Chapter 4: Live on Air

The RV stopped at the set, and as soon as I got out, the cameras started rolling.

The studio lot was already humming with activity—grips hauling cables, someone shouting about cold brew for the talent. As I stepped out, a makeup assistant dabbed concealer under my eyes, and the red tally light blinked on. Show time.

[Mark Taylor’s dark circles are so bad. He must’ve lost sleep after seeing Brooks and Little Princess go public, haha.]

[Look at that sour face, pure jealousy.]

[Did Brooks fans not brush their teeth this morning? Why is their mouth so nasty?]

[If Mark Taylor dares to compete with Brooks for gigs again, Little Princess will blacklist him in a heartbeat.]

[From now on, all of Brooks’s gigs will be handed over by Little Princess.]

Social media ran in the background, comments scrolling across my brain as I walked through the set doors.

When I arrived at the recording house, all the guests were crowding around Alex Brooks, showering him with praise.

He was the center of the universe—laughing, shaking hands, getting side-hugs from the crew. Even the boom mic guy looked starstruck.

The show’s called “Come Date Me.”

Everyone in my generation knew it: part Bachelor, part Big Brother, part train wreck, and absolutely live.

There are four male and four female guests, and it’s streamed live, real-time.

No hiding from the camera—even the kitchen mic was hot.

Everyone has to live together for three days and two nights.

Nothing like being judged by America for seventy-two hours straight.

At the start, the director aimed the camera at Alex Brooks and asked if he and Little Princess had gone public last night.

The crew leaned in, waiting for the next viral moment.

“Uh…”

Alex Brooks said shyly, “You’ll all know when the time comes~”

He did that bashful boy-next-door grin, the one that launched a thousand TikToks.

The director wasn’t about to let this wave of attention go and pressed on.

“Then, Brooks, can you tell us what happened last night? Was Little Princess showing off your love with that late-night post?”

The room went silent. Even the sound guy stopped adjusting the boom.

Alex Brooks pretended to be annoyed and stomped his foot.

He gave a little dramatic huff, then shot the camera a look like, ‘Can you believe her?’

“She insisted on bringing the dog to keep me company for the show. I said no, so she childishly took the dog away while I was working.”

He flashed a crooked grin, milking the crowd for laughs. Everyone ate it up—America loved a good dog story.

I watched Alex Brooks’s immersive performance, stunned at how he could make up stories without even blushing.

He was a master at this—spinning a fairy tale out of nothing, right there in front of millions.

I couldn’t help but ask,

“Didn’t you say in an interview that you were bitten by a dog as a kid and would never keep one?”

I blurted it out before I could stop myself. The room held its breath.