Accidental Fame: The Lazy Mom's TV Breakout Free Preview

For what felt like the hundredth time, Rosalie shut off her computer monitor in frustration. Another design proposal rejected. Out of sight, out of mind—that was the hope. But the irritation still burned in her chest.

She grabbed her phone with a sigh.

Opening WhatsApp, she typed into her bestie's chat window.

Sincere question: "Thinking of switching careers. Got any money-making ideas?"

Her bestie replied: "Sure. Marry some old guy in his seventies. No mortgage, no car payments. He's got retirement funds, savings, a house, a car, and kids you don't have to worry about. He won't live much longer, and when he dies, you inherit everything."

Rosalie: "Ugh, sounds doable. Got someone in mind? Though… shouldn't I do a financial audit first? What if he scams me?"

Bestie: "Just sign a contract. Write it down: once he's dead, you get the money, the car, the house. His ashes go to the kids."

Rosalie: "Good idea!"

She was well aware she was nothing more than a corporate drone. She could complain all she wanted, but quitting wasn't an option. No matter how suffocating, she had to keep grinding away at the work.

The clock ticked on.

At last, she finished revising the design to the client's demands. But just as she hit send on the email, her vision went black. She collapsed onto her keyboard.

"Rosalie, I know you resent me for marrying you against your will. But the two kids are innocent. Going on this show was your choice. I hope you take this opportunity to bond with them. Don't worry—I won't come home and get in your way during this time."

A man's cold voice suddenly rang in her ears, leaving her stunned.

Marrying her? Two kids?

A sharp pain pierced her head. Memories not her own came flooding in.

She had transmigrated—into a novel. Into a cannon-fodder socialite named Rosalie.

And the man before her, tall, striking, handsome beyond reason, his deep black eyes like a dark sea, his every detail exuding the aura of power—was her husband.

Christopher Xavian.

The very man the original Rosalie despised.

But every inch of him was exactly Rosalie's type. Still, she bit her tongue to avoid exposing herself.

Christopher seemed used to her cold silence. He only gave her one last deep look before turning and leaving.

Only then did Rosalie begin to process the memories.

As the book went, the original Rosalie had been madly in love with the male lead, Tristan Flynn.

She drugged him, desperate to force a relationship.

But her stepsister, Yelena Leigh, sabotaged her plan. Instead, she ended up in Christopher's bed—and pregnant.

She wanted to secretly abort the child, but Yelena betrayed her to her father, Fletcher Leigh.

Fletcher locked her down under strict watch until she gave birth to twins.

Christopher didn't even know she'd carried his children until they were born.

The moment he found out, he proposed.

Fletcher couldn't have been happier.

So—

Barely out of childbirth, the original Rosalie learned she was marrying Christopher.

She would not only become stepmother to his eleven-year-old son, but also caretaker of her newborn twins.

The news shattered her. She knew she'd never marry Tristan.

She grew to hate her children. Hate Christopher, the man she blamed for her misery.

Even after five years of marriage, their relationship never improved. It worsened—until she even abused her own sons.

Her stepson and her twins all despised her.

As they grew, the three boys became the novel's future villains.

And the original Rosalie? She was exposed on a parenting reality show for mistreating them, kicked out of the house, and ran away with her "true love."

But he swindled her of everything and vanished.

She ended up digging wild greens to survive—only to die pitifully on the streets.

Rosalie was speechless. How could anyone fail to see such fortune?

Sure, marrying Christopher wasn't her choice. But when is life ever ideal?

And compared to marrying some seventy-year-old, Christopher was younger by decades—only ten years older than her. He had money, status, looks, height, and wealth stacked sky-high. Her bestie's fantasy couldn't compare.

He was a billionaire.

The original Rosalie never had to worry about money after marrying him.

Unlimited black cards.

Season after season of luxury brand exclusives.

Five-star dining until she was sick of it.

