Sophia Sterling's revenge plot unfolded with the precision of a soap opera director on Red Bull.
At dinner, Sophia "accidentally" sloshed lobster bisque onto Yanchen's $10,000 Brioni shirt. He gasped, clutching his chest like a Victorian widow. "*Mother!* She's *ruining* me!"
Mrs. Li dabbed his collar with a napkin. "Darling, it's just soup—"
"It's *symbolic*," Yanchen hissed, side-eyeing Sophia. "Of her *reckless disregard* for my dignity!"
Sophia batted her lashes. "Oops. My *clumsy* hands." (Her hands, currently stealing his foie gras, were anything but.)
**Live Chat (Secretly Streamed by the Butler):**
["SOPHIA'S A MENACE 😭"]
["YANCHEN'S DRAMA QUEEN ERA IS HERE."]
["THIS IS WHY RICH PEOPLE SHOULDN'T PROCREATE."]
---
When Yanchen dared to compliment her earrings ("*Mother's taste, obviously*"), Sophia kicked him under the table. Hard.
"*Ow!*" Yanchen yelped, clutching his shin. "Did you see that? *She assaulted me!*"
Eleanor frowned. "Sophia, violence is… *inelegant*."
Sophia sipped her Dom Pérignon. "Violence? I *sneezed*. Allergies."
Alexander nodded sagely. "The peonies are *vicious* this year."
---
Sophia dragged Yanchen upstairs for a "private tour" of her closet—then shoved him into a rack of unworn Chanel. "*Out.* You're wrinkling my trauma robes."
Yanchen stumbled into the hall, tie askew, muttering, "She's *unhinged*."
The maids whispered, clutching their feather dusters: "Too fast! Too *rough*!"
Mrs. Li paled. "Perhaps… they're *too* compatible."
Eleanor sighed. "We'll book a couples' therapist. *Discreetly.*"
---
Isabella Montgomery, meanwhile, staged a tearful "breakdown" in Lucian's penthouse, her sobs echoing off the gold-leaf ceilings. "*Cancel her show!* It's a *mockery* of real work!"
Lucian, scrolling through Sophia's rising poll numbers, sighed. "Darling, the network won't budge. Sponsors love her."
"Then *make* them!" Isabella hurled a crystal vase. It missed Lucian, shattered a Jeff Koons sculpture. "She's a *parasite*!"
Lucian's phone buzzed—a notification: *Career Spotlight gives "Mama's Girl" two episodes to prove "societal value."*
Isabella's tears dried instantly. "*Two episodes?* She'll fail. *Spectacularly.*"
---
Sophia lounged in her closet-turned-war-room, polls glowing on her laptop: **200K votes**. Double Isabella's. Her phone rang—Yanchen's name flashing.
"*What?*" she barked.
Yanchen's voice dripped sarcasm. "Congrats. You've made me a meme. Mother's ecstatic."
Sophia smirked. "Send her my therapy bill."
He paused. "You're insane."
"And you're *boring*. Bye."
She hung up, texting her father: *"Burn Isabella's winery photos. Leave the ashes in her mailbox."*
---
As the clock struck midnight, Sophia stood on her balcony, the city lights winking like accomplices. Her phone buzzed—a poll update: **250K votes**.
"*Positive value*?" She laughed, tossing a truffle into the void. "Watch me redefine *value*."
Isabella's defeat would be *art*.
And Sophia?
She was the brush.
---
**Next Chapter Teaser:**
Sophia's "societal value" plan? A livestream sleeping clinic. Isabella sabotages it with ferrets. Yanchen's mom invests in nap pods. And Alexander starts a cult called *The Church of Lounging Saints*. The chaos? *Divine.*