CHAPTER 5
Maggie sighed, her expression softening as she placed a hand on Isla’s shoulder. “Just… don’t do that again, love. We care about you.”
Isla looked down at her lap, unable to meet Maggie’s gaze. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing that the older woman’s words were genuine.
Dinner was served, but Isla barely tasted the food. She kept her head down, her eyes fixed on her plate, determined to avoid looking at Graham or anyone else at the table. She didn’t want to read their lips, didn’t want to know what they were saying. The effort of engaging, of pretending to be fine, felt impossible.
As the meal went on, the sound of clinking cutlery and muted conversations blurred into the background of her silent world. Isla’s only focus was on getting through the dinner, hoping no one would address her directly.
Maggie hovered anxiously beside Isla, placing a plate of deviled eggs, roast chicken, and mashed potatoes with gravy before her. Despite the delicious aroma wafting from the food, Isla barely touched it. Her spoon moved aimlessly across her plate, carving absent-minded patterns in the mashed potatoes. Maggie’s concern radiated from her like the warmth of a fire. She fussed and lingered like a mother hen, her gaze darting between Isla’s untouched plate and her pale, forlorn expression.
A sharp rap on the table startled Isla, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. Her eyes snapped up to meet Graham’s intense gaze. He was seated at the head of the table, his broad shoulders squared as though he were commanding a boardroom instead of sharing a family meal. He leaned forward slightly, his lips moving deliberately.
“You’re not getting up from this table until you finish your plate,” he mouthed, his tone firm and unyielding.
Isla flushed under his scrutiny. She hadn’t needed to hear his words to feel the weight of them. His raised eyebrow only added to the pressure.
“You worried Maggie enough earlier by disappearing like that,” he added, the movements of his lips sharp and precise. “You’re not going to worry anyone else by refusing to eat.”
Isla’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Once again, Graham was treating her like a wayward child—no, worse, like a little sister under his authority. She cast her gaze downward, willing the redness in her face to subside.
Not wanting to prolong the ordeal, Isla quickly began to shovel food into her mouth. She barely chewed, swallowing hastily in her desperation to escape the table. Her movements were mechanical, her appetite non-existent. She wasn’t eating because she wanted to but because she felt like a prisoner being forced to comply.
Midway through her rushed meal, Edwin entered the room, his voice low as he addressed Graham. Isla glanced up just in time to read the words on Edwin’s lips: “You have a call waiting in your study.”
Graham stood immediately, excusing himself with a curt nod. Isla’s eyes widened slightly. His study?
Her stomach twisted as the realization sank in. Robert Lancaster’s study—her stepfather’s sacred space—was now Graham’s. It was another nail in the coffin, another piece of her stepfather’s legacy claimed by his son as if it had always belonged to him. A fresh ache bloomed in Isla’s chest, threatening to consume her. Could Graham not have waited a few weeks before assuming his father’s place so fully? But then, she reminded herself bitterly, who was she to protest?
As Graham strode out of the room, his presence still looming large in her mind, Vanessa Caldwell, seated diagonally from Isla, picked up her phone. The woman’s perfectly manicured fingers danced over the screen as she began typing a message. Then, without warning, she turned her chair slightly and began speaking into the device, holding it to her ear.
At first, Isla paid little attention, too focused on forcing down the food that now felt like lead in her stomach. But then, something caught her eye. Vanessa had turned her back toward Isla, her reflection visible in the large mirror mounted on the wall opposite the dining table. The sight made Isla pause, her spoon suspended mid-air.
Vanessa was wearing The Rosewood Locket.
Isla’s breath hitched. She knew that locket anywhere—the intricate floral engravings, the delicate oval shape, the antique gold chain that gleamed softly in the light. It was a Lancaster heirloom, a symbol of love and remembrance passed down through generations. Isla’s mother had worn it proudly after marrying Robert, a token of her place in the family.
Seeing it now, resting against Vanessa’s throat, was like a dagger to Isla’s heart. Her mind raced. Did this mean…? Was Vanessa going to be Mrs. Lancaster soon?
The thought struck Isla like a physical blow. She choked on a bite of casserole, coughing violently as she reached for her glass of water. The sound drew a sharp glance from Vanessa, who turned briefly to glare at her before returning to her phone call, her posture relaxed and unaffected.
Isla tried to steady her breathing, but her eyes were drawn back to the mirror. Vanessa’s reflection was clear as day, and Isla couldn’t help but read her lips. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the movements were impossible to ignore.
“Oh, nothing,” Vanessa was saying, her voice no doubt as smooth and honeyed as her expression was cruel. “It’s just the deaf girl who lives in the house. Robert Lancaster’s stepdaughter. No—since they weren’t related, and Robert didn’t adopt her legally, she has no claim to the property. Obviously.”
Vanessa laughed then, her painted lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Isla’s chest tightened, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if to steady herself.
“Oh, no,” Vanessa continued, still rubbing the Rosewood Locket absently between her fingers. “Graham doesn’t have time for this. Really! As soon as the will is read and he gets the house officially, she’ll have to leave.”
Isla’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.
“He’ll offer her some money, of course,” Vanessa added with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “Graham isn’t a cheap man.”
Another burst of laughter escaped Vanessa’s lips, and though Isla couldn’t hear it, she felt the echo of it reverberate through her bones, sharp and cold. The casual cruelty in Vanessa’s words was unbearable. Isla wanted to look away, to shut her eyes, to block out the sight of those lips forming words that confirmed her worst fears. But she couldn’t.
The locket glinted mockingly in the light, a tangible reminder of everything Isla had lost. She suddenly felt suffocated, as though the walls of the dining room were closing in around her.