The internet erupted into a digital coliseum, spectators bloodthirsty as Sophia Sterling's relatives sharpened their barbs. Aunt Margot (Isabella's mother, perpetual crown-polisher) wielded her daughter's achievements like a cudgel, each boast dripping with saccharine venom.
**Live Chat:**
[Isabella's mom is the human equivalent of a participation trophy.]
[Sophia, drop her in the hotpot next.]
[I'd sell my soul for this family's group therapy bills.]
Aunt Margot's smirk widened. "Sophia never cared about *performance* before. Why the sudden interest?"
Sophia arched a brow, withdrawing her iPhone like Excalibur from stone. She angled it toward the chandelier, her reflection warping in the glossy screen.
"Siri," she purred, "who's the most *talented* in this family?"
The AI's chirp cut through the tension: *"Isabella Montgomery! Award-winning actress, singer, and philanthropist!"*
Sophia's face contorted into a mask of operatic fury. "*Liar.*"
**SPLOOSH.**
The phone plunged into the roiling hotpot broth, bubbles hissing around its corpse. Cousin Bo fished it out with trembling tongs, the screen still flashing Isabella's IMDb page.
Undeterred, Sophia produced a second iPhone. "Siri, who's the *kindest* here?"
*"Isabella Montgomery! She volunteers at shelters and—"*
"**Treason!**"
**SPLASH.**
The second phone joined its sibling in the spicy grave.
**Live Chat:**
[SHE'S YEETING PHONES LIKE THEY'RE BREADCRUMBS.]
[This is the Rich People Olympics and I'm HERE FOR IT.]
[Next season: *Which Relative Gets Deep-Fried?*]
As Sophia reached for iPhone #3, Grandma Sterling's cane thumped the floor. "Enough, child! Sit."
Sophia lowered the phone slowly, her smile glacial. "This one's lucky. Next time…" She locked eyes with Aunt Margot. "…I drown the *source* of the lies."
The table fell so silent, the clink of a teacup sounded like a gong.
**The Heroine's Tragic Entrance**
Isabella Montgomery swept in moments later, her Valentino gown catching the light like armor. She'd timed her arrival for maximum impact—the family's collective gasp, the cameras pivoting—only to freeze mid-stride.
Sophia Sterling lounged in *her* seat beside Grandma, slurping bone broth from a jade spoon.
"Isabella!" Aunt Margot patted the chair beside her, its cracked leather a far cry from Grandma's gilded throne. "We saved you a spot!"
Isabella's smile tightened, her manicured nails carving crescent moons into her clutch. The cameras zoomed in—a flicker of rage in her eyes, swiftly smothered by practiced poise.
**Live Chat:**
[DID SHE JUST… STEAL ISABELLA'S THRONE?]
[EVIL QUEEN 1, SNOW WHITE 0.]
[ISABELLA'S FACE IS GIVING 'I WILL END YOU'.]
Sophia didn't glance up from her bowl. "Isabella! How's *Scorsese*?" She paused. "…Wait, was it Scorsese or *Sizzler*? I get your indie projects confused."
Isabella's laugh tinkled like broken glass. "So *quaint*, Sophia. Still playing pretend?"
"Always." Sophia finally met her gaze, eyes glinting. "But my *pretend* pays better."
**The Unspoken Coup**
As Isabella nibbled a single shrimp (for the cameras), Sophia held court, feeding Grandma slivers of wagyu with her own chopsticks. The patriarch's adoring gaze never left her, his laughter booming at her sarcastic asides.
Isabella, the perennial golden child, sat ignored at the kiddie table of relevance.
When the crew packed up, Sophia tossed her ruined phones to a starstruck PA. "Recycle these. And tell Aunt Margot…" She leaned in, whispering like a conspirator, "…her face is starting to match the hotpot broth."
**Epilogue: The New World Order**
Later, as the Sterling limo glided home, Alexander squeezed Sophia's hand. "You didn't have to…"
"Yes," she said, staring at the city lights, "I did."
In her penthouse, Isabella scrolled the night's footage, her reflection warped in a shattered mirror.
Sophia Sterling hadn't just stolen her seat.
She'd rewritten the fairy tale.