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"Ms. Hayes," Victoria began, using the formal surname like a weapon. "Let us be pragmatic. This is a century-old building in a rural village. The upkeep alone must be a nightmare. I assume the profit margins are negligible, if they exist at all. Running this place on sentiment is financial suicide. Selling is the only rational option."

"It's not a portfolio asset, Ms. Sterling," Emma shot back, her voice rising. "It's a sanctuary for the people who come here. It's the center of this community. But I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand the value of anything that doesn't have a dollar sign attached to it."

Victoria's eyes flashed. The insult landed. She stepped closer to the table, closing the distance between them.

"My understanding of value is exactly why I know this place is a sinkhole," Victoria countered, her voice dangerously quiet. "You cannot maintain a property of this size on nostalgia. Unless you have the capital to buy out my fifty percent right now?"

Emma swallowed hard. The truth tasted like ash. "No. I don't."

"Then we sell," Victoria concluded, turning back to Arthur. "Draft the listing agreement."

"He can't," Emma said. A vicious satisfaction bloomed in her chest. She crossed her arms over her sweater. "Arthur just said it. Major decisions require mutual consent. You can't list the property without my signature. And you will never get it."

Victoria looked at Arthur, demanding confirmation.

Arthur cleared his throat nervously. "Emma is correct, Ms. Sterling. As joint tenants, any sale, encumbrance, or major structural change to the property requires the authorization of both parties. If you cannot reach an agreement, the estate remains in its current operational state."

The silence that followed was suffocating. She was stuck with the building. And worse, she was stuck with Emma.

A vicious spike of satisfaction flared in Emma’s chest. For years, this woman had treated Joe like an inconvenient piece of trivia. Now she was bound to his house by law, completely unable to move an inch without asking Emma's permission first.

Victoria picked up her teacup. She took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact with Emma. She placed the cup precisely back onto the saucer.

"Mr. Finch," Victoria said, her voice steady. "I need the financial ledgers. Tax returns for the last five years, occupancy rates, and a detailed list of current liabilities. Have them sent to my hotel by this evening."

"Of course, Ms. Sterling." Arthur nodded, hastily writing a note on his legal pad.

Victoria buttoned her blazer. She picked up her leather handbag from the floor. She didn't offer a polite farewell. She didn't look at Emma again.

"We will continue this discussion later," Victoria announced to the room.

She turned and walked out of the breakfast room. The sound of her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor of the hallway, fading until the heavy front door opened and shut with a definitive thud.

Emma stared blindly at the empty teacup across the table. She owned half of The Amber House. She had a fighting chance to save her home. But the relief was totally eclipsed by the terrifying reality of her opponent. She was at war with Victoria Sterling.

Emma pressed her hands to her face, an exhausted laugh escaping her lips. She was going to have to sit across from Victoria, negotiate with her, and somehow pretend her skin didn't still burn from the memory of her mouth. Dropping her hands, Emma picked up Victoria's teacup from the oak table and carried it back to the kitchen sink.

Chapter Seven

Victoria

Victoria sat at the polished desk in her hotel room, a glass of scotch untouched at her elbow. She turned the final page of the financial ledgers Arthur Finch had couriered over. The numbers painted a bleak reality. The property generated just enough revenue to cover the operational costs and the property taxes, but that wasn't the actual problem.

Tucked at the back of the liabilities folder was a commercial loan agreement. Five years ago, Joe had borrowed heavily against the estate’s equity to upgrade the kitchen and repair the foundation. The terms were predatory: interest-only monthly payments, culminating in a massive balloon payment due exactly six months from now, at the end of October. There was zero contingency fund. From a business standpoint, it wasn't just a sinking ship; it was a rigged explosive. If that balloon payment wasn't met, the bank would foreclose and seize the property.

Victoria closed the folder. She leaned back in the leather chair, rubbing her temples. The numbers were easy to dismantle but the actual problem was the woman running the place. Victoria’s gaze drifted to the edge of the desk. Sitting next to her laptop was a piece of hotel stationery. The handwriting was rushed and jagged.

Turns out you’re much better at taking orders than giving them. Couldn’t find my bra... keep it as a souvenir.

Miss Spreadsheets

A reluctant smirk curved Victoria’s mouth. It was an incredibly brazen move. Leaving a mocking note after fleeing into the dawn was exactly the kind of chaotic behavior Victoria would normally despise.

But as she stared at the paper, the phantom weight of hands gripping her hips flared in her memory. The scent of vanilla seemed to linger in the quiet room, a ghost of the woman who had taken away her control with ease.

Victoria exhaled a sharp breath. She picked up the note, folded it neatly, and slipped it into the inner pocket of her blazer.

She needed a strategy. She had eighteen months left on her vesting period in New York—a year and a half of smiling at Harrison before she could take her money and leave. She could not afford a protracted legal battle over a rural inheritance. Suing Emma Hayes to force a property sale would take years, freezing assets and drawing unwanted attention.