The internet had barely finished hyperventilating over Isabella Montgomery's #DoubleLuCouple reveal when Sophia Sterling delivered her counterpunch—a masterclass in weaponized apathy.
Isabella's Instagram post—a curated shot of her interlaced with Lucian Vaughn's fingers, both hands gleaming with Cartier love bracelets—had been meticulously staged: golden hour lighting, a wistful caption about "finding light in the chaos," and a hashtag that trended faster than a crypto scam.
**Live Chat on Isabella's Stream:**
[POWER COUPLE GOALS 😍]
[Sophia could NEVER.]
[Isabella's grace under pressure 💪]
The "pressure" in question? Isabella's ninth take of a slap scene, her cheek blooming crimson as her co-star—a method actor with a vendetta—delivered his lines with a little too much gusto.
"*Cut!*" the director barked. "Isabella, darling, more *stunned*, less *constipated*. Let's go again!"
Meanwhile, Sophia's livestream featured a single static shot of her bedroom door—mahogany, hand-carved, and utterly riveting to 500,000 viewers.
**Live Chat on Sophia's Stream:**
[DOOR STREAM 4 LIFE.]
[I've never felt so seen.]
[This is ASMR for the soul.]
Alexander Sterling tiptoed into frame, balancing a tray of chamomile tea and melatonin gummies. He cracked the door, revealing Sophia cocooned in Frette linens, her neon ponytail deflated into a halo of frizz.
"Sweetheart," he whispered, "the cameras are still—"
"*Shhh.*" Sophia tugged her sleep mask down. "I'm method-acting *rest*. Tell the fans I'll autograph their pillows later."
**Live Chat Detonated:**
[SLEEP QUEEN 👑]
[I'd pay for a Cameo of her snoring.]
[Take notes, Isabella—THIS is art.]
By take twelve, Isabella's left eye had begun to twitch involuntarily. Her agent's frantic text lit up her Apple Watch:
*Sophia's nap outrating your slaps 40:1. Post a thirst trap?*
Isabella's reply was a single emoji: 🔪
---
**The Philosophy of Unbothered**
Later, as Alexander tucked Sophia into her 1,000-thread-count sarcophagus of sleep, he murmured, "Darling, the internet's saying you've 'transcended hustle culture.'"
Sophia yawned, her words slurring. "Hustle culture's for people who can't afford naps."
"But Isabella's—"
"Isabella," Sophia interrupted, "thinks suffering is a virtue. I think it's bad branding."
She drifted off, the cameras capturing the rise and fall of her diamond-studded sleep mask.
**Live Chat's Final Verdict:**
[Sophia's out here curing capitalism.]
[I'd let her bankrupt me.]
[GOODNIGHT, QUEEN.]
Isabella, icing her face in a trailer, watched Sophia's viewer count hit a million. Her phone buzzed—a notification from Lucian:
*You're trending, babe!*
She hurled her ice pack at the wall.
In the Sterling penthouse, Eleanor Sterling reviewed the metrics, her lips quirking. "Order a 'Do Not Disturb' door plaque for Sophia's room. 24-karat. Engraved."
Some revolutions weren't fought with swords.
They were won with silk pillows and the audacity to rest.