly perfect smile remained fixed upon his lips.

When he finally lifted the microphone to answer, he did so with the same casual composure one might use when discussing the lunch menu.

"Well, there’s really not much to explain. The nature of this relationship is exactly what it appears to be. Ariana here is dating both of us at the same time."

He turned toward the next reporter before the first could even formulate a follow-up.

"Whether it’s separate or a threesome depends on our mood, I suppose. You see, I’m quite open-minded, so I truly don’t mind sharing her with another man in bed — as long as she doesn’t forget about me while I’m there. I’m rather competitive, you see."

Another microphone shot into the air.

"Then what about the rumors that you’re gay?"

Jeremiah turned toward the reporter with thoughtful consideration, as though this were a difficult question requiring serious analysis.

"Oh, right. The gay rumor..." He chuckled softly into the mic. "You see, I’ve tried asking Jordan here to let me touch his thick cock several times during our threesomes, but he wouldn’t let me. So I suppose I’ll never find out whether I’m gay or not."

He gave the reporter a perfectly sincere smile.

"We’ll have to see about that. Ask me again next year."

The more Jeremiah answered, the wilder the crowd became.

Within minutes, everything that had previously dominated the press conference — the scandalous footage, the accusations surrounding Aren, even Jordan’s relationship with her — had been swept aside completely.

The entire circus had found a new center of gravity:

Jeremiah Castellano.

And Jeremiah, naturally, appeared to be enjoying every second of it.

Behind Jeremiah, however, Jordan’s eye began twitching harder. He fixed Jeremiah with a murderous stare, desperately trying to determine whether the man had finally lost his mind.

’What the fuck is this jerk even making up now?!’

’When did I ever have a threesome with anyone?!’

’And why the hell is HE involved in it?!’

’I haven’t even gotten anywhere beyond kissing with her yet!’

The sheer injustice of it nearly made him scream.

Yet, with every vicious question from the press now directed entirely at Jeremiah, both him and Aren were spared a massive headache. So Jordan dropped back into his seat and stayed glued there, determined to save his rage for a private confrontation with Jeremiah later.

Next to Jordan, Aren’s initial shock had gradually dissolved into something far stranger.

Confusion remained, certainly. But it was now laced with an undeniable curiosity.

She looked down at Biscuit again, her brows knitting together.

’What is a threesome?’

’Should I look that up... or should I ask Don Caio later?’

Biscuit shook his head desperately, as though he had somehow understood the question and was determined to spare her the answer.

Meanwhile, the Q&A session dragged on endlessly.

By the time thirty minutes had passed, Jeremiah had somehow steered the entire discussion from his shocking romantic life to his personal skincare routine — specifically, why he preferred an aloe vera face mask on Saturday nights over a hyaluronic acid one.

"And that," Jeremiah announced brightly, finally bringing the discussion to an end, "concludes our rather lengthy Q&A session!"

He gave the audience an almost apologetic smile.

"I must admit, I do wish today’s event had been about me, but what can I do? I can’t very well steal the spotlight from our two fighters."

The statement was delivered with such sincerity that several reporters exchanged exhausted looks.

Jeremiah finally turned toward the panel table and gave an elegant little wave toward Aren and Nico.

"All right, my two fighters. Any final words you’d like to say to each other before fight night? Come on up here! It’s time for the final staredown and some nice photos for the press!"

Nico Baldi, who had been visibly fuming ever since Jeremiah hijacked his entire Q&A session, finally felt as though he’d been handed the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

He shot to his feet and stormed toward the spotlight, eager to reclaim the stage he firmly believed belonged to him.

"Come on, Miss Lombardi!" he barked at Aren. "What are you waiting for? Come for the staredown, or are you so frightened you’re already thinking about running off the stage?"

Aren immediately rose from her chair, lifting Biscuit into her arms as she headed toward center stage.

She seemed determined to have Biscuit included in the final photographs, although the way Biscuit lolled his tongue with obvious delight suggested that the idea might have been his in the first place.

Nico’s eyes narrowed as though he’d just been presented with the most ridiculous joke imaginable.

His opponent wasn’t merely a small woman and the supposedly spoiled heiress of a luxury hotel chain.

She was now carrying a dog into the staredown.

Below the stage, photographers and cameramen eagerly zoomed in, tracking the scene from every possible angle.

Everyone seemed aware they were about to capture what might become the most legendary — and possibly the most absurd — staredown in the history of the city’s underground combat-sports scene.

Nico stepped forward without hesitation.

He looked less like an opponent and more like a gigantic, looming threat, every muscle in his body coiled with aggression.

He lowered his head until his face was almost level with Aren’s, then locked her in the most intimidating glare he could muster — the exact look he’d spent countless nights perfecting in front of a mirror for the cameras.

"You look real comfortable on your knees on that big screen, Miss Lombardi," Nico hissed, pitching his voice toward the nearest microphones so no reporters would miss it. "I don’t mind the view, honestly. But after I’m done with you next Saturday? You’ll be staying on all fours for a long fucking time."

Faced with Nico’s intimidating display, Aren quietly retreated half a step, already regretting bringing Biscuit along.

Nico’s breath was not particularly pleasant.

At that distance, every word came with another wave of it, and she found herself struggling not to breathe through her nose.

"Thank you for your concern, Mister Baldi," she replied politely, half holding her breath. "However, I noticed during your match last week that... you tend to drop your left guard for two full seconds every time you throw a right hook."

Nico’s intimidating expression faltered for a fraction of a second.

Before he could process the sheer absurdity of her response — let alone ask what the fuck she meant — Aren continued in that same breathless, polite tone.

"I sincerely recommend keeping your elbow tucked more tightly. Otherwise, it would be a pity if our match ended before the first round was even finished."

Nico stalled completely.

For a solid five seconds, he couldn’t do much but stare, the muscles in his face gradually tightening as her words reached his brain one by one.

"...Say what, you little—"

Aren didn’t even wait to hear the rest.

She had already turned away and headed straight back toward the panel table, no longer willing to remain within breathing distance of Nico.

At the panel table, Jordan looked up as she drew closer.

He wore the slightly dazed expression of a man still mentally recovering from everything that had happened during the conference.

"Come on, Jordan," Aren called cheerfully when she reached him. "Let’s get out of this place. Our job here is done, and I can’t wait for our date anymore!"