THE STERLING INHERITANCE

# CHAPTER 3

**POV: Isla**

The Ashford family estate loomed before me like a museum-all stone facade and manicured hedges, perfectly symmetrical and utterly cold. I sat in my decade-old Honda in the circular driveway, watching the lights glow in the dining room windows. Vivienne's sleek Audi was already parked near the entrance. Celeste's vintage motorcycle leaned on its kickstand by the garage.

Seven o'clock sharp, Vivienne had said. I was five minutes early, which meant I would be the first one seated. Always eager, always trying, never quite measuring up.

I grabbed the bottle of wine I'd brought-nothing expensive, not like what my sisters would arrive with, but the clerk had promised it was good-and made my way to the front door.

"Isla." My mother opened the door before I could knock, already dressed for dinner in a cream silk blouse and pearls. Margaret Ashford didn't do casual. "You're early."

"I can wait in the-"

"Don't be ridiculous. Come in." She turned and walked away before I could finish my sentence, heels clicking on the marble foyer.

I followed her through the house I'd grown up in, past family photos where I always stood slightly behind my sisters, past the piano no one played anymore, into the formal dining room where the table was already set with Mother's best china.

"I brought wine," I offered, holding up the bottle.

She glanced at it without really looking. "That's nice, dear. Set it on the sideboard."

I did as instructed, watching as she adjusted a fork that was already perfectly aligned. Everything in the Ashford house had its place. Including me-which was nowhere specific, just somewhere out of the way.

"How was work this week?" I tried.

"Busy. The hospital charity board is demanding more oversight. Richard!" She raised her voice toward the study. "They're here!"

"I meant my work. At the hospital. We had this little girl who-"

"Vivienne, darling!" Mother's face transformed as my eldest sister swept into the room, all confidence and designer labels. "You look stunning. Is that new?"

"Theory's fall collection." Vivienne set down a bottle of wine that probably cost more than my rent. "The Bordeaux you like, Mother."

"You're always so thoughtful."

I stood by the sideboard, holding my cheaper bottle, invisible as always.

My father entered next, Richard Ashford in his custom three-piece suit even at home. He kissed Mother's cheek, nodded at Vivienne, and walked past me to the bar cart without acknowledgment.

"Where's Celeste?" he asked.

"Late, as usual," Vivienne said, settling into her chair with practiced grace. "She texted that she's on her way."

Mother sighed. "That girl. Isla, sit down. We won't wait for your sister."

I took my usual seat-the one closest to the kitchen, easiest to get up from when something needed fetching-and folded my hands in my lap.

"So, Vivienne," Father said, pouring himself scotch. "Tell me about the Meridian case. I heard you're close to a settlement."

Vivienne launched into a detailed explanation of corporate merger complications while Mother listened with rapt attention. I watched them, the way they leaned forward, engaged. The way Father asked follow-up questions and Mother made impressed sounds.

This was how dinner always went. Vivienne discussing her important cases, Celeste eventually arriving with some dramatic story about the art world, and me...

"The nursing staff threw a birthday party for one of our long-term patients this week," I said when Vivienne paused for breath. "Seven years old, been fighting leukemia for-"

"That reminds me," Mother interrupted, not even looking at me. "Vivienne, didn't you say your firm handles medical malpractice? The Hendersons were asking about representation."

"We do, actually. I can make an introduction."

"How's your hospital thing going, Isla?" Father asked absently, still focused on his scotch.

"It's good. Like I was saying, this little girl-"

"Sorry I'm late!" Celeste burst through the door in paint-stained jeans and a leather jacket, her auburn hair wild. "You would not believe the day I've had."

"Celeste." Mother's voice went tight. "You couldn't dress appropriately?"

"I came straight from the gallery. We're installing a new exhibition-very controversial piece about corporate greed and environmental destruction. The artist is brilliant but completely unhinged." She threw herself into the chair across from me. "Hi, Isla."

"Hi," I managed.

"The art world is so exhausting," Celeste continued, accepting the wine Father poured for her. "Everyone has an opinion, everyone's offended by something. Last week someone called my curatorial choices 'deliberately provocative.' Like that's a bad thing."

"Well, you do try to shock people," Vivienne said dryly.

"That's the point of art. It should make you uncomfortable."

They launched into a debate about artistic merit versus commercial viability. Mother chimed in about the pieces she'd seen at a recent museum gala. Father mentioned a sculpture he'd considered buying.

I cut my salmon into smaller and smaller pieces, chewing slowly, trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Isla, you're being quiet," Celeste said suddenly.

Everyone looked at me. I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.

"I'm just listening."

"You always just listen. Don't you have opinions?"

"I-"

"Celeste, don't badger your sister," Mother said. "Some people are naturally more reserved."

Reserved. That was the polite word for invisible.

"I was trying to mention earlier," I said, voice smaller than I wanted, "we had this patient who-"

"Oh, Vivienne, I almost forgot," Mother cut in, pulling out her phone. "I need to show you the invitation to the Wellington charity gala. You should definitely attend. Excellent networking opportunity."

"Send it to me," Vivienne said.

I set down my fork. The salmon tasted like cardboard anyway.

The conversation flowed around me like water around a stone. Vivienne's latest courtroom victory. Celeste's upcoming gallery opening. Father's golf handicap. Mother's committee work. My sisters were brilliant stars in their respective orbits, commanding every room they entered.

And I was...

"At least two of you are making something of yourselves," Mother said, refilling her wine glass. "Isla, dear, how's your... hospital thing?"

My hospital thing. Three years of nursing school. Four years working pediatric oncology. Countless nights holding scared children's hands through painful procedures. All of it reduced to "your hospital thing."

"It's good," I said.

"That's nice, dear."

Father didn't even glance up from his phone.

Celeste and Vivienne had already moved on to discussing some mutual acquaintance's scandalous divorce.

I excused myself to use the bathroom-no one noticed-and stood in the powder room staring at my reflection. Same brown hair, same hazel eyes, same forgettable features. Nothing like Vivienne's sharp elegance or Celeste's wild beauty.

My phone buzzed. An email notification.

D.C. had written back.

*Dear E.A.,*

*Your family doesn't deserve you, by the way. I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating.*

I read it three times, feeling something warm unfurl in my chest.

When I returned to the dining room, they were discussing vacation homes. Vivienne was considering Tuscany. Celeste wanted something in Bali. No one asked if I had gone anywhere.

I watched my sisters command attention, watched my parents hang on their every word, and felt the familiar weight of invisibility settle over my shoulders.

A ghost at my own family dinner.

That's all I'd ever be to them.