Her closet was bigger than the tiny two-bedroom apartment she'd scraped for years to afford.

Even the bed was custom-made to her body, worth millions.

When she flopped down on it, she felt like she was sleeping on clouds.

So comfortable she couldn't resist hugging a pillow, breathing in its scent—money.

Rosalie had grown up an orphan.

She had starved, scraped, and clawed just to survive.

She pinched pennies for years to make the down payment on her tiny apartment, and still couldn't afford renovations. The mortgage weighed on her every day.

The original Rosalie, unloved though she was, had never lacked for money. And her husband was as powerful as they came.

As a self-professed material girl, everything the original despised was exactly what Rosalie loved. Especially Christopher—the "old man" who had never mistreated her, and had given her endless wealth.

But, Christopher was sharp. Too sharp. She couldn't risk exposing herself just yet.

Her top priority was building a bond with her two sons.

Win over the kids, then win over the father.

This effortless climb to the top of life—wasn't it almost too good to be true?

She was still grinning at the thought when her phone rang.

The voice on the other end was brisk and businesslike. "Rosie, Mama vs. Mayhem starts shooting soon. How's your prep? Have you rehearsed with Alex and the boys? Don't mess this up again—"

"Wendy, I want to quit the show…" Rosalie groaned. She had never been an actress, had no interest in fame.

Her only dream was to be a salted fish—ordinary, lazy, at peace.

Besides, she'd never been a mother. She had no clue how to mother.

And the original Rosalie's broken relationship with her sons would only bring her humiliation on live TV.

"Are you kidding me?" Wendy Caldwell sucked in a sharp breath, clearly furious. "The crew's already on their way to your house. And now you say you want to back out? Impossible! If you don't want to be torn apart online, you'd better get ready. I've got other things to handle—figure it out yourself."

She hung up without waiting for a reply.

Rosalie stared at the dead line, then burst into tears.

Her salted-fish dream was over before it had even begun.

"Rosalie, your boys are brats! I tried to give them gifts out of kindness, and they threw them at me! Look at my forehead—"

The bedroom door burst open.

A woman stormed in, fuming. "Rosie, you really need to discipline your kids! I've never seen worse children."

She went on, "If you don't teach them a hard lesson, one day they'll be out killing and burning. Today they hit me. Tomorrow they'll hit you. Don't you dare ignore me. Sometimes you've got to be ruthless. And don't forget—if not for them, you wouldn't be trapped in this house!"

And still she continued. "You've sacrificed so much for them. They don't appreciate it, and they don't even respect their own mother. If you're not angry, I am on your behalf!"

Rosalie was speechless. If not for the gloating in the woman's eyes, she might almost have believed her.

No wonder the original Rosalie ended up running away with a random man. Surrounded by people like this—it wasn't surprising at all. Too bad her sincerity had been wasted.

The woman standing before her was none other than the original Rosalie's so-called "best friend," Annie Chavez.

They had gone to middle school together, though back then, they hadn't gotten along.

Three years ago, they met again at a party. Once Annie learned that Rosalie had married into the Xavian family, she latched onto her like a leech.

At the time, the original Rosalie was depressed and despondent. Annie swooped in like a caring older sister—comforting her, flattering her, indulging her. Once she gained Rosalie's trust, she coaxed her into bringing her along to elite social gatherings, let her dress her up in clothes, shoes, handbags, and jewelry. Even the man, the original Rosalie later called her "boyfriend," had been introduced by Annie.

And from that point on, everything had fallen apart.

Her relationship with her children deteriorated completely. She began to see them as enemies, often hitting and scolding them, even tormenting them.

Each time, Annie fanned the flames.

The boys grew to despise her.

Every visit from Annie ended in chaos—screaming fights, disruption throughout the Xavian household. And she never left empty-handed, always taking jewelry, clothes, or handbags she liked.

Even so, the original Rosalie treated her like treasure.

Rosalie was speechless.

She hated nothing more than being used.

