Sophia Sterling did not bluff—she detonated.
Whirling on her stiletto heel, she marched back toward their mothers with the lethal grace of a panther, her neon ponytail slicing the air like a blade. Yanchen's hand shot out, gripping her wrist in a vise of panic.
"*Don't*—"
The yank was too forceful. Sophia collided with his chest, her hairspray-stiffened ponytail smacking his lips with the tang of chemical rebellion.
Behind them, the mothers erupted into muffled squeals.
"Already embracing!" Mrs. Li dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief monogrammed in 24k thread. "So *passionate*!"
Eleanor nodded, the ghost of a smirk haunting her lips. "Efficiency is a Sterling virtue."
Sophia shoved him off, her glare sharp enough to flay. "*Manhandle* me again, and I'll repurpose that ponytail as a weapon."
Yanchen offered a half-bow, all mock chivalry. "Apologies. But some secrets deserve burial—even from mothers."
"*Secrets?*" Sophia's laugh was a scalpel. "Mama's Boys have no secrets. Only mom-approved *brands*." She flicked a crystal strand toward Mrs. Li. "Shall we ask her? *Boxers or briefs? Silk or synthetic?*"
**The Negotiation**
By the gallery's exit, beneath a Basquiat screaming in neon, Sophia laid her terms. "Tell your mother I'm intolerable. Cite the hair. The attitude. My *distinct lack of third legs*."
Yanchen leaned against a billion-dollar splatter painting, arms crossed. "You first. Tell yours I'm a capitalist drone with the charm of a tax audit."
Stalemate.
Sophia's eyes narrowed to shivs. "Fine. We fake-date. In a week, I'll leak that you're gay—"
"And I'll counter that *you're* gay," Yanchen interjected smoothly.
"*I'm a public figure*," she hissed. "My brand is *chaotic neutral*, not *closeted*."
Yanchen's laugh was low, appreciative. "You're a tyrant. A *adorable* tyrant."
They exchanged WeChats with the solemnity of signing a peace treaty.
**The Aftermath**
As their mothers floated away to draft merger plans (matrimonial edition), Yanchen lingered, his voice a velvet challenge. "They'll expect moonlit dinners. Staged paparazzi shots. *Heartfelt* Instagram captions."
Sophia scrolled through her phone, already drafting an exit strategy. "After seven days, I'll tell the press you're impotent. Cite performance anxiety. *Mommy issues*."
Yanchen choked on his Perrier. "You're diabolical."
"You're *welcome*," Sophia purred, striding past him. "Bring a notepad to our next date. You'll need to study *how to lose*."
In the Sterling-Li Cold War, romance was a grenade.
And Sophia Sterling had just pulled the pin.
---
**Note:** This chapter amplifies the dark comedy of elite societal expectations, using art-world satire and razor-sharp dialogue to underscore Sophia's rebellion against performative roles. The tension between authenticity and familial duty plays out through physical comedy and verbal sparring, maintaining the story's thematic critique of wealth and tradition.