CHAPTER 4: THE PRESS CONFERENCE

The media briefing room at the Board of Control for Cricket headquarters was a colosseum, and Ananya had just walked right into the center of it.

The air hummed with the aggressive chatter of over a hundred journalists, the blinding flashes of cameras reflecting off the glossy corporate backdrops. Every major sports network in the country was broadcasting live. The ticker at the bottom of the screens read: MALHOTRA SPEAKS: LOVE OR DAMAGE CONTROL?

"Your hands are cold," Kabir muttered.

Ananya glanced up. They were standing in the wings, hidden just behind the heavy velvet curtain. Kabir looked impossibly striking in a structured, midnight-blue bandhgala suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and athletic frame. His hair was perfectly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, looking every bit the elite Malhotra heir.

"It's called adrenaline, Captain," Ananya whispered back, adjusting her own crimson silk blazer.

"Remember the script. You are remorseful about the fight, but you are grounded by your new commitment. Do not lose your temper. If someone asks an unfair question, look at me and let me handle it."

Kabir looked down at where her fingers were resting against his forearm-a calculated touch meant for the cameras they were about to face. His dark eyes softened for a fraction of a second before the icy, impenetrable mask slid back into place.

"I don't need a script to tell the truth," he said quietly.

"Let's get this over with."

[A/n - i will be writing the dialogues in italics in order to indicate that it's the conversation with the reporters and them aka our KABANYA]

The coordinator signaled them. Kabir took a breath, reached down, and laced his fingers firmly through hers. His hand was large, warm, and completely steady. As they stepped out onto the stage, a deafening wall of camera shutter clicks and shouting journalists erupted.

"Kabir! Over here!"

"Ananya, is this a PR stunt to save the captaincy?"

"Malhotra, did you punch Devansh because of her?"

Kabir guided Ananya to the center podium, pulling out her chair with a practiced, old-school chivalry that had the paparazzi clicking furiously. He took his seat beside her, keeping his left hand resting flat on the table, their fingers still lightly intertwined.

Ananya leaned into the microphone, her voice smooth and commanding. "Good morning, everyone. We will begin with a statement from Kabir, followed by a brief Q&A. Please wait for the mic."

Kabir slid the microphone closer. The room fell into an expectant, suffocating silence.

"Regarding the events of Tuesday night," Kabir began, his deep baritone echoing clearly through the speakers. "My behavior on the field was unacceptable. As captain of the Mumbai Mavericks, I hold a responsibility to the game, to my team, and to the fans. I let my emotions get the better of me, and for that, I apologize unreservedly to the board and to the public."

He paused, turning his head slightly to look at Ananya. The intensity in his gaze was so profound that for a second, Ananya forgot the cameras were rolling.

"The past few months have been a period of immense personal transition for me," Kabir continued, his voice softening just enough to sound fiercely sincere. "When you find the person who anchors you-the person who forces you to be a better version of yourself-your priorities shift. Ananya has been that anchor for me. Our families have known each other for a long time, and while we intended to keep our commitment private, the events of this week made me realize I no longer want to hide the best part of my life."

A collective gasp went through the media pool.

#Kabanya was officially real.

Ananya picked up the cue smoothly, offering a radiant, supportive smile. "We are happy to take a few questions now."

Instantly, a senior sports reporter from a major news channel stood up. "Ananya, critics are calling this timing incredibly convenient. The Malhotra Group is a major stakeholder in the league, and your agency handles the Mavericks' image. Isn't this engagement just a beautifully orchestrated piece of crisis management?"

The question was a direct hit. Ananya felt a bead of sweat forms at her nape, but before she could deliver her rehearsed corporate answer, Kabir leaned forward.

His grip on her hand tightened under the table.

"I'll answer that," Kabir cut in, his eyes locking onto the reporter with a fierce, protective glare that sent a visible thrill through the room. "You can question my strike rate, my captaincy decisions, and my temper. I will take that criticism because I am a public figure. But do not question my alignment with the woman I intend to marry. Ananya is not a strategy. She is my partner. And if anyone thinks I would compromise my personal life for a sponsorship deal, they don't know me at all."

The defensive, arrogant edge in his voice was gone, replaced by a raw, possessive intensity. The room erupted into a fresh frenzy of flashes.

Ananya's heart skipped a beat. She stared at him sideways, her chest tightening. He is a terrifyingly good actor, she thought, a sudden, strange ache blooming in her chest. Or maybe he just really, really hates losing.

"That is all the time we have for today. Thank you," Ananya announced, her voice slightly tighter than before.

They stood up in unison. Kabir immediately placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her away from the podium and toward the exit. The heat of his palm burned through her silk blazer, a constant, heavy reminder of the fiction they were spinning.

The moment the heavy soundproof doors of the backstage corridor slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the press, Ananya pulled away from his touch. She needed space. She needed to breathe.

"That was... unexpected," she said, pacing the narrow hallway, her heels clicking sharply. "The anchor comment? The protective fiancé routine? Kabir, you completely went off-script."

Kabir loosened the top button of his bandhgala, leaning against the concrete wall. He watched her frantic pacing with a quiet, analytical gaze. "The script was weak, Ananya. Journalists can smell a rehearsed line from a mile away. I gave them what they wanted-conviction."

"Well, you gave them a little too much conviction!" she said, turning to face him, her hands flying to her hips.

"For a second there, even I almost believed you. You need to tone it down. We are faking an engagement, not auditioning for a Bollywood romance."

Kabir took a slow step toward her, closing the distance between them until she was backed against the opposite wall. He loomed over her, his shadow completely enveloping her. The faint scent of his crisp cologne filled her senses, and the air between them suddenly felt suffocatingly hot.

"Are you sure you almost believed me, Ananya?" he whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made her knees feel dangerously weak. He reached out, his hand resting on the wall right beside her head, trapping her. "Or are you just scared that the lines are getting a little too blurry for you to handle?"

Ananya held her breath, her brown eyes locking onto his dark, challenging gaze. Her heart was beating so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

"I don't get scared, Captain," she breathed, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I get results. And right now, you're trending at number one for the right reasons. Mission accomplished."

She slid out from under his arm, her heels clicking away down the hall before he could see the slight tremor in her hands.

Kabir stood in the quiet corridor, watching her retreat. A slow, unfamiliar smirk played at the edge of his lips as he rubbed his thumb against his palm, still feeling the lingering warmth of her hand.

The game had officially begun, and for the first time in his life, the Ice King wasn't entirely sure he wanted it to end.

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