The original Rosalie, lacking love her whole life, clung desperately to anyone who gave her a shred of warmth—blindly offering her heart in return.

But love couldn't be begged for.

And it certainly wasn't found in parasites like Annie.

"Rosalie, I'm talking to you. Didn't you hear me?"

Rosalie had been scrolling through her phone instead of responding. Annie frowned in annoyance.

"What are you even looking at so seriously?"

“Nothing.”

As Annie tried to peek, Rosalie shut off her phone and looked up. "You're an adult. Why do you always pick fights with the children? Don't you realize you're putting me in an impossible spot?"

"Rosalie, don't twist this on me. They're the ones who target me. I've never come here without gifts for them, but they never show me gratitude. If not for you, I wouldn't bother. And now they've hit me, yet you're blaming me?" Annie's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Wait—you haven't gone soft on them, have you?"

Rosalie was speechless. They were her own sons—of course she cared about them.

"I'm about to appear on a parenting reality show with them. Do you want me humiliated in front of millions of viewers?"

Annie smacked her forehead. "I almost forgot! That show starts filming today, doesn't it?"

“Yes. Which means you should leave."

If not for the show, Rosalie wouldn't have wasted another minute humoring her.

"Relax, I'll go. But not before you vent my anger for me. Otherwise, I won't be able to sleep tonight."

She grabbed Rosalie's arm and dragged her toward the door.

Rosalie nearly stumbled to the ground. Annie didn't notice—or pretended not to—as the corner of her lips curled in a smug smile.

Rosalie's face darkened instantly.

“Annie. Let go," she said coldly.

"Rosie, I know you love your kids, but children won't behave unless they're beaten. You'll be on TV soon. If you don't discipline them now, they'll make a fool of you later." Annie ignored her protests and shouted up the stairs, "Holden! Alex! You little bastards, get down here! If we have to drag you out, it won't just be one beating!"

"Holden, they're coming! Let's run!"

Around the corner, two identical little boys peeked nervously.

Holden Xavian pressed his lips into a thin line, his black eyes cold as he watched Rosalie and Annie approach.

Beside him, Alex Xavian's round, lively eyes brimmed with fear, hatred, and unease. His body was already angled to flee at a moment's notice.

Suddenly, a piercing scream split the air.

Both boys flinched.

They turned in shock—just in time to see Rosalie slam Annie to the floor with a flawless over-the-shoulder throw.

Their mouths dropped open.

Two identical faces mirrored the same wide-eyed shock and disbelief.

“Holden?”

"Shh." Holden clamped a hand over his brother's mouth, eyes thoughtful.

But Alex's eyes gleamed with excitement. He nearly squealed.

The witch had been thrown! Mommy had thrown the witch!

Mommy had fought for them. Mommy was protecting them!

Did this mean Mommy had seen through the witch's act at last?

Mommy was strong, beautiful, amazing! He wanted to learn to fight just like her.

His tiny fists clenched with excitement, his round cheeks flushed as his sparkling eyes fixed on Rosalie, ready to cheer her on.

"Annie, I've never treated you poorly. Yet you knew I was married and still fueled conflict, egging me on, turning me against Chris and the boys. You couldn't stand the thought of me being happy. And now, with the show about to begin, you dare push me to beat my children? Your heart is rotten."

She raised her voice. "I must have been blind to ever call you a friend!"

"Rosalie, what are you implying?" Annie's face twisted.

"Wasn't it you who told me my life was ruined because of those boys?"

"So what if I did?" Annie shot back.

"I was twenty when I carried them—barely an adult. My family locked me up for a year. When I was finally freed, marriage bound me again. I had to step into the role of stepmother to a boy barely younger than me. I was bitter. Depressed. I lost control of myself. That was my failing—but it never gave you the right to exploit it, to sow discord, to profit at my expense. And haven't you milked me enough? Every time you came here, you walked away loaded with my things."

