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Harrison, the preliminary audit of the UK property is proceeding as planned. I am currently compiling the structural and land valuation data. Expect the initial dossier for Richard Vance’s team to be ready for review by the end of the month.

Victoria

She moved the cursor over the send button. She didn't hesitate. She clicked it, letting the icy familiarity of duty settle heavy and cold in her body.

She closed the laptop, her throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper. She needed water. Victoria stood up, unlocked the heavy wooden door, and pulled it open, intending to slip quietly down to the kitchen.

She stopped.

Sitting on the small antique table in the hallway was a tray. On it was a glass of iced water, a neatly folded linen napkin, and a small plate with one slice of lasagna she probably picked up on her way home.

Tucked under the edge of the plate was a torn piece of lined paper.

I was completely out of line. I'm so sorry, I mean it.

Victoria stared at the messy handwriting. The cold silence she had spent the last hours building cracked right down the middle. She picked up the tray, stepped back into her room, and quietly locked the door behind her.

Chapter Fourteen

Victoria

The bedroom was quiet, the only sound was the faint hum of the ceiling fan moving the afternoon air. Victoria sat at the desk near the window, staring blankly at her laptop. It was just past two, the sunlight slanting hard against the glass. A full day had passed since the café, and the silence in the house had only grown heavier.

After leaving Emma at the café, Victoria had locked herself away in the master suite. She had heard Emma knock around seven, the quiet apology through the wood cutting deeper than any argument, followed by the soft clatter of a plate left on the table outside.

The morning had been spent in mutual avoidance. Victoria had waited until she heard Emma leave for a supply run before slipping downstairs for coffee, abandoning the kitchen as quickly as she’d entered it. For six hours, they had circled each other like strangers trapped under the same roof, moving in opposite rhythms to ensure their paths never crossed.

Now, with the day dragging toward evening and the festival obligations looming, the quiet had become unbearable. Her chest felt hollow, a dull ache settling heavy in the center of her chest. Her phone buzzed against the wood, the vibration breaking the heavy silence.

She glanced at the screen and let out a breath, picking it up. Half past nine in Manhattan; Chloe was right on time.

"Hello, Chloe."

"You sound terrible," Chloe said immediately, her voice competing with the roar of morning traffic on Park Avenue. "Are you sick? Please tell me you didn't catch some rural disease. I warned you about the countryside."

"I am perfectly fine," Victoria said, rubbing her temple.

"Liar. You have the voice."

"What voice?"

"The quiet one," Chloe said. A horn honked loudly on her end of the line. "The one you use when you want to sound completely unbothered, which means you are totally bothered. Who did you fight with?"

Victoria leaned back in the chair, looking at the ceiling. She didn't want to talk about it, but Chloe had an irritating talent for prying things loose. "I didn't fight with anyone."

"So the baker girl yelled at you. Did you try to restructure her kitchen?"

"No." Victoria swallowed, the memory of the café flashing in her mind. The look on Emma's face. The accusation. "We had a disagreement. She made an assumption about our grandfather."

"And you corrected her?"

"No."

Chloe paused. The background noise shifted, like she had stepped into a quieter building. "Why not?"

"Because I didn’t want to," Victoria said softly. She didn't know how to explain the sheer exhaustion she felt. She didn't want to fight to prove she possessed a heart. "She was upset. I walked away."

"Victoria," Chloe sighed, a rare note of genuine sympathy in her tone. "You can't just let people think the worst of you because it's easier than explaining yourself. You always do this."