Chapter 106 106: Public Unity, Private War
Two hours later, Baby walked out of his room, wearing a heavy shade that covered his entire eyes.
He opened the door and found Sloane and Saint standing side by side with Saint easily towering over the woman.
"Good, right on time. Follow," Sloane said, turning to walk toward an elevator.
"It's good you're looking stylish, Danvers. Give them something to concentrate on," Sloane said as they entered the elevator.
Baby didn't speak. He went over to the corner and stood, staring at his reflection on the elevator wall.
Saint glanced at Baby, frowning slightly. Sloane might have been fooled, but he wasn't.
He could swear that Bbay had cried, but he just couldn't prove it.
It's not like he cared, but he just needed his partner to be stable enough to face the press.
After a few seconds of quietness, Sloane raised her phone to Baby's face.
"I advise you stay away from Ony nephew," she said calmly.
Baby stared through his shades, his face neutral even as he stared at a picture of himself he couldn't remember taking.
He recognized the environment and that moment, but never the capture.
Checking further, he realised that Oliver had taken a secret picture and posted it on his Instagram page.
It was a picture of his side profile as he started blankly at either a flower or a tree. He couldn't remember. His mind was occupied with Saint... always Saint.
He shrugged slightly, refusing to acknowledge the heated gaze Saint was sending his way.
"I'm not allowed to have a friends room, too?" He asked Sloane, his voice hoarse from crying his soul out.
Sloane lowered the phone, "Of course, you are. Just not Oliver. He's not the right fit for your career. He's a bit of draw-back, and draw-backs are something we do not need." She stated.
Baby scoffed, not caring if Sloane got offended, "You don't have to worry about my personal life, Sloane. Rest assured, you'll get the perfection you desire for your company. Every other thing isn't your business... respectfully." He said, pushing his hands I to his pocjet.
Sloane narrowed hee eyes at him, "Good answer. Keep that up with the press." She said smoothly.
Saint wanted to day somwtbjng to douse the tension between Slaone and Baby, but the man was too gone in his jealousy to be able to form coherent words.
He could not stop himself from imagining what had happened before and after the picture was taken.
Did that bastard confess to Baby? Was baby swayed? Was he happy with being with Oliver?
"Alright, boys. Here we go," Sloane said as the elevator hissed open.
Baby was the first to step out as the doors opened, his gait confident and proud. Sloane wanted perfection. He'd give her just that.
Behind him, Saint walked beside Sloane, his steps slow but steady. He was a man filled with fears and doubts, but he kept going. Maybe things will get better in front.
For now, he was lost in a pitch black vortex with o way out.
The air in the press room was thick with the scent of ozone from the camera flashes and the stifling heat of too many bodies in one space. The #Unified logo was plastered everywhere—on the podium, the backdrop, and even the bottled water. It was a mocking reminder of the lie they were selling.
Sloane gave them one last look, her eyes scanning Baby’s face like a technician checking for cracks in a hull. "Left side, Baby. Tilt your chin up. Saint, keep that 'Iron Captain' stare. Let’s go."
As they stepped onto the dais, the wall of sound hit them—a frantic clicking of shutters and the overlapping shouts of reporters.
Saint took his seat first, his movements fluid and robotic. He looked every bit the professional, the legacy, the man who had never felt a moment of heartbreak in his life. He didn't look at Baby. He didn't even acknowledge the empty space between their chairs until the moderator signalled for the first question.
"Kross, Danvers," a reporter from 'The Guardian' stood up, her voice cutting through the noise. "There’s been significant chatter regarding the 'friction' between you two during the flight. The #Unified campaign is built on the idea of seamless synergy. How do you respond to claims that the connection is... forced?"
Saint didn't blink. He leaned into the microphone, his voice like velvet over gravel. "Synergy isn't about being best friends. It’s about execution. We are here to win, to represent the brand, and to dominate the European market. If the world wants to mistake professional focus for 'friction,' that’s their prerogative. Our results on the field will speak for themselves."
"And you, Danvers?" the reporter pressed, turning her gaze to Baby. "You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet today. Is the pressure of the London launch getting to you?"
Baby felt the sting of tears threatening to return. He forced a smile—the blinding, hollow one he had practised in the mirror. Thanks to his shades, he looked cool as hell.
"Pressure is what we live for," he said, his voice a fraction too high. "London is the big stage. We’re just... focused. Right, Saint?"
He made the mistake of looking over. He reached out, his hand hovering near Saint’s on the table, a reflex born of months of shared warmth.
Saint pulled his hand away to reach for his water bottle, a movement so subtle and "natural" that only Baby knew it was a deliberate slap.
"Final question," the moderator announced.
A man in the front row smirked. "There were rumours of a fallout back home—something about Danvers' many relationships always getting in the way with Kross's perfect life. If the #Unified brand isn't unified as it seems, what image does it paint THC if Danvers is bringing in a third party to disrupt the synergy?"
The room went silent. Baby felt the blood drain from his face. The $3,000 moans from Candy’s throat seemed to echo in the room, louder than the air conditioning, and that was just one of his stupid conquests.
Saint finally turned his head. He looked at Baby, his eyes cold and clinical, as if he were observing a stranger’s failure. He didn't defend him. He didn't deny it.
"The only 'third party' in this equation is the audience," Saint said coolly. "As for personal rumours, we don't comment on fiction. We’re here for the brand."
Saint stood up before the moderator could even dismiss them. He walked off the stage without waiting, leaving Baby to follow in his wake like a ghost.
The moment they reached the green room, the door clicked shut, cutting off the noise of the press.
"That was incredible, boys," Sloane said, standing tall by the corner of the room.
"I will allow you two rest for tonight. Tomorrow, you meet the rival team for a friendly match before the main one tomorrow evening." Sloane explained.
Baby didn't even hear her. He was watching Saint, who was already checking his tablet, the "stone" completely unmovable.
"Thank you, Sloane. Have a good night," Saint said, nodding once and walked away, sliding past Baby like he was invisible.
Baby lifted his eyes and saw Sloane watching him quietly. He calmly looked away and moved toward the door, "Goodnight, Ms. Sloane." He murmured, leaving the room.
He managed to reach the elevator before it closed, sliding himself in beside Saint.
Saint shifted, creating a larger distance between them. He was avoiding touching Baby because he wasn't sure he's pull away if he allowed himself that forbidden luxury.
Baby bit his lip, trying to silence Saint's name that was at the tip of his tongue.
He knew it. He knew he was going to cru till morning, it woukd be a miracle if he could still see properly by the time his eyes swell like buns.
They arrived on their floor, and Saint exited first.
Baby followed at a distance, and as their door shut behind them, he stood there and watched Saint enter his room without so much as a glance.
Baby swallowed hard, his eyes stinging with waves of fresh tears, and this time, he didn't hold back.