Alexander Sterling's throat tightened as he hit the final crescendo of Nessun Dorma, his baritone reverberating off the vaulted ceilings. For years, he'd buried the part of himself that once commanded standing ovations at La Scala, trading opera houses for homework help and board meetings for bedtime stories.
Sophia's laughter during his absurd "Moscow Nights" performance earlier had cracked something open inside him—a vault of unspoken longing. Now, as he sang Puccini with the fervor of a man reclaiming his soul, he noticed his daughter's eyes glistening.
She remembered.
Sophia's chest constricted. She'd been so busy resenting her mother's absences that she'd never noticed her father's silent disappearing act—the way he'd muted his own spotlight to keep theirs blazing.
"Dad," she interrupted, voice thick, "you sound like…"
"An overripe tomato?" Alexander joked, though his knuckles whitened on the piano's edge.
"Like thunder made music." She rose, silk robe fluttering as she crossed to the grand piano. "Why'd you stop performing?"
The crew held their breath.
Alexander traced a chipped ivory key—a relic from his Juilliard days. "Your mother's world demanded a different kind of duet." His smile wavered. "But hearing you laugh? That's been my greatest aria."
Live Chat Detonated:
[Wait—HER DAD'S THE ALEXANDER STERLING?! The "King of Verismo"?!]
[Just YouTubed his 2005 Tosca—SWOON.]
[Sophia's trash acting makes sense now—all her talent went to Dad's vocal cords!]
[SHUT UP SHE'S LIVING MY DREAM RN]
Meanwhile: The "Serious" Starlet
Isabella Montgomery wiped fake blood from her lip, her "epic battle scene" reduced to dodging poorly CGI'd fireballs. Sweat seeped into her $5,000 contact lenses as the director barked, "Again! More conviction!"
Her live feed comments dripped with performative concern:
[Isabella's WORK ETHIC 😍 Unlike that lazy nepo baby!]
[Remember when Sophia bombed as Lady Macbeth? EMBARRASSING.]
But as trolls switched to Sophia's stream, they witnessed:
Sophia digging through an antique chest, unearthing her father's mothballed performance robes. "Dad. The Met's gala is next month."
Alexander froze, a threadbare cape in hand. "Darling, I'm decades past—"
"You're Alexander freaking Sterling." She tossed him a velvet doublet. "The world deserves an encore."
The chat erupted:
[DO IT DO IT DO IT]
[Sing the high C from Turandot or we riot]
Alexander's chuckle dissolved into a sob. "What if… what if I'm not enough anymore?"
Sophia cupped his face, her thumbs smudging his tears. "You've always been enough."
Live Viewership:
Isabella's Stream: 82K (dropping)
Sophia's Stream: 2.3M (trending #DaddysEncore)
The Killshot:
A notification flashed on Sophia's phone:
💸 $100,000 Deposited
From: Mommy 💖
Memo: "Pocket money for my brave girl. Buy Dad something sparkly for the Met!"
The internet short-circuited.
[HER ALLOWANCE IS MY YEARLY SALARY]
[I'd sell my kidney to be this kind of unemployed]
[Plot twist: Sophia's real talent is weaponizing privilege into art]
Isabella's remaining fans tried salvaging pride:
[At least Isabella EARNED her—]
The comment died as Sophia's feed cut to Alexander tentatively scales, his voice cracking on the first note… then soaring into a flawless high C.
Sophia whooped, tossing truffle popcorn like confetti. "ENCORE! ENCORE!"
By midnight, #DaddysEncore trended globally. The Met's director DMed Sophia: "Name your price. We need him."
In the Sterling kitchen, Alexander stirred matcha lattes, hands still trembling. "You… you really think I can?"
Sophia kissed his cheek, leaving a glittery lipstick smudge. "Dad, you're not just 'enough.' You're everything."
Outside, paparazzi swarmed the gates. Inside, a retired legend rediscovered his spotlight—with his daughter as conductor.
Some careers are built on résumés.
Others, on love.