"I deserved those!" Annie snapped.

"Deserved them?" Rosalie laughed bitterly.

"All these years I carried you, schemed for you, gave you everything. And you think a few trinkets are my payment? If I hadn't willingly given them, do you think I'd care for your scraps?"

Annie's words were tough, but her darting eyes betrayed the truth in her heart.

Rosalie let out a cold laugh. "Since you despise those so-called worthless trinkets I gave you, then return them to me. I'll gladly take them back."

"Rosalie, are you insane?" Annie's face changed instantly.

Those clothes, handbags, shoes, and pieces of jewelry Rosalie had given her were worth at least five or six million. She'd be crazy to return them.

"Whoever takes back gifts once they've been given? Besides, haven't I sacrificed enough to be by your side these past years? Those things are what I deserve. Don't act like you were doing me some favor. I've paid my share too!" Annie groaned, clutching her sore back as she struggled to get up from the floor. "What happened today—I admit I didn't think it through. But don't take it the wrong way. I've always been on your side, thinking for you. If you didn't like it, fine, I won't do it again. There's no need to ruin our friendship over something so small."

She forced a smile. "And… is your depression acting up again? After the show is done, let me go with you to see a doctor, all right? I'll head out now, so I don't disturb your recording."

Without waiting for a reply, Annie rushed out, clutching her aching body, terrified Rosalie would press the matter further.

Rosalie frowned, her gaze cold as she watched Annie's retreating figure, but she didn't stop her.

From the corner, two small boys peeked out, their disappointment plain. Especially Alex—

His once round, soft face was now clouded with disgust, hatred, and bitter disappointment.

"I really thought she'd finally seen through that witch and cut ties with her for good. But this?" Alex stomped his foot in frustration. "It's my fault for being so stupid, for expecting anything from her. I'll never trust her again. To her, we're just the little bastards who ruined her life."

By the end, his voice trembled with grievance.

Holden's face tightened further, his black eyes like ice as they stared at Rosalie.

“Mrs. Xavian," a servant suddenly hurried upstairs. "There's a film crew outside. They say they're from Mama vs. Mayhem and that they've already arranged this with you. They're asking to come in."

"So soon?" Rosalie's heart lurched.

She hadn't even properly met the children, and now she was supposed to appear on camera with them? Her role as a doting mother was about to collapse before it had even started.

The servant asked carefully, "Should we let them in, ma'am?"

"Let them in," Rosalie said heavily, already calculating how much she could slack off.

"Have the butler inform the other four members of the household, especially the younger two. I'll go change first."

Annie had dragged her straight out of bed earlier, so she was still in a silk slip dress, barefoot, hair tousled into messy waves. It was sexy, yes—but far from suitable for national television. She also wanted to check her accounts and see exactly how much money she had.

She turned decisively and left.

From their hiding spot, the two boys blinked in confusion.

"She's not coming to find us?" Alex whispered.

"She wants to go on the show alone?" His eyes went wide.

He had begged for this show. Pestered Daddy and Holden until they agreed. He thought Mommy would use the chance to please them, to coax them into being on her side, at least for the cameras. He'd woken up at six that morning, ready to be spoiled.

Instead of Mommy, he got the witch.

And when Mommy finally came back? She just went upstairs to get dressed, as if nothing else mattered.

Didn't she care if they refused to show up on camera?

Alex's head spun with questions.

"Holden, why is she acting so differently? Should we even join the show?"

Holden's face was hard, his black eyes steady on the direction Rosalie had gone. "We're joining. Don't worry—she's more nervous than we are."

He leaned close, his voice cold. "If she dares treat us the same way she used to on camera, then we'll cut her off completely. We don't need that kind of mother."

Alex hesitated. "But then… we won't have a mommy at all."

"What use is a mother who doesn't care about us? Does she tuck you in? Feed you? Take care of you when you're sick? Protect you when you're bullied? No. All she's ever done is hit us and yell at us. A mother like that is worse than none at all. You'll listen to me on this—or I won't look after you anymore." Holden's tone was sharp, merciless.

