That connection, fragile as it was, had already taken root in her heart.
So yes, she was disappointed, more than she wanted to admit. Disappointed that they had chosen to give that place to soone else, and even more so that the girl in question had t her with thinly veiled hostility.
But beneath the disappointnt lay sothing deeper, sothing far more difficult to confront. Fear. The quiet, creeping fear of losing sothing important all over again, just as she had before. And that was not a feeling she could simply brush aside or pretend did not exist.
This, this was the aftermath of what Maddison had done to her. Not sothing loud or visible, but sothing far more insidious, carved deep into her psyche through quiet, relentless tornt.
Maddison hadn’t just wanted Ashley to suffer in the mont; she had wanted it to linger, to take root so deeply that Ashley would never forget what it felt like to be abandoned by the very family that once claid to love her, cast aside like sothing worthless and sothing disposable. And because of that, the damage hadn’t faded with ti. It had settled into her bones and into her instinct.
So now, even the faintest echo of that sa situation happening again, the re suggestion of being replaced and of being pushed out, was enough to trigger her fears.
Her first instinct was no longer to fight for her place, nor to confront it head-on, but to retreat. To run before history could repeat itself. To pull away before the fracture deepened into sothing irreversible. It wasn’t weakness; it was self-preservation, shaped by pain she had never truly healed from.
"Ash..." Apollo started, his voice cutting gently through the storm she kept hidden behind her eyes.
"Brother! Why didn’t you wait for ?"
The girl hurried to Apollo’s side and slipped her hand around his arm, clinging to him as she looked up with a wounded pout. Tears clung delicately to her lashes, shimring as though she had been deeply wronged.
And yet, Ashley hadn’t taken anything from her. The seat beside Apollo had long remained empty, never truly hers to begin with. For all the affection the brothers showed her, her place at the table had always been farther down, lower even than Aunt Lavinia’s whenever the older woman chose to dine with them.
But now, standing there in front of Ashley, she played her part with quiet precision, subtly twisting the narrative as if Ashley had overstepped, as if sothing rightfully hers had been taken.
"I haven’t eaten either," she continued softly, her voice trembling just enough to sound fragile. "I waited for all of you to co back... We always eat together. I can’t even find an appetite when I’m alone, so you used to make sure to be there with . Why did you forget this ti?"
Her lips quivered as she spoke, and then, almost on cue, a single tear slipped free, tracing a perfect line down her cheek, so carefully tid, so effortlessly convincing it might have been mistaken for sincerity, had it not felt so deliberately acted.
"I..."
Apollo faltered, the single word dying in his throat as a cold sheen of sweat broke across his skin. He could already hear how the girl’s words might sound to Ashley and how easily they could be twisted into sothing far worse, especially now, when Ashley was only just beginning to keep her distance from them.
He hadn’t even had the chance to explain, hadn’t found the right mont to tell her why there was another girl in his ho calling him brother. And yet, he couldn’t simply dismiss the one clinging to his arm either.
She had been cared for all this ti, indulged, sheltered, and spoiled enough that her current display ca off as childish, a stark contrast to Ashley, who carried herself with a quiet maturity that felt far beyond her years.
Caught between the two, Apollo found himself at a loss. Instinctively, he glanced toward his brothers, silently asking for help, but Daemon, Ace, Gage, and Archivalt all lowered their gazes, feigning interest in their bowls as they took slow, deliberate sips of soup. None of them t his eyes. None of them stepped in.
Because they understood.
They had seen it, too, the way Ashley, who had only just begun to get used to their presence, had withdrawn the mont she realized there was another girl in the house. A girl who, in her absence, had been given the place that might have been hers.
To Ashley, who was still piecing together her past, still adjusting to the revelation that they were her long-lost brothers, it could only look one way: that while she had been gone, they had found soone else to pour their affection into.
That perhaps the years they should have spent searching for her had instead been filled by this replacent, leaving her return as little more than an afterthought... or worse, an obligation tied to their lingering obsession with finding her and their mother.
What could they do?
This situation had begun with Apollo, and now it was his to untangle. The others chose the easier path, lowering their heads, ignoring the silent plea in his eyes, and leaving him to face the consequences alone.
If anything, it gave them room to distance themselves from the tension at the center of the table, to find a chance later to approach Ashley on their own terms and ask for her forgiveness without being dragged further into the ss.
While thoughts and quiet calculations passed between them, Ashley said nothing. She simply focused on the al set before her, retreating into the small, controlled comfort of eating.
And, unexpectedly, it helped. The warmth of the chicken soup settled in her stomach, easing the tightness in her chest, dulling the darker thoughts that had begun to coil at the edges of her mind until they felt distant, like sothing from the past rather than sothing pressing against her now. By the ti her bowl was cleared, her appetite had returned in full.
Almost imdiately, the next course was placed before her, which was a lemon garlic butter lamb, arranged with careful precision on a pristine white plate. It was still steaming, the glaze of butter catching the light as the aroma of herbs and spices rose invitingly into the air.
For a brief mont, it drew her entirely out of herself. Then, without hesitation, Ashley picked up her knife and fork, her movents smooth and practiced, and began to slice into the at with the quiet ease of soone long accustod to such refinent.
After all, even though Ashley had grown up within werewolf society, her upbringing had been far from ordinary.
Raised in an Alpha’s household, she had been trained not only in strength and discipline, but in refinent too. Etiquette had been drilled into her just as rigorously as combat, because she had often accompanied pack representatives in handling business affairs.
Dining with clients, investors, and partners had been routine, and in those settings, presentation mattered as much as negotiation. The Yorks, in particular, placed great importance on image and decorum, so mastering formal British dining etiquette had never been optional; it had been expected.
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