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"You haven't stopped talking since I walked through the door," Emma whispered, her voice rough, thick with unshed tears. She slowly lifted a hand from her pocket, the leather of her glove cool as her fingertips came to rest against Victoria’s collarbone, right over the erratic, racing hammer of her pulse. "Let me get this straight: you spent twenty minutes burying me in copper pipes and legal strategies. You confessed to buying back this entire house with a company named after my rusted truck. You hauled cast-iron counters through the high street with Nate and Lucy."

Victoria swallowed against a throat so dry it burned. She leaned slightly toward that hand on helpless instinct, unable to pull away. "I—Mrs. Marble’s shop was a good deal, Emma. I just wanted to make sure you were protected. I thought if I fixed the plumbing, if I got the lease..."

"You idiot," Emma breathed out, the words carrying a profound, aching tenderness.

Victoria snapped her mouth shut.

Emma reached up, framing Victoria’s face with both hands, her thumbs brushing against Victoria's cheekbones in one smooth, grounding motion. "You thought you had to buy back the entire valley just to get me to look at you? You thought I'd only stay if you bought me an industrial oven?"

"Emma, I just wanted—"

"I would have come back even if the roof was still leaking, Victoria," Emma whispered fiercely, stepping so close their chests brushed. "I would have come back for you anyway."

The words died in Victoria’s throat. The desperate need to justify herself—to negotiate her worth through contracts, plumbing, and renovations—crumbled into dust. She looked at Emma, standing in the damp grass, offering her the one thing she had never known how to ask for.

"I love you," Victoria said.

The words didn't slip out by accident. They weren't a defense mechanism or a hypothetical scenario. They were clear, raw, and absolute.

"I loved you when I was staring at the skyline in New York," Victoria whispered, her voice trembling but her gaze unwavering. "I loved you when you brought me that stupid jacket potato at the stand, I loved you when I handed Harrison my resignation, and I love you right now. I don't want an empire, Emma. I just want you."

Emma closed her eyes for a short second. A shaky breath parted her lips. When she opened them, the tears were there, but the fierce, stubborn fire hadn't left her gaze.

"I love you too," Emma said, her voice rough, her hands sliding up to grip the lapels of Victoria's cardigan. "You terrifying, ridiculous, absolutely infuriating woman."

Victoria exhaled a breathless laugh of relief, leaning in. But Emma held her firmly in place, stopping her an inch away.

Victoria blinked, her lips parting. "Emma—"

"Do not think for a single second that you’re off the hook, Ms. Sterling,” Emma murmured, her voice scraping low. “You went behind my back with Mrs. Marble. You had Lucy running around like a spy, and you tried to organize my entire future without asking me," Emma said, her fingers curling tighter into Victoria’s cardigan. "We are not done having that fight. Not by a long shot."

Victoria swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against Emma's knuckles.

"I know. I'm sorry. I swear to you, I'll step back. Oh, and... It's Ms. Anderson, actually."

She paused, her dark eyes dropping to Emma's mouth before flicking back up. "As someone who belongs with you. Oh, and… It's Ms. Anderson, actually."

Emma went completely still. A sharp intake of air broke the hush of the garden. She searched Victoria's face as the truth settled between them, merciless and absolute.

"Anderson," Emma breathed out, the word carrying all the history, the grief, and the quiet pride of Joe’s memory. "You took Joe’s name."

"I took my mother's name," Victoria corrected softly, her own vision blurring, her voice thick and unsteady. "I filed the paperwork two months ago. I left Sterling in New York. It never belonged to me. I wanted to come here as someone who belongs to this house. As someone who belongs with you."

Emma’s grip on Victoria’s cardigan tightened. The anger was still there, a simmering heat, but now it was tangled with a desperate, crushing wave of desire. She looked at the woman who had given up her empire, her name, her entire armor, just to stand shivering in the damp grass of Rosebrook.

"Do you have any check-ins scheduled for today?" Emma asked, her voice dropping an octave, without any of its usual warmth.

Victoria blinked, momentarily derailed by the sudden shift in tone. "Not until Thursday."

"Good," Emma breathed, her green eyes dark and uncompromising. She tugged hard on the lapels of the cardigan, pulling Victoria close enough that their mouths brushed. "Because we are going upstairs to your bedroom right now. And you are going to start making all of this up to me."

Victoria’s breath hitched, the last shred of her usual composure shattering fully under Emma's demanding gaze. "Yes, ma'am," she whispered.

Emma didn't wait. She turned on her heel, her hand sliding down to grab Victoria's, and pulled her back toward the house.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Victoria