My Hardcore Billionaire Mom

Live on national television, I marched straight up to Gwendolyn. "You know what?" I stared her down. "Growing up, I envied kids eating KFC.

You never let me touch a single chicken nugget." The live chat froze. Pity flashed across the studio audience's faces. Camera operators swiveled their lenses, zooming in tight.

The world braced for an Alist actress's tragic backstory. Gwendolyn didn't even flinch. She unzipped her suitcase. Stacks of photographs spilled out—thousands of them.

Ten minutes of shuffling later, she slapped a Polaroid onto the table.

The picture showed eightyearold me devouring a familysized bucket of fried chicken. "Exhibit A." She stared right back at me. Heat rushed to my cheeks.

Pride forced my mouth open. "Fine! You abandoned me! You dumped me at the estate until I turned three!" She plunged her hands back into the suitcase.

Vacation snaps flew onto the table. Gwendolyn, Julian, and toddlerme posed in front of thirty different state landmarks. One shot even featured me lounging on a yacht.

Panic gripped my chest. I pulled my trump card. "Fine! But you never let me eat candy!

I snuck one single piece once, and you clawed it straight out of my throat!" For once, she produced zero photographic evidence.

She just blinked. "Seraphina, you ate a mothball." Silence choked me.

The live chat exploded. [The absolute flex of affording that many photos back then.] [Gwendolyn brought receipts.

Otherwise, Seraphina totally gaslights her.] [Seraphina holds a grudge like a pro, but her memory belongs in the trash.] Chapter 1 Carmen stood over my bed, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Pack your bags." My agent’s voice left zero room for argument. "I booked you on Mother of Mine.

Production starts next week." My brain completely shut down for three seconds before the words registered. Mother of Mine. The reality show from hell.

Season one trended constantly for tearing celebrity families to actual shreds. One actress flinched when her mother tried to feed her a forkful of salad.

The internet branded her a toxic, ungrateful brat for three straight months. I pointed a numb finger at my own chest. "Me? And Gwendolyn?" Carmen rolled her eyes. "Who else?

Me and my mother?" All the fight drained out of me. I slid down, yanking the duvet up to my chin. "Absolutely not.

I just want to act." Growing up, warmth and affection didn't exist in my house. Julian and Gwendolyn tagteamed me with ruthless discipline.

I spent my entire childhood walking on eggshells. When I announced I wanted to act, Gwendolyn threatened to break my legs with a rolling pin. Julian swore he’d disown me.

Three years later, our relationship remained frozen in a state of mutual avoidance. Call if it's urgent, otherwise do not disturb.

Faking a heartwarming motherdaughter bond on live television? The incoming hate would definitely keep me trending for all the wrong reasons. Carmen expected this.

She reached into her Prada tote, pulled out a thick contract, and slammed it onto my mattress. "Newsflash, Seraphina." She leaned in. "Talent doesn't pay the bills anymore.

Fans want parasocial relationships. They need to see the real you. You have critical acclaim but zero online presence.

If you don't build traffic right now, your career is dead." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "Besides, I already signed it on your behalf.

The breach of contract penalty is fifteen million dollars." Fifteen million dollars. The words struck my chest like a physical blow. My lungs seized.

I snatched the papers, my eyes frantically scanning the ink for a decimal point. Nothing. Just a one, a five, and six sickening zeroes.

I’d acted my heart out for three years, and my entire net worth barely scratched a fraction of that. Carmen smirked, soaking in my sheer panic. "So, you are doing this show.

Nonnegotiable." I gripped the pages. They weighed a ton. My "good" agent was always finding new ways to redefine the word "scam." "It’s a mix of live streams and edited cuts.

Episode one shoots next week." Carmen turned on her heel, marching toward the door. "Call Gwendolyn. Tell her to pack. And Seraphina?

Try not to sound like a brat." My thumb hovered over Gwendolyn's contact name. My pulse hammered against my throat.

I hesitated for over half an hour before I finally gritted my teeth and pressed the call button. The line rang. And rang. Finally, it clicked open.

The heavy clinking of poker chips came through the speaker. "What?" Her voice was as cold as ever. My stomach plummeted.

A tight knot twisted in my chest. "Mother, it's me." "I have caller ID, Seraphina. Spit it out. I'm busy." I swallowed hard.

