CHAPTER 127: CHAPTER 127: HELP! IS THE MIC STILL ON?

Sure, here’s the translation:

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The second half of the show was exactly the content from the day Shannon Yarrow came. The production team edited the scene with the troublesome fans and replaced it, stopping at the final group photo.

After watching an episode, it ended as usual with a host interview segment.

The interview started with Shannon Yarrow, and the questions focused on her field of professional art creation, promoting her upcoming exhibition.

Throughout, there was no mention of any topics that could lead to associations, not even the injury that Blake Sinclair suffered on the program.

However, despite this, Holly Crowe felt a vague unease, especially at the end when everyone was saying goodbye, and Shannon looked over through the screen with a complex and unreadable expression, as if brewing something.

But she didn’t think much of it, just feeling that perhaps she was overreacting.

After everyone said their goodbyes, they left the connection one by one, with Holly Crowe being the last.

When she saw her phone screen go black, she thought that meant the broadcast had ended, so she placed the phone face down on the table and didn’t bother with it anymore.

Her head was full of thoughts about questioning Blake Sinclair, not noticing the small white dot indicator light still blinking at the top of the phone.

This was the sign that the microphone was on, although the camera was off, all the sound was being picked up.

Seeing the screen go dark, the audience that was planning to leave realized they could still send bullet comments, noticing something was off.

[What’s going on? The broadcast isn’t over yet? Why is the screen black but we’re still able to comment?]

[Why can’t we see anything? Damn? Did they forget to turn off the microphone?]

[I have an immature guess, we’re doomed to hear the couple’s whispers. (Grabs a small bench)]

[Too embarrassing, too embarrassing. I’m ready! (Picks up ears)]

Holly Crowe put the phone aside, turned her head to glare at the man next to her, accusing him, "How did you get in? The key is with me, isn’t it?"

She pointed to the key on the table that he had handed to her just now, placed a hand on her hip, and questioned.

Blake Sinclair looked at her puffed-up face and chuckled, pushing a fork with a piece of peach into her hand, "Eat the peach first."

"You’re so annoying, I just went live." Holly Crowe bit her lip and took a fierce bite of the peach in her hand as if it were Blake Sinclair.

She complained indistinctly, lifting her dress to show the red mark on her leg, "Look at this! Here! This red mark, all because of you just now."

The more she spoke, the more irritated she got.

Seeing her finish a piece of peach, Blake Sinclair offered her another piece with a perfunctory apology, "Yeah, my bad."

Not sincere at all.

The attitude clearly saying, "I know I was wrong, but I’d do it again."

Holly Crowe laid out all the evidence of his wrongdoings that night, "You deliberately sat behind me, deliberately ate peaches to tempt me, and you even....."

By the end, her mouth was dry.

Blake Sinclair handed a glass of water to her lips, watching as she drank a couple of sips and resumed her accusations, "I told you not to come in, you did it on purpose."

"Yeah." He admitted earnestly.

Holly Crowe was choked by his straightforward attitude and glared at him angrily.

Blake Sinclair leaned down, his eyes fixed on her intensely, repeating her flirtatious words from the live room, "Holly, how does a puppy’s ears compare? Can you look at me for ten seconds too? Can you shoot an arrow at my heart too?"

"You... you..."

Holly Crowe pointed at him, her cheeks flushed red, unable to say a full sentence.

So, he really was watching her live stream outside just now.

Blake Sinclair edged closer, his hand resting on the arm of the chair, trapping her between the desk and his embrace, with nowhere to escape.

He held her hand, pulling her in close, and whispered, "Do you smell it?"

Holly Crowe was confused, "What?"

"Jealousy." He said with a low voice, filled with undisguised accusation, "The whole night, it’s been about to kill me."

Holly Crowe pushed him grumpily, her heart racing.

Blake Sinclair looked at her flushed face and thought of how, watching her live stream from outside the study, the screen was filled with "wife," "marriage," hearing her make heart shapes and sweet talk to the netizens. Jealousy surged inside him.

He wanted to rush in and shut down the stream on the spot.

Especially when she clearly heard the intent behind him dropping the glass and deliberately teased him about it.

Until that guy named Dean Raines showed a shy expression during the watch-along stream, he couldn’t take it anymore.

What if he’s petty?

He was about to lose his wife!

He directly found the spare key to the study, entered with confidence, and declared his territory.

Holly Crowe didn’t expect him to admit his jealousy so directly and muttered, "That was just for the livestream effect!"

"Effect?" Blake Sinclair’s eyes darkened, unwilling to let it go, he insisted on an explanation.

"Then why didn’t Holly do it to me? Forgot how to make a heart? Or forgot how to shoot an arrow here?"

He drew circles ambiguously in her palm, guiding her hand to press against his left chest, over the shirt, Holly Crowe felt his strong heartbeat clearly.

Scorching, fiery.

The words when spoken from the netizens or his mouth had completely different effects.

A strong sense of shame swept over her.

She felt like she had, native language shame!

Wishing she could find a crack to crawl into.

"Stop talking!"

"Why not?"

Blake Sinclair took off his glasses with one hand, tossing them aside casually.

Just taking off his glasses with such a simple action seemed to carry a certain dangerous aggressiveness when done by him, as if he was not just taking off the glasses, but was undoing some gentlemanly restraint and restriction.

He scooped an arm, effortlessly pulling her up and sitting her on his lap.

This position brought them even closer.

Blake Sinclair’s gaze deepened further, he lowered his head to her ear, speaking with a smile in a soft voice only the two of them could hear, "Holly said, no means yes, so...."

Before he could finish, the abrupt sound of the phone ringing broke the heated atmosphere.

The phone on the table kept vibrating.

"You... let me take a call first." Holly Crowe pushed his shoulder.

Blake Sinclair did not loosen his grip; instead, he wrapped his arm tighter around her waist.

As if declaring his dissatisfaction.

The phone rang persistently, and Holly Crowe, resigned, had to twist in place within his arms, bending forward to reach for the phone on the table.

In this action, Holly Crowe’s waistline fell perfectly within his line of sight.

Blake Sinclair’s eyes darkened, and his grip around her waist instinctively tightened further, his knuckles turning white from the force, the action conveying a possessiveness on the verge of being out of control, yet still delivering a careful stance of protection.

The sweet scent of peaches in the air seemed to now blend with a flavor of a more dangerous desire.

Lingering, hovering at the tip of the nose.

Holly Crowe finally got hold of the phone, but before she could clearly see the caller ID, her body was pulled back by the force behind, once again sitting on his lap.

Almost simultaneously, the phone stopped ringing due to not being answered for a long time.

Holly Crowe caught her breath, her heart still racing, and looked down at the phone screen.

But the phone didn’t show the lock screen she’d expected.

The screen was still on the broadcast interface, at the top, a barely noticeable small white dot, continuously blinking.

This is...

The livestream microphone permission icon!

It... why is it still on?