Off to the side, however, the girl sat in stark contrast, her mood sinking deeper with every passing moment. At first, she had tried to salvage the situation, softening her expression, letting her shoulders droop just enough to appear pitiful, hoping to draw their attention back to her.

But it was useless. Every glance, every word, every fragment of attention was directed toward Ashley, as if she were the only one at the table who mattered.

Slowly, that quiet frustration curdled into something darker.

What had begun as irritation twisted into something sharper, more poisonous. She hated it, hated Ashley’s sudden return, hated how effortlessly she disrupted the life she had grown comfortable in.

The peace she had carefully built, the place she had secured for herself, it all felt threatened. Worse, she hated how easily Ashley drew them in, as though reclaiming something that had never truly belonged to the girl in the first place.

And then there was her appearance... the assumption she had once clung to, that Ashley was nothing more than some uncultured nobody shattered beyond repair. There was nothing crude or lacking about her. Every movement, every glance, every word carried an elegance the girl couldn’t deny, no matter how much she wanted to.

Her grip tightened around her utensils as she poked absently at her food, appetite long gone. She couldn’t bring herself to join the conversation, not when it felt like she no longer had a place in it.

Even as Ashley responded sparingly, her tone cool, almost detached, the brothers didn’t seem discouraged in the slightest. If anything, they leaned in further, asking what she liked to eat, what she preferred, already planning future meals through Aunt Lavinia as though eager to cater to her every preference.

It was unbearable to watch.

These were the same men she had always known, who were distant, composed, powerful figures others bent over backwards to please. They had never been the ones to chase after approval, never the ones to soften themselves so openly.

Their smiles had been rare, their warmth even rarer. And yet now, sitting across from Ashley, it was as if something within them had shifted entirely. The cold detachment they once wore so naturally had thawed, replaced by gentleness and eagerness.

And that, more than anything else, made the girl’s chest tighten with something dangerously close to malicious rage.

The girl had always believed that whatever warmth and gentleness the brothers possessed belonged, by right, to her. She had grown up at their side, after all; those years weren’t something they could simply erase.

In her mind, that history secured her place. And yet now, watching how easily their attention shifted, how naturally they softened around Ashley, how readily they catered to her, it stirred her jealousy.

It wasn’t just an annoyance. It was the slow, simmering realization that what she thought was hers alone might never have been exclusive at all.

"Brother... about our shopping..." she spoke again, her tone carefully light, as if nothing had changed, as if she weren’t clawing for even a fraction of their attention.

The sound of her voice pulled Apollo back from his thoughts. He blinked slightly, the reminder settling in, and only then did he realize he hadn’t answered her at all, hadn’t even acknowledged her earlier question. Somewhere along the way, he had simply... forgotten.

"Sorry, Ophelia. Ashley has only just returned to the family... we’d like to spend more time with her."

Apollo’s tone was calm but firm, leaving little room for negotiation as he spoke. Even so, his gaze flickered briefly toward Ashley, as if gauging her reaction, as if the weight of his words rested more on her than on the one he addressed.

Ashley, for her part, hadn’t expected it.

For a fleeting moment, surprise crossed her features; it was subtle, almost imperceptible. But she maintained her composure, her expression steady, but the faint twitch of her brows betrayed her.

Being placed at the center of attention like this, openly prioritized, was not something she had prepared for. And now, without even needing to turn her head, she could feel the sharp, burning intensity of a gaze fixed on her.

Hostile. Unmistakably so.

What was she supposed to say, tell them to leave her and spend time with Ophelia instead, while she "familiarized herself" with the place? That would only sound hollow, almost self-serving, as though she were fishing for reassurance or pity.

Ashley had no intention of placing herself in that position. So she said nothing, choosing instead to let them handle it on their own.

Yes, the disappointment lingered, but once the initial sting settled, her thoughts began to steady. She couldn’t condemn them so easily, not without understanding the full story.

The past and present had begun to blur in her mind, old wounds bleeding into new circumstances, twisting her emotions into something heavier than they should be. But as she focused on her meal, grounding herself in something simple and real, that haze slowly cleared.

Viewed plainly, logically, the situation wasn’t as one-sided as her feelings made it seem. She couldn’t expect their world to revolve around her alone, not when they had only just found each other again. They were trying, in their own way, reaching out, making an effort to include her, to bridge years of absence in the only way they knew how.

And that mattered.

So while a quiet wariness settled in her chest, while doubt still cast its shadow over her thoughts, she held herself back from judging them too quickly. She knew what it felt like to be misunderstood, to be condemned without being heard, and she refused to become the same kind of person.

Not unless they gave her reason to.

For now, she would watch, listen, and wait. But that patience had its limits. It would only last as long as they were willing to meet her halfway, willing to tell her the truth, to let her understand the choices they had made, and the circumstances that led them here.

Ashley set her utensils down with quiet precision and reached for her glass of water, taking a slow, measured sip. The small pause gave her just enough time to steady herself before she lifted her gaze toward her brothers.

It wasn’t a demand, not even a question, but the look she gave them carried a subtle prompt, a silent nudge for them to speak.

Leaving things as they were would only let the tension fester, and the air at the table had already grown too strained to ignore. Across from her, Ophelia’s dissatisfaction was impossible to miss.

If no one addressed it, the awkwardness would only deepen.

Besides, Ashley knew that feeling all too well, the quiet sting of being set aside the moment the "real" daughter stepped into the picture. She had lived through it, endured the way affection could shift so easily, how a place you thought was yours could vanish without warning.

And now, standing on the other side of that same situation, she couldn’t ignore the irony. This time, she was the one returning to a family that had already made space for someone else.

If she let her displeasure show, if she directed that coldness toward Ophelia, who, as far as she knew, had done nothing wrong, then what would that make her?