My throat felt a bit dry. "I… I got booked on a reality show." "I don't care about your Hollywood drama.

I don't understand it, and I don't want to hear it." Chapter 2 "Wait!" The sharp rustle of the phone pulling away from her ear spiked my pulse. "Mother, don't hang up!" Silence hit the line.

Even the gambling chips stopped clinking. She listened. I gripped the phone, pushing the words out in one breath. "It's a reality show. For parents and kids.

The network wants us to do it… together." I held my breath, bracing myself for the storm.

Knowing Gwendolyn, she’d either scream at me until my ears bled or slam the phone down and block my number. The line went dead silent. Seconds dragged.

When Gwendolyn finally spoke, her tone completely threw me. It sounded practically giddy. "A reality show. Just mothers and daughters?

Alone?" My brain shortcircuited. "Uh… yeah." "Perfect.

When?" "Next… next week." I was struggling to keep up with her sudden mood swing. "Got it." She agreed instantly, then shrieked away from the receiver. "Read 'em and weep, ladies!

Royal Flush!" The line clicked dead. I stared at the black screen. My arm froze midair. She agreed. She didn't yell. She actually sounded thrilled.

I stared blankly at the wall for a solid ten minutes before finally texting Carmen. Gwendolyn said yes. Three pulsing dots appeared instantly.

You two are going to break the internet! Major ratings! I tossed the phone onto the mattress and slumped against the headboard. Screw the ratings.

Surviving Gwendolyn without a public meltdown was my absolute bestcase scenario. "The network wants raw authenticity." Carmen tapped the steering wheel as we cruised down the freeway. "No assistants.

No Paige. You and Gwendolyn handle everything yourselves. Use this to bond." I leaned my temple against the cold glass, watching the LA skyline blur past.

A pathetic groan escaped my lips. Without my assistant, my social anxiety would double. We hit the studio lot and pushed open the green room door.

Two duos already claimed the couches. Miles slouched in the corner. The pop idol’s platinum hair caught the harsh fluorescent light as his thumbs flew across his screen.

An elegant woman—his mother, Teresa—leaned in, whispering gently into his ear. Across the room sat my ultimate red flag. Skylar. Carmen signed Skylar and me the exact same month.

The agency constantly pitted us against each other for scraps. Skylar thrived on the hustle. She networked hard, played the Hollywood game, and skyrocketed fast.

I hated the spotlight. I stayed quiet, avoided the drama, and barely booked indie gigs. Then Skylar burned bridges.

Things got ugly between her and Carmen, and she eventually broke her contract to sign with a rival agency. She expected blockbuster roles.

Instead, her resources actually worsened, and her career was quietly downgraded. I stayed loyal. Carmen meticulously curated my script choices.

I ground my way through prestige indies until I shocked the industry and swept the Best Actress awards.

We used to at least exchange a few words when we bumped into each other at events. That stopped the second I took home the trophy.

I caught her eye at an Oscars afterparty and gave a friendly wave. Skylar looked straight through me and strutted away.

Chapter 3 Rumors of us not getting along and stepping on each other flooded the internet. We hadn't spoken a single word since.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, a massive headache already throbbing behind my eyes. So I definitely didn't expect her to march straight toward me.

A blinding, cameraready smile plastered her face. "It's been forever, Seraphina!" Her voice dripped with an aggressive, sugarcoated enthusiasm. Heat rushed to my cheeks.

I suddenly didn't know where to put my hands and feet. "Yyeah." The stutter tore past my lips. "You haven't changed a bit." Skylar raked her eyes over my outfit, her smirk sharpening at the edges. "Still so… cute." Skylar pivoted, seamlessly launching into a skincare debate with Miles's mother, Teresa.

I shrank deeper into the corner armchair. I pretended to study the production schedule, though my mind was completely blank. Minutes ticked by.

The tenminute warning for the live broadcast loomed, and Gwendolyn still hadn't shown up. My knee bounced frantically. My eyes darted to the door every few seconds.

Did she actually ghost me on national television? I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over her contact. Bang.

The green room door slammed open. "Traffic on the 405 was an absolute nightmare." Gwendolyn had arrived. Oversized Tom Ford sunglasses swallowed half her face.

