THE STERLING INHERITANCE

**POV: Isla**

The clock on my nightstand read 2:47 a.m. I should have been asleep. I had a twelve-hour shift starting in five hours. But sleep felt impossible after the dinner at my parents' house, after watching my sisters shine while I faded into the wallpaper.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on my knees, the glow of the screen the only light in my studio apartment. Outside, Seattle was finally quiet, the usual traffic noise reduced to an occasional car passing below my window.

This was my favorite time. When the world slept and I could exist without apologizing for it.

D.C.'s last email was still open. *I have something complicated coming up. A choice to make. I'll probably need your wisdom before it's over.*

I wondered what kind of choice kept a man like him awake. From his letters, I knew he was successful-wealthy, even-but lonely in a way that money couldn't fix. We'd never exchanged specifics. No last names, no companies, no details that would shatter the safety of our anonymous connection.

Maybe that's why this worked. We couldn't perform for each other because we didn't know what roles we were supposed to play.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I should write something hopeful, something that would help with whatever decision he was facing.

Instead, I wrote the truth.

*Dear D.C.,*

*I went to family dinner tonight. I shouldn't let it bother me anymore-I'm twenty-five, old enough to know better-but it does.*

*My mother spoke over me three times. Not interrupting, exactly. Just talking like I hadn't been speaking at all, like my voice was white noise she'd learned to tune out. My father asked my sister about her work while I was mid-sentence about mine. And my sisters... they don't do it on purpose, but they take up so much space that there's none left for me.*

*I've spent my whole life being background noise in other people's stories. The supporting character who exists to make everyone else look better by comparison.*

I stopped, deleting the last sentence. Too bitter. Too self-pitying.

But wasn't that what these letters were for? Being honest in a way I couldn't be anywhere else?

I retyped it.

*The worst part is wondering if this is just who I am. If some people are meant to be invisible. If I'm one of them.*

*Do you ever wonder if you'll ever be someone's first choice? Not their backup plan or their last resort, but the person they choose before anyone else?*

*I wonder that all the time.*

My eyes burned. I wiped them roughly with my sleeve, annoyed at myself for crying over something so familiar it shouldn't hurt anymore.

*Sorry. That got darker than I meant it to. Ignore me-I'm just tired.*

*Your complicated choice, whatever it is-I hope you find clarity. You deserve good things. You deserve to be happy.*

*Sleep well.*

*E.A.*

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then immediately regretted it. Too much. Too vulnerable. He'd think I was pathetic.

My phone buzzed with a text from Elena, my coworker and closest friend.

**Elena:** *You awake?*

**Me:** *Unfortunately*

**Elena:** *Bad dinner with the family?*

**Me:** *The usual*

**Elena:** *Your family is the worst. Come over tomorrow after your shift. I'll make margaritas and we can trash talk them properly*

I smiled despite myself. Elena had been trying to adopt me since we started working together three years ago. She insisted my family was emotionally abusive, that I should set boundaries, maybe get therapy.

She wasn't wrong. But knowing something intellectually and feeling it emotionally were different things.

**Me:** *I'll be there*

I set my phone aside and closed my laptop, sliding under the covers. The twinkle lights above my bed cast soft shadows on the ceiling. I'd bought them because they reminded me of stars, and stars reminded me that there was a whole universe beyond my small, invisible life.

My laptop chimed. New email.

I told myself not to check it. I needed sleep. But D.C. never wrote back this fast unless-

I grabbed the laptop.

*Dear E.A.,*

*I just got home from the worst meeting of my life. I'm standing in my apartment that costs more than most houses, looking at a city I helped shape through investments and development, and all I can think is: what's the point?*

*Then I read your email.*

*I wish I could tell you that you're wrong about being background noise. But I think I understand exactly what you mean. I'm surrounded by people constantly-meetings, dinners, events-and I feel invisible too. They see my money, my name, what I can do for them. They don't see me.*

*Except you. Somehow, you see me.*

*To answer your question: yes. I wonder all the time if anyone will ever choose me for who I am instead of what I have. I've dated dozens of women who would marry me tomorrow, but not one of them knows my favorite book or what I'm afraid of or what I dream about at three in the morning.*

*You know all of those things.*

*I don't think you're meant to be invisible. I think you've been surrounded by people who are too blind or too selfish to see what's right in front of them. Their failure to see you doesn't make you less visible. It makes them less observant.*

*You asked if you'll ever be someone's first choice. E.A., you're already someone's first choice. You're mine. In two years of writing to you, I've never wanted to write to anyone else. I check my email compulsively hoping you've responded. Your letters are the best part of my day.*

*You matter. You've always mattered.*

*I'm sorry your family can't see that. But I do.*

*Get some sleep. Dream of better things than background noise.*

*Yours,*

*D.C.*

I read it three times, tears streaming down my face.

He saw me.

A stranger whose face I'd never seen, whose real name I didn't know, whose life existed in some parallel universe to mine-he saw me in a way my own family never had.

I wanted to write back immediately, to tell him that his letters kept me alive some days, that he was my first choice too, that I'd rather have this anonymous connection than any real relationship I'd ever attempted.

But my eyes were too blurry to see the keyboard, and my chest ached with something that felt like hope and hurt tangled together.

Instead, I saved his email in the folder where I kept all his letters. Two years of correspondence. Two years of being seen.

I turned off the lights and lay in the darkness, his words echoing in my mind.

*You're already someone's first choice. You're mine.*

Across the city, in some expensive apartment I'd never see, D.C. was probably still awake, dealing with whatever complicated choice he was facing.

I hoped he knew that he was my first choice too. That if we ever met in real life, I'd choose him. Always.

Though we'd never meet. That was the nature of our connection-safe because it was distant, honest because it was anonymous.

My alarm would go off in four hours. I needed sleep.