Chapter 286

Stella’s POV

"That's Liam's," Robert said, nodding toward the aircraft. "He never travels like a normal person."

My brother. Still weird to think of him that way.

Emma and Liam stood near the front entrance, their conversation stopping abruptly when they spotted our car. Emma's face immediately brightened, that almost desperate eagerness to connect that sometimes made me feel guilty for not reciprocating with equal enthusiasm.

"Stella!" She hurried forward, embracing me with the careful precision of someone handling a priceless artifact. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"Fashion Week ended early," I explained, allowing her to fuss over me like a mother hen. In the months since discovering my biological family, I'd gotten used to Emma's maternal hovering. It filled a space I hadn't known was empty.

Lisa bounded out of the car like an excited puppy. "I've come to help with the pregnant lady!" she announced to everyone within earshot.

Emma's perfectly shaped eyebrow arched as Robert explained Lisa's academic escape strategy. "Family leave to care for a pregnant relative? Clever."

"Speaking of family," Liam said, approaching with that careful formality he always maintained around me. Our relationship remained complicated—he trying too hard, me not trying enough. "How are you feeling, Stella?"

"Fine, just tired," I assured him, touched despite myself by his concern.

"The helicopter is ready," he informed Emma, checking his expensive watch. "The board meeting starts in an hour."

As Emma prepared to leave, I caught something in her expression as she looked at Lisa—a flash of sadness, there and gone so quickly I almost missed it. It looked almost like longing, or perhaps regret.

What's that about?

"Take care of our sister," Emma said to Lisa, squeezing her hand with unexpected intensity. "And yourself."

After the helicopter lifted off, Robert and Lisa went to unload their luggage, leaving Sam and me alone in the foyer.

"Did you know Victor's been buying ridiculous amounts of gold recently?" I asked, keeping my voice casual.

Sam's eyes widened slightly. "How the hell did you know about that? I saw some contracts in his car, but didn't think much of it."

"Adam told me. Apparently, Victor approached him to access his private vault. Must be serious if he's coming to Adam for it."

"He's been renovating that new property," Sam shrugged, though I could tell she was more curious than she let on. "And he rebuilt part of the garden for his stupid dog. You know how he gets with his random obsessions."

She's clueless. This is going to be interesting.

Before I could dig deeper, Joseph appeared to announce lunch was ready. The Victor mystery would have to wait.

---

Sam's POV

Victor was late. Again. I checked my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes, my irritation growing with each passing second.

An hour late. Typical Victor Moore bullshit.

I was about to grab my purse and leave when I heard the distinctive growl of his car engine. Moments later, he strode through the door looking annoyingly perfect—his tall frame dressed in casual clothes that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

"Where the hell have you been?" I demanded, not bothering to hide my irritation. "I've been waiting for over an hour."

Instead of the defensive response I expected, he simply bent to kiss me, his lips lingering against mine in a way that made my anger start to dissolve despite my best efforts.

"Last-minute complications with the property," he murmured against my lips. "I'm sorry."

I pulled back, rolling my eyes. "Your mysterious property again? The one you've been obsessed with for months but won't tell me anything about?"

His smile—that infuriating, perfect smile that still made my stomach flip after all this time—spread slowly across his face. "Want to see it? I think it's finally ready."

Damn him for knowing exactly how to pique my curiosity.

"The famous property you've been dumping millions into? Hell yes, I want to see it."

Victor took my hand, leading me outside where his Pagani Huayra—my absolute favorite of his ridiculous car collection—waited in the driveway.

"You brought the Pagani," I noted, unable to hide my pleasure. "Now I know you're trying to soften me up."

"Is it working?" he asked, his eyes dancing with mischief as he opened the passenger door.

"Maybe," I admitted, sinking into the buttery leather seat. "Where exactly are we going?"

Victor slid into the driver's seat with the effortless grace that characterized everything he did. The engine purred to life, vibrating through the car with a sensual hum that always gave me a little thrill.