She rocked a freshofftherunway Chanel tweed suit, balancing effortlessly on needlethin Louboutins. A bold, unapologetic red lip completed the look.

She had an overwhelming presence. Avery, a production assistant, struggled behind her, hauling a massive twentyeightinch hardshell suitcase.

Anyone else would think an Alist diva just graced us with her presence. I stared at her blankly, opening my mouth but no sound came out.

She whipped off her sunglasses, revealing a flawlessly Botoxed forehead. She looked around and her gaze accurately landed on me. Her brows snapped together. "Well?

Don't just stand there staring. Grab a bag." Silence choked me. I scrambled out of the chair, jogging over to her side. "Mother, what is in that massive trunk?" I hissed.

Gwendolyn didn't even blink. "You think I lugged this twentyeightinch monster for my health?

It’s packed with the good stuff." She grabbed the zipper, fully prepared to pop it open right there in the green room.

Avery poked their head through the doorway. "Five minutes to air, everyone. Please head to the soundstage." The announcement mercifully halted the unzipping.

I exhaled a shaky breath. But staring at that giant suitcase, I had a terrible feeling about this. This broadcast was going to be a complete disaster.

The livestream chat blurred into a frantic waterfall of text. I dragged in a sharp breath, fighting the rapid thumping against my ribs. Gwendolyn lounged next to me.

She crossed her legs, looking entirely unbothered by the rolling cameras. Trent, the host, flashed a blinding, hundredwatt smile. "Welcome, everyone! Let's kick things off.

Tell us, what inspired you to bring your mother on the show today?" Skylar grabbed the mic first. Her eyes instantly rimmed red.

Her voice cracked, hitting the perfect pitch of vulnerability. "My mom mortgaged her only house just to pay for my acting classes in LA. She worked three jobs.

Her hands are permanently calloused from all the scrubbing." A single, pristine tear slipped down her cheek. "I joined this show to finally tell her—thank you.

It’s my turn to take care of you now." Chapter 4 A heavy, emotional weight settled over the soundstage.

The livestream chat erupted into a blur of frantic text. [Sobbing literal tears. Skylar is an actual angel.] [Protect her at all costs! She’s so pure.] [The sweetest soul.

Officially stanning Skylar.] [Best daughter in Hollywood, hands down.] I shrank into my seat. The pressure clamped down on my chest. Next up: Miles.

He leaned hard into his goldenretrieverboy persona. He flashed a brilliant smile, calling Teresa his absolute rock. "I just wanted to bring her into my world for a bit!

Give her a taste of how our generation lives." He threw up a hand. Teresa met it with a crisp highfive. Wholesome. Effortless. Then, every camera swiveled.

The red recording lights zeroed in on me. Clammy sweat coated my palms. A wall of lenses stared back. All rational thought just evaporated from my head.

I forced sound past my dry lips. "Uh… my agent signed the contract." Dead silence dropped over the soundstage. [Someone teach this girl PR.

You don’t just SAY that out loud.] [Alist privilege jumping out. She doesn't even want to be here.] [LMAO. Socially awkward icon. She just killed the whole vibe.] The crew froze.

They obviously didn't expect this answer, and the silence on set was deafening. Trent scrambled to salvage the segment.

He thrust the microphone toward Gwendolyn, a strained smile stretching his face. "And Gwendolyn? What special reason brought you to the show?" Gwendolyn sat ramrod straight.

Her face was expressionless. She leaned into the mic. "She stated a fact." The livestream chat ripped us to shreds. [Holy crap.

Are they actively trying to sabotage the show?] [Like mother, like daughter. Both of them are insufferable.] [If you hate it so much, just leave.

Such a red flag.] [Prayers for the producers having to deal with these two.] Production split us into three kitchen stations. The challenge: cook one family dish.

Skylar and Yvonne moved like a welloiled machine.

They plated a gorgeous, steaming pot of authentic chicken and dumplings. [Yvonne needs to drop the recipe RN.] [They are so synchronized.

This is therapeutic to watch.] [Skylar is such a sweetheart helping her mom out.] Miles and Teresa attempted some bizarre fusion dish.

They were completely flustered throughout the process. They finally slammed a plate of unidentifiable, charred sludge onto the judging table.