Alex faltered, then gave in. Between a mother who didn't love him and the brother who always did, he chose Holden.

Rosalie had no idea this show was her last chance in their hearts.

Back in her room, she checked her bank account first. A long string of zeroes calmed her instantly. She had the resources to slack if she wanted.

Next, she stepped into the bathroom and stared at the face in the mirror.

It was nearly perfect.

Even without makeup, her features were luminous. Tall and shapely, bright eyes with a teasing tilt, lips full, youthful skin untouched by hardship.

She looked just like herself before transmigrating—only fresher, younger, untouched by life's wear.

Money, youth, beauty. She had it all.

She decided to play up her youth—reclaim what she'd lost.

She braided her thick hair into two playful plaits, then pulled on a fitted, cropped white T-shirt with high-waisted, wide-leg jeans and white sneakers.

Her slim waist flashed with every step—youthful yet sensual.

Satisfied with her look, she started for the door, then paused, nerves prickling.

But she wasn't one to hide. After a breath, she opened it and walked downstairs.

The twins' eyes widened when they saw her transformed.

"Holden, should we go down too?" Alex whispered.

Holden stared at Rosalie's retreating figure. After a long silence, he said firmly, "We're not going down."

“But…”

"Let her come find us."

Alex's words were cut off.

"What if she doesn't?" he asked nervously.

"Does she have any other sons?" Holden shot back.

"Do you really think Monroe would join her for some childish variety show?" he added coolly.

Alex thought of their eldest brother's constant disdain whenever he saw Mommy and fell quiet.

"I checked her bank account. She doesn't have enough to cover the penalty fees if she quits," Holden went on, trying to steady his brother.

Alex's eyes shone with admiration.

He was smart too, but compared to Holden, he was still a little behind.

But that was fine. He was the younger brother—wasn't it natural to be weaker? If he had been born first, he'd have to shoulder Holden's burdens, to always protect his little brother. His brain simply wasn't built for that.

He actually felt lucky he hadn't been the first one out of their mother's womb. Being the baby suited him just fine.

That was why the twins never fought over the ninety-second age gap between them.

…

By the time Rosalie came downstairs, the production crew was already waiting.

Her absence had already whipped the haters into a frenzy. In the livestream chat, the comments flew:

"Who's this segment on? Rosalie? Why hasn't she shown up? First day and she's pulling diva stunts already?"

"Not just Rosalie—the twins are missing too. Could it be she hasn't even gotten her stepson under control? Why would the network push someone like this on us?"

"Am I the only one noticing that painting on their wall? Isn't that Thomas Cole's The Course of Empire?"

"I just googled it. Last sold in 2007 for nearly a billion. So Rosalie really did marry into serious money. But why would a man like that want her—a plastic, arrogant bully?"

"Maybe she's good in bed?"

"Rosalie, you're here at last!" the director said eagerly.

A woman stepped gracefully down the stairs—white sneakers, high-waisted wide-leg jeans, a cropped white T-shirt clinging to her curves, her hair braided into two playful plaits. Her makeup was fresh and minimal, her fox-like eyes sparkling as she looked at the cameraman.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No worries, we only just arrived. But we did have to start the livestream before coming in. The viewers are eager to see your kids. Would you like to bring them out?" Weston Yale, the follow-cam director, let out a subtle sigh of relief.

He'd dreaded this job from the moment he heard her name. Rosalie had a reputation—arrogant, domineering, impossible to handle, protected only by powerful backing. When told he'd be in charge of her segment, he'd nearly wanted to quit. Starting the livestream without warning had been a gamble; if she'd blown up on camera, it would've been his head. Thankfully, she hadn't.

"The stream's already live?" Rosalie blinked, leaning closer to the lens in curiosity.

"Anything I should be careful about?" she asked.

