Sophia Sterling may have traded scripts for silk pajamas, but her wit remained as lethal as ever. Were it not for Alexander's pleading glances—silent pleas to spare his aging mother's nerves—she'd have reduced her relatives to ash by the first course.
Alexander, the eternal diplomat, gestured to the cameras with forced cheer. "Look, everyone! Sophia's documenting our family for *Career Spotlight*! Isn't that… *fun*?"
Aunt Lydia (née Sterling, now thrice-divorced and thrice-bankrupted) didn't glance up from her diamond-crusted phone. "Where *is* my Brandon? Valeting the Rolls shouldn't take *this* long…"
Cousin Emily (part-time barista, full-time influencer) stormed off, mascara streaking as Sophia's latest clapback about "unpaid internships" hit too close to home.
At the heart of the storm sat Grandma Eleanor, the family's 83-year-old matriarch, her smile as serene as a Buddha statue's. "Sophia, my jewel! Sit by me!"
Aunt Margot (Isabella's mother, perpetual martyr) blocked the seat with her Prada-clad hip. "That's *Isabella's* spot. She'll be here shortly after her *Scorsese meeting*."
Sophia's smile turned arctic. "No worries, Grandma. I'll hover near the exits—wouldn't want to *haunt* the family photos."
**The Main Course: A Feast of Subtext**
As waiters poured broth into the simmering hotpot, the relatives unsheathed their favorite weapons:
**Aunt Margot** (adjusting her heirloom pearls): "Isabella's new director called her *Meryl Streep with better cheekbones*."
**Uncle Robert** (whose "hedge fund" was really a Ponzi scheme): "Sophia, *really*—no ambition? You'll end up a *spinster* in that ivory tower!"
Sophia, meanwhile, assembled a pair of serving chopsticks long enough to duel a Kurosawa samurai.
Alexander blinked. "Darling, why—?"
"Preemptive defense," she purred, twirling the lacquered wood.
**The Performance**
When the insults reached critical mass, Sophia slammed her chopsticks down with a *crack* that silenced the room.
"You're right," she sighed, swirling her chrysanthemum tea. "I'll *never* be Isabella."
Aunt Margot preened. "Finally, some self-awareness!"
Sophia leaned forward, her voice dropping to a velvet growl. "But I *do* excel at one role."
**Live Chat:**
[OH SHIT SHE'S GOING IN]
[QUEEN MODE ACTIVATED]
[ISABELLA'S ABOUT TO GET BURIED]
"Which role?" sniffed Aunt Margot.
Sophia's smile could've frozen hell. "The Evil Queen. *Snow White*'s underappreciated icon."
She rose, her Valentino gown pooling like spilled ink as she circled the table.
"Shall I demonstrate?"
**The Monologue**
"Mirror, mirror on the wall…" She paused, locking eyes with each relative. "Who's the *fairest* of them all? Not the girl chained to scripts and studio execs. Not the one begging for scraps of validation."
Her nails tapped the table's edge, a metronome of menace.
"The *fairest* is the one who *wins* without lifting a finger. Who turns her enemies' envy into *fuel*. Who knows her worth isn't measured in Oscars… but in loyalty."
She stopped behind Alexander, her hands resting on his shoulders.
"And who," she whispered, "has a father who'd burn the world to keep her safe."
**Live Chat Implosion:**
[HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT]
[I NEED HER TO NARRATE MY LIFE]
[ISABELLA'S ENTIRE CAREER JUST DIED IN A DITCH]
**The Aftermath**
Across town, Isabella Montgomery choked on her green juice mid-"inspirational" Instagram Live.
"*Sophia Sterling*," she hissed, her screen flooding with comments like *"Evil Queen Supremacy!!"* and *"Cancel Scorsese, we want Sophia's biopic!"*
Back at the restaurant, Grandma Sterling clapped, her laughter echoing like wind chimes. "Brava, darling! Now—who wants dessert?"
As the crew packed up, the director murmured, "We'll need to bleep half this footage."
Sophia smirked, texting her mother: *"Family dinner: success. Casualties: minimal."*
Eleanor's reply was instant: *"Transferring $250K. Buy Margot's silence."*
In the Sterling universe, even villains got happy endings—funded by unlimited generational wealth.