86

Barely a week after the PMPC Star Awards, the joy surrounding Liam's win began to crack under the weight of speculation.

At first, it was subtle — an online forum thread questioning how a first-time actor could outshine children with years of experience. Then the headlines followed.

"Industry Nepotism or Genuine Talent? Netizens Debate Liam De Torre's Win." "Was the PMPC Award Rigged in Favor of the De Torres?" "Too Perfect? Too Connected? The Price of Being a Salonga-De Torre."

Lea had seen this before — too many times. Fame was an echo chamber; it applauded and devoured in the same breath. But this time, it wasn't her being targeted. It was her son.

Rafael read through the news on his tablet, jaw tight. "This is garbage," he muttered. "They're calling him a product of privilege instead of a product of passion."

Lea sighed, placing a hand on his arm. "Paeng, it's what happens when the world forgets children are still children."

"He's seven," Rafael snapped, trying to steady his voice. "He doesn't even understand what politics in show business is."

Just then, her phone rang — Boy Abunda's name flashing on screen.

Lea answered, putting him on speaker. "Tito Boy?"

"Lea, I just saw the chatter online. I wanted to call before the rumor mill spins out of control."

Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose. "Too late for that."

"I know, I know," Boy said soothingly. "But I might have an idea — something that could help Liam. A way for the people to see who he really is."

Before Lea could respond, another voice cut into the line — energetic, unmistakable.

"Lea! Rafa!"

Lea blinked. "Kris?"

"Yes! I'm with Boy right now," Kris Aquino said, her tone bubbling with the energy of someone who already had a plan. "And you know what? I want that boy — that brilliant child — on my show. Just one episode."

Lea exchanged a wary glance with Rafael. "Kris..."

"No, hear me out," Kris interrupted. "Everyone's talking about him like he's a prop, like he's just your kid with good PR. Let them see him. Let them hear him speak for himself. I'll make it classy, promise. Not chismis, just conversation. The truth."

Boy chuckled in the background. "You know Kris when she's decided."

Lea exhaled slowly. "I don't know, Kris. He's seven. I don't want to throw him into that kind of spotlight again."

"Lea," Kris said gently, her tone shifting to something sincere, "I watched that clip of his acceptance speech. He's grounded, intelligent, and real. You don't have to worry about him — I'll protect him. But let him talk. People are questioning his win because they haven't seen what you and Rafael see every day. Let me give him that chance."

Rafael finally spoke, voice measured. "Kris, I appreciate it. But you know what the press can do. Even your platform can twist intention."

"Not this time," Kris insisted. "You trust me, right? It's one episode, taped. I'll make sure it's honest. If there's anyone who can silence doubters, it's Liam himself."

There was a pause. Lea looked at her husband — his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Finally, Rafael sighed. "If we agree, you make me two promises. One — no sensationalism. Two — he's off-limits if anyone tries to exploit him afterward."

Kris laughed. "Oh, Rafa. Have a little faith. I'll treat him like my own. His Tito Boy's producing, so you know it'll be handled right."

Boy chimed in, "We'll send you the final cut before airing. No surprises."

Lea bit her lip, torn between caution and pride. "Alright," she said finally. "One episode. No studio audience. You promise?"

"Promise!" Kris sang. "Thank you, Lea. You won't regret this."

After the call ended, silence filled the room.

Lea sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair. "Are we doing the right thing?"

Rafael rubbed his temples. "We're doing what's necessary. If the world wants to question him, then let them see what kind of boy he really is."

Lea nodded slowly. "He's stronger than I think, isn't he?"

Rafael gave a faint smile. "He's his mother's son. Of course he is."

The next morning, when Lea explained it to Liam, he looked up at her with wide, curious eyes. "Tita Kris wants to talk to me?"

"Yes," Lea said carefully. "But it's not like the red carpet or the awards. It's just a conversation — you'll be yourself. You'll tell people what you love about acting, what makes you happy."

Liam nodded seriously. "So they stop being mad at you and Papa?"

Lea's throat tightened. "No, sweetheart. So they stop being mean to you."

He smiled softly, taking her hand. "Then I'll tell them I just wanted to make stories like you and Papa. And that being your kid doesn't make me better — it just makes me lucky."

Lea's breath caught. She hugged him tightly, tears forming again.

From the doorway, Rafael watched quietly, arms crossed — his expression a mix of pride and heartbreak.

He muttered under his breath, "He's not even eight yet and already better with words than most adults I know."

Lea laughed through tears. "Then maybe, Paeng, he was born to do this."

Rafael smiled faintly. "Or maybe he was born to remind the world what grace looks like — even when it's small enough to fit in your arms."