Back before all this, she'd once worked as an extra, dreaming that her beauty alone could carve her a path in the entertainment industry. Instead, she'd barely begun before disaster struck, nearly costing her her innocence. That dream had died instantly.

Her sudden closeness made the livestream freeze for a moment. Then the chat exploded:

"Holy crap, Rosalie, don't just shove your face at the camera like that!"

"Still the same manipulative witch—even on a parenting show she can't help trying to seduce the cameraman."

"Shameful as it is to admit… I kinda felt something for a second there."

"Honestly, she doesn't even look like she's had kids. Are we sure those boys are hers?"

Upstairs, watching secretly from the toy room, the twins frowned at the comments.

"Holden, I remember Daddy keeps Mommy's pregnancy photos in his study. Let's find them," Alex suggested.

Holden considered, then nodded. "We might not need a mother. But our innocence? That we have to protect."

"Our innocence must be protected!" Alex echoed loudly.

But deep down, he thought—if Mommy really had changed, maybe she was worth keeping after all. He didn't want to be a boy without a mother.

The brothers turned and headed for Christopher's study.

Downstairs, even the cameraman was flustered by Rosalie's sudden nearness. His breath hitched, his words tripped. "R-Rosalie… you should, uh, go find your children now."

"Oh, right. Where are they again?" She tapped her forehead lightly, turning to the butler, Grayson.

Grayson's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The children haven't come down yet, ma'am. You might try the second-floor playroom."

"Do I have to go?" Rosalie asked, hesitating.

The truth was, she didn't know how to interact with them—especially with such a fractured relationship.

"Yes," Weston answered.

"During filming you must care for the children independently. No outside help allowed—not even from your husband," he emphasized.

Rosalie felt her heart sink.

“Mrs. Xavian," Grayson added smoothly, "the kitchen had already prepared breakfast for you and the children, but the producers said that violated the rules. At the boss's instruction, the food was distributed elsewhere. You'll need to cook for them yourself—for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

The blow nearly knocked Rosalie off her feet.

Her red lips pressed tight, her fox-like eyes wide with outrage as she glared silently at Grayson.

The cameraman turned his lens on him, capturing everything.

Grayson stood straight in his immaculate suit and gloves, face unreadable. Under her glare, he raised one hand, cautiously, almost timidly.

“Mrs. Xavian," he said, carefully choosing each word, "don't worry. The kids will take care of you."

"'The kids will take care of you,' hahaha!"

"I know I should be scolding Rosalie, but her cracked expression… I swear, every time I replay it, I laugh all over again!"

"So Rosalie really doesn't take care of her kids, huh? From what the butler said, she's always been dramatic at home. And now, even on camera, she can't even pretend? No wonder the twins still refuse to show up. Poor boys."

"Seriously, why would the producers hire Rosalie? She's garbage, poisoning our screens."

"I'm not defending her, but if being this beautiful is called toxic, then Lord, please come poison me too. She's gorgeous—that must be why the benefactor's backing her."

"Don't let your morals be blinded by her face! She's still trash."

…

At the top floor of Xavian Corp, the so-called "Benefactor" himself, Christopher Xavian, sat tall and rigid in his black suit.

At six foot four, he was a towering figure. His face was sharp and dangerous—every feature cut with precision, his lips a slash of vivid color, his jawline like sculpted stone. His black eyes were fathomless, deep enough to drown.

At this moment, those eyes were fixed on his phone.

He was watching the livestream.

No matter how he tried, he couldn't help but worry about his sons.

—

Rosalie led the crew upstairs toward the children's room.

Just as she reached the landing, a little head popped out of Christopher's study. Big, round eyes darted around warily. Rosalie quickly ducked back, leaving only the camera to capture the moment.

Alex, seeing no one, turned and waved eagerly. "Holden, Mommy's not here. Come out!"

