Bound To The Broken Alpha (Amy and Daniel) novel Chapter 197

Chapter 197 Another Kind Of Pain

DANIEL

(90

+5 Pearls

I walked into the council hall expecting routine business, not trouble, but trouble was already waiting on the polished round table. Several elders sat with unreadable faces, and a thick brown folder lay open in front of them.

The tension was obvious. One of the elders pushed the file toward me authorization codes were tied to funds wired into a private overseas an fake. Whoever forged it did a careful job.

d why my signature and unt. I knew instantly it was

The stamps, dates, and legal formatting were almost perfect. They wanted a scandal that could not be dismissed with laughter.

I looked at all of them before speaking, “I would not fight the accusation with anger. I remind you all that every major approval requires dual verification, and none of the supposed transactions existed in our official audit trail.”

The elders stared and said they would conduct a formal investigation regardless. I agreed without hesitation. Fighting the council only makes a man look guilty, and I was not giving the hidden enemy that victory.

When the meeting ended, I stepped outside and found Amy waiting near the door with a phone in her hand. Her eyes asked questions before her mouth could catch up. I didn’t want to worry her, but she deserved honesty.

I explained the situation in simple terms: someone forged international transfers under my authority, and the council would now begin a full inquiry. She froze before speaking, then said she trusted me completely. She wasn’t loud, dramatic, or emotional; she was steady. That kind of support calms a man faster than any speech.

Mrs Carter joined us in the hallway, asking for every detail. After listening, she recommended we release controlled evidence to the public before the false story spread. I disagreed at first because reacting too fast can make things worse, but Amy reminded me that lies always multiply when silence gives them space. She was right.

I realized the best defense was not a private argument, but complete truth. We had been planning to confirm identities, past crimes, and hidden family ties eventually. Now the timing was no longer optional. It needed to happen, and it needed to be public.

The only real risk was Marielle because she wasn’t built for heavy crowds, cameras, or interrogation. She had lived most of her life handling pain quietly. Asking her to stand in front of the world felt unfair, but

necessary.

That night, inside our private lounge, we gathered around a long table with documents, medical records, dated birth forms, and sealed testimony envelopes. We went through them until nothing was missing, nothing was conflicting, and everything was verifiable.

Marielle listened without interruption, then asked what we needed from her. I told her we were not forcing anything and she could choose to speak or stay silent behind legal documents. She sat back, looking exhausted, but her voice didn’t shake. She said she would speak, not for attention, but because Amy deserved closure and I deserved protection against lies.

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90

Chapter 197 Another Kind Of Pain

+5 Pearl

Preparations started the next morning. Mrs Garter contacted trusted media instead of mainstream outlets because we needed controlled reporting, not gossip hunters. We selected an indoor location at Carter Estate Auditorium for controlled security.

Brian and Cole supervised the guards personally, giving strict rules: no free entry, no unfamiliar staff, no unexplained equipment, and no sudden movement around the stage.

Inside the auditorium, long cables, microphones, and camera tripod dramatic set pieces, just a clean stage and a single podium. The com filled the next, and selected witnesses sat quietly at the sides. Every so

ranged neatly. No banners or ed the front row, journalists it longer than usual.

Minutes before going live, Marielle stood with me, Amy, and Mrs Carter in a private waiting room. She wore a plain suit jacket and held a small handkerchief. She wasn’t trembling, which made me strangely proud. I thanked her for agreeing to speak.

She said she had been afraid of her own story for too long and that fear had never given her peace. Today was simply a different kind of pain.

A guard informed us that the camera feed was ready, and the broadcast countdown had started. We walked toward the exit door. The hallway felt too narrow for breathing. When we reached the entrance to the main hall, the sound of camera movement and whispering filled the air.

Marielle stepped forward first. At that moment, a sharp noise cracked like heavy glass breaking. We ducked instinctively. A bullet tore through the far window and hit the wall behind Marielle, close enough to count distance in inches.

Security reacted faster than thought. Two guards grabbed Marielle and pushed her to the floor behind cover. Another slammed the door shut as others triggered lockdown alarms.

The hall erupted in panic. Journalists screamed, chairs fell over, and equipment crashed to the ground. The livestream feed cut out instantly.

Amy screamed and dropped to her knees, thinking Marielle was shot. I pulled her away and told her Marielle was alive. Her breathing was unstable and she clutched my shirt like she was falling.

Mrs Carter demanded immediate relocation of Marielle to a secure room with no windows. Brian and Cole ordered a full sweep, sealing every exit. Guards spread out like trained response units. I called my private tactical team and told them this was no longer political trouble, it was now active warfare.

I ran toward the back hallway to chase the possible shooter route. The broken window gave only partial direction. The shooter was already gone, likely using a pre–planned exit. There were no random mistakes here. It was planned with good timing and calm execution.

The estate gates were shut and locked. Security drones scanned rooftops and perimeter walls. Anyone inside the grounds would eventually be caught, but part of me suspected the shooter was never actually inside. A long–distance shot could be done from outside the main fence if calculated with proper equipment.

Inside, chaos continued. Some journalists were crying, others secretly recording, and online platforms were probably already spinning wild theories. I walked back to check on Amy. She sat next to the secured room door with shaky hands as she tried to breathe.