The bathroom mirror was covered with small fingerprints and water stains. In front of it, you were struggling with a brush against the tangles in your long, rebellious hair. With your tongue slightly sticking out, you mimicked the gestures you had seen in magazines or maybe during your father's hair-styling sessions, but nothing seemed to work.

"This is impossible!" you exclaimed, on the verge of tears.

From the bathroom door, Robert watched you silently, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His hair, as long and tangled as his daughter’s, fell in golden cascades that seemed to have a life of their own. He walked slowly toward you, his presence filling the room.

When you looked up at him, your eyes red and your cheeks damp, Robert bent down to your level. His blue eyes shone with a mix of calm and authority, the same he displayed on stage.

"Queens never cry, darling," he said in a firm yet warm voice.

Your tears stopped instantly, as if absorbed by the seriousness in your father’s tone. Slowly, your expression changed. The vulnerability faded, giving way to a cold, determined look. It was Robert’s reflection, the same rock star demeanor he adopted in front of thousands.

"That’s better," Robert said, picking up the brush that had fallen to the floor. "Now, let’s tame that lion’s mane."

With patient and precise movements, Robert began untangling the knots in your hair, carefully separating it while humming a soft melody.