Holden, who had already learned from the livestream where Rosalie was, slid his phone into his pocket with calm resignation. His face remained expressionless as he followed his bumbling little brother toward the playroom.

The contrast between the two boys sent the chat into hysterics.

“Ding! A tiny cutie spotted peeking around the corner!"

"Look at him sneaking like that—too cute to handle!"

"Holden, why are you so calm? You and Alex are like 'No Brain' and 'Grumpy'—a perfect duo."

"I may hate Rosalie, but her kids? Adorable. I want to steal them."

"My friends, compared to the wholesome mother-son scene next door, I'm actually looking forward to Rosalie and her cubs. What's wrong with me?"

Suddenly, Rosalie jumped out from the corner.

Alex nearly leapt out of his skin.

A second later, he burst into loud, snotty sobs.

Rosalie, flustered at first, couldn't help laughing when she saw the wobbling bubble of snot at his nose. "Pfft!"

That only made him cry harder.

He darted behind Holden, hiccupping and sobbing, "Holden! Mommy scared me! And she laughed at me! I'm so sad, so hurt, so heartbroken!"

Holden looked at his wailing brother, then at the woman clearly at a loss. He sighed, his tone sharp and firm. "Apologize to Alex."

Rosalie's eyes widened. "I'm your mommy!"

"So?" Holden shot back. His little face was stern, his voice steady.

"Mothers don't have to apologize when they're wrong?" The tiny figure radiated authority, like a miniature CEO.

Rosalie faltered, suddenly unsure. "Of course… but I didn't do anything wrong."

She added quickly, "I was just teasing him. You two were hiding upstairs. And what's that in your hand?"

Holden tucked the photo album behind his back, his voice righteous. "You made him cry. That's wrong. Either apologize, or comfort him until he stops."

At those words, Alex wailed even louder. He wanted Mommy to comfort him.

Rosalie's mouth twitched. "So if I apologize, he'll stop crying?"

Holden nodded. "If you apologize, I'll comfort him for you."

"Really?" Rosalie's eyes brightened.

Holden's face darkened. “No.”

He turned to leave.

Rosalie quickly stopped him. "Wait, wait, fine—I'll apologize, okay?"

She shot a glance at the camera, then leaned toward Holden's ear, whispering, "Baby, don't embarrass me in front of all these viewers. It's my first time being a mom. I don't know what I'm doing. Please, you and Alex, be patient with me."

Holden blinked at the mic pinned to her shirt. Did she forget she was still wired? Or was she faking it?

But the moment she called him "baby," his mind went blank.

"Pfft! Rosalie, you know you're mic'd, right? Are you acting for us or what?"

"Why do I suddenly think she's… kinda cute?"

"No wonder she forced her way onto the show. She's just using the kids to wash her image. Disgusting old witch."

Holden's eyes widened, stunned. A moment ago she'd been all stern authority, the next she was playful and soft.

His small, serious face stayed taut, but his ears turned bright red.

Behind his back, his fists clenched tight. He tried to resist the warmth spreading inside him, tried not to meet her eyes, tried not to admit he actually… liked it.

But he'd been tricked too many times. He reminded himself over and over: She's pretending. Don't believe her.

The livestream audience, however, was already melting.

"Ugh, the boys are too cute! Especially Holden—serious little marshmallow, I can't take it!"

"Rosalie doesn't deserve kids like these. Who's with me to go steal them?"

"Wait, look at Alex in the background. He's about to unleash something—everyone clear the way!"

Alex's teary eyes darted between Rosalie and Holden whispering together. Then he erupted into sobs even louder than before.

“Mommy! You're whispering secrets with Holden and leaving me out! Waaaah! Why are you rejecting me? I'm going to find Daddy! Holden doesn't love me anymore! I'm so sad—I don't want to live anymore!"

He cried harder, hiccupping. "Daddy, your baby—me—I’m about to leave this beautiful world. Don't miss me too much. And Monroe… when I'm gone—"

Christopher was speechless.