Despite the literal charcoal, his fans went rabid defending him. [Miles looking confused in an apron is my new religion!] [Stream his new single!

It’s fire!] [Who cares if he can't cook? Look at those shoulders!] Then came my station. An absolute disaster.

We crashed around our station like a pair of headless chickens, turning the pristine prep area into an absolute disaster zone.

Gwendolyn aggressively dumped half a cup of salt into the pan, mistaking it for sugar. The resulting dish was completely inedible.

The chat showed zero mercy. [Is this even edible?] [They definitely hate the host.] [This has to be scripted.

Nobody is actually this incompetent in a kitchen.] I stared at the vicious comments flashing on the monitor. A lump formed in my throat. Gwendolyn? Completely unfazed.

She scooped a forkful of the salty disaster into her mouth. She chewed. Swallowed. Her expression didn't change. Chapter 5 I braced for Carmen to scream my ear off.

Instead, Carmen's voice on the other end of the phone carried a strange sense of excitement. "Are you seeing Twitter right now?

The hashtag SeraphinaAndMomTrainwreck is trending number one!" Carmen shrieked. "All press is good press, baby! Keep this exact energy. Lean into the awkwardness.

We are going to dominate the trending charts!" I ended the call and stared at the vicious comments flooding my screen. A sour taste coated my tongue.

I basically sleepwalked through the rest of the afternoon shoot. Night fell. Production rolled out the final segment of the day: letters from home.

Yvonne's letter recalled Skylar's maturity and struggles growing up in simple, plain words. Skylar broke down, sobbing perfectly on cue.

Teresa followed up with a fierce, empowering letter praising Miles’s dreams. His eyes glistened with photogenic tears. Everyone waited for Gwendolyn’s letter.

I was looking forward to it too. Trent, the host, unfolded a single, painfully thin sheet of paper. He cleared his throat. "Seraphina. Eat your meals. Go to sleep on time.

And for the love of God, do not cause trouble." He stopped. That was it. The livestream chat pivoted so fast it caused whiplash.

The hate vanished, replaced by a massive wave of pity. [That letter is an actual red flag. Zero maternal warmth.] [No wonder Seraphina looks so anxious.

She’s an heiress with literally no one who loves her.] [Dayone fan here. I’m bawling. She hasn't gone home for the holidays since she debuted!] [Gwendolyn’s eyes are ICE.

She doesn't give a single damn about her daughter.] [This is physically painful to watch. Someone hug Seraphina.] The cameras zoomed in tight, hungry for my humiliation.

My throat closed up. Richard, the showrunner, sensed the blood in the water.

He stepped just behind the main cameraman, pitching his voice into a gentle, probing tone. "Gwendolyn, do you feel there might be a slight… disconnect in how you express affection to your daughter?" Gwendolyn sat beside me, methodically peeling a mandarin orange.

She didn't even look up. "No," she stated. "That's just how she is." That single sentence completely shattered my last bit of expectation.

The emotions I had suppressed for over twenty years completely broke down at this moment. I was a ghost in my own childhood home. Other kids had their scraped knees kissed better.

I had Julian and Gwendolyn treating me like a military recruit. A target practice dummy for their tagteamed discipline. My hands started shaking.

I clamped my jaw, but my teeth chattered. I signed this contract hoping for a scrap of warmth. Just one manufactured moment where my mother actually looked at me softly.

I was a fool. The pressure behind my eyes ruptured. Hot, thick tears tracked down my cheeks, ruining my makeup.

I whipped my head toward her. "Do you even know?" My voice cracked, raw and ugly. "Do you know how much I envied the kids who got to eat KFC? Their moms took them.

You never even let me have a single chicken nugget!" My chest heaved. "I have never, never felt loved by you or Julian!" Sharp gasps echoed across the soundstage.

The reality shattered their illusion: the glamorous heiress lived worse than an average kid in the suburbs. Skylar glided over.

She pressed a pristine tissue into my trembling hand, painting her face with the absolute perfect mask of pity. Chapter 6 Gwendolyn finally stopped peeling that damn orange.

Without a single word, she dragged the monstrous twentyeightinch suitcase onto her lap and yanked the zipper. Gasps echoed off the soundstage rafters