He seemed to consider my question carefully, his long fingers tapping the steering wheel. "To see our future," he finally said, his voice soft but intense. "At least, I hope so."

What the hell does that mean?

The mysterious response made my pulse quicken, but Victor's expression gave nothing away as he guided the car through the winding roads of his family's estate.

After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a private drive I'd never noticed before. At the end stood a stunning modern mansion that made me catch my breath—sleek lines, walls of glass, and a seamless integration with the natural landscape. It was exactly the architectural style I'd always loved.

"Victor..." I whispered, taking in the perfect structure. "Is this yours?"

He didn't answer, simply came around to open my door and took my hand. Instead of giving me the tour I expected, he led me directly to the massive front entrance.

"Close your eyes," he requested, his voice suddenly tender.

"Are you serious?" I started to protest.

"Please, Sam." The unusual vulnerability in his voice stopped my objection cold. "Just this once, don't fight me."

God, what is he up to?

I closed my eyes, letting him guide me forward. The moment the doors opened, I was enveloped in the most intoxicating scent—the unmistakable fragrance of Bulgarian roses, my absolute weakness.

"You can look now," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

I opened my eyes and felt my heart stop. The entire entryway was filled with roses—thousands upon thousands of them in every shade of pink and red, creating a pathway that beckoned us deeper into the house.

"Victor, what the fuck..." I breathed, my typical sharp tongue softened by genuine amazement.

"There's more," he said simply, gently pulling me forward.

He led me through the rose-lined hallway into what had to be the main living room. The space was massive, at least two hundred square meters, with walls of glass revealing a breathtaking ocean view.

But I barely registered any of it, because dominating the center of the room was something so outrageous, so completely over-the-top, that for a moment I wondered if I was hallucinating.

A golden castle. A literal fucking castle made of pure gold, standing taller than Victor himself and sprawling across the hardwood floor like something from a fever dream. The sunlight streaming through the skylights made the entire structure shimmer with an almost otherworldly glow.

"Jesus Christ, Victor," I whispered, approaching it slowly. "What have you done?"

It wasn't just some tacky gold-plated showpiece. This was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Every tiny detail was exquisite—perfect spiral staircases with miniature railings, Roman columns with painstakingly carved spiral grooves, impossibly delicate filigree work adorning the walls that must have taken hundreds of hours to create.

In a daze, I reached out to touch one of the small windows, startled when it actually opened under my fingertips. Peering inside, I discovered a perfectly recreated leisure room with a miniature grand piano—identical to the one I played whenever I needed to clear my head.

My heart pounding, I moved around the structure, finding more tiny windows. Each revealed another room created in breathtaking detail. The study contained a golden desk with a miniature gavel like the one I used at auctions. But it was the third room that made tears spring to my eyes—a perfect replica of my childhood bedroom, complete with the crystal ball collection that had been my most treasured possession growing up.

"How did you even..." I turned to Victor, finding him watching me with an intensity that made my knees weak.

"Your brother helped with the childhood room details," he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I remembered what you told me once—about your father saying that whoever wanted to marry you would need to build you a golden house first."

My throat tightened, emotion threatening to overwhelm me. This man, who I'd spent years pushing away, had listened to every word, remembered every detail, and then created something so extraordinary it defied belief.

"Victor..." My voice broke, unable to find words adequate for what I was feeling.

He moved closer, taking both my hands in his. His usually confident expression was replaced with something I rarely saw—vulnerability, hope, and a love so naked it almost hurt to witness.

With the fluid grace that always made my heart skip, he lowered himself to one knee before me.

"Sam," he began, his voice deep with emotion, "from the moment I first saw you, something in me recognized something in you. Like my soul had been waiting for yours across lifetimes."

From his pocket, he produced a small black velvet box. Inside nestled an eight-carat diamond ring, surrounded by intricate platinum work that resembled vines cradling the brilliant stone.

"Sam," he said, his eyes never leaving mine, "will you marry me?"

(The end.)