Autumn is a second spring

155. Live 2.0

The moment the live went up, the screen exploded.

Comments flooded in so fast they blurred together—questions stacked on questions, speculation layered with accusation. Some wished them luck, begged them to stay strong. Many more were sharp, cruel, demanding answers. Rumors. Lies. Hatred, dressed up as curiosity.

Boun froze.

His body locked in place, as if someone had pressed pause on him while the world continued moving. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but he wasn't really seeing the words anymore. All he felt was the familiar, crushing weight in his chest—the same one he had felt years ago, when people had pointed fingers at him for loving someone they thought he shouldn't.

History was repeating itself.

Only this time, he hadn't been alone in it.

This time, he had dragged Prem down with him.

The guilt hit so hard it made his breath stutter. His fingers curled helplessly against his knees. He couldn't speak. Couldn't blink. Couldn't even swallow.

Prem noticed immediately.

Without making it obvious, Prem reached out and slid his hand into Boun's, fingers threading together gently. He squeezed—once, steady and grounding.

Boun looked up at him, eyes glassy, mouth opening slightly.

No words came.

Prem turned back to the camera.

"We are doing this live today," Prem said calmly, his voice steady despite the chaos scrolling across the screen, "to clarify the rumors and the photos circulating online about the two of us."

The comments surged again.

Prem continued, "Things escalated far beyond what anyone expected. We have received hate messages, threats, and even death threats."

A murmur rippled through the set behind the cameras.

"These matters are being taken very seriously," Prem said. "Our company's legal department has already filed complaints regarding online harassment and threats. The cases will be taken to court."

Behind the camera, Boston let out the breath he had been holding and gave Prem a firm thumbs-up. This—this part—was solid. Professional. Controlled. Exactly what Sammy had insisted on when she had asked Boston to oversee everything personally, even if it meant being away from his newborn daughter for the day.

Prem glanced briefly at the comment feed, then looked back into the lens. "We know many of you are curious about the photos."

He paused.

Then he turned his head slightly, looking at Boun.

"The people in those photos," Prem said, "were me, Hia, and our son—Bew."

The world tilted.

Boun's head snapped toward Prem, eyes wide, heart slamming violently against his ribs.

That wasn't in the script.

He knew it wasn't. Even without reading it, he knew.

Before he could react, Prem turned back to the camera, voice unwavering. "Bew is not Hia's illegitimate child, as some rumors claimed. He is Hia's nephew, whom Hia legally adopted three years ago after his Phi chaai passed away in an accident."

Behind the cameras, Boston bit down on his nails.

This was not the plan.

But as he watched the comment feed, his panic slowed. The tone was shifting. Questions were still there—but now mixed with praise. Respect. Shocked admiration. People calling Boun brave. Asking about Bew, asking if the child was safe.