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Darren stood at his doorstep, his grip tightening around the doorknob, the knife still hidden behind him.

If it wasn't the intruder that was returning, he had at least expected it to be a lot of other things — a nosy neighbor, another journalist sniffing for a story, maybe even an old friend like Rico showing up unannounced.

But the Silent Witch?

Rachel Teschmacher?

That was unexpected.

However, there she was, standing on his small porch, poised as always. Her brown hair frad her sharp, attractive features, one eye obscured by a sleek curtain of hair.

Even though they had not spoken or crossed paths that many tis, Darren knew she was an extre beauty.

She had the kind of beauty that made n turn their heads without realizing it, a presence that commanded attention in any room.

In a fitted blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, she looked every bit the professional.

And then there was that coldness in her eyes. As though she knew she was better than everyone else, or she cared little for anything except what she was told to do.

"Hello, Mr. Steele," she said smoothly.

Darren's first instinct was caution. His house had already been broken into once, and now Gareth's secretary was here, out of nowhere. That didn't sit right.

He folded his arms, leaning against the doorfra. "You're Gareth's secretary," he said. "Rachel."

"That is correct." Though her face was mainly expressionless, Darren could see her glancing him over multiple tis. She didn't seem to recognize him that much with his new look.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I just want to talk."

"Talk?" he lifted a brow. "You and I have never spoken before and you show up here wanting to talk? What could we even talk about?"

Rachel remained composed, hands clasped neatly in front of her. "I do not intend to be hostile."

Darren studied her for a second, then he leaned back, understanding what could be happening. "Gareth sent you, didn't he?"

Rachel hesitated for a mont before answering, "Yes."

Darren paused. He and Gareth Smithers had not had any sort of communication ever since that day.

Clearly, if he was making a kind of threat, he would have sent n. But since he had sent an attractive woman such as his secretary, it ant she wasn't here to threaten him.

She was here to fix sothing. To give him an offer.

Most likely, if he rejected this offer, Gareth would send Lily knocking on Darren's door.

Darren glanced past Rachel, checking the street. He didn't trust that she had co alone.

"I'm not letting you in until you tell exactly what this is about," he said.

Rachel sighed, as if dealing with a difficult client. "I assure you, this isn't a trap. I just want a conversation. Nothing more."

She held his gaze, unwavering, patient.

Darren hesitated, then stepped aside. "Fine. Make it quick."

She walked in, her heels clicking against the wooden floor, her eyes scanning the space as if taking ntal notes.

From her perspective, the place was modest and neat, certainly not the kind of house one would expect for soone going against a billionaire like Gareth Smithers.

It was a family house, with all its mories etched in every corner of it. It made her feel a bit nostalgic as she rembered her own ho.

Darren shut the door and moved past her. He went to the fridge, but could only find water and a can of malt. "Drink?" he offered.

"I'm fine."

He took a bottle of water for himself and sat down on the armrest of his couch, watching her as she surveyed the room before finally turning to face him.

Rachel always had a way of making things feel like an interview, even when she wasn't holding a notepad.

Darren lifted a brow. "You can take a seat if you want."

"I'm fine," she said again.

He leaned forward. "Alright. Talk."

Smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle in her skirt, she began. "You're aware of the reports about Gareth."

"Reports?" Darren feigned ignorance. "I'm not aware of it at all."

Rachel's eyes squeezed in slightly, like she was surprised by that answer. "Uh. Multiple reports have been made against Mr. Smithers, including plagiarizing young individuals and sexual harassnt."

Darren frowned. "Hm. First ti I'm hearing that."

Rachel wasn't sure she believed that. "Either way, the press is going to co looking for you. Since, you were the first to... do what you did, they'll want your opinion, your side of the story."

She appeared more serious. "Darren Steele, You could help the scandal grow… or you could walk away with a generous offer."

Darren scoffed. "Let guess. Gareth wants to make this go away? A nice check to keep my mouth shut?"

Rachel t his gaze. "Yes."

The bluntness of it made Darren chuckle. "No hesitation, huh?"

"There's no point in pretending, Mr. Steele. Everyone has a price."

Darren leaned back, studying her. She wasn't flustered, not even slightly uncomfortable. She was here to do a job, and she was damn good at it.

But she had miscalculated.

"Except it seems," he said simply.

"What?" Rachel asked.

"I don't want the money," Darren replied.

Rachel blinked, just once. If she was surprised, she didn't show it. "You don't want money?"

"No."

She tilted her head, assessing him. "Then what do you want?"

Darren grimaced, looking down, then to his left and right, reliving mories.

"What I want is for Gareth Smithers to get what's coming for him. Every single one of those complaints, those reports, those allegations. He did it himself. And he should suffer the consequences."

Darren then stared at her. "You know it's true. And you should be disgusted to be aiding in covering up. I don't care if he's your boss."

Rachel's expression appeared to have changed for a mont. She lowered her head with sothing that appeared to be sha.

Then, she took a slow breath and lifted her gaze to et his. "You know," she said with a steady voice. "I was right about you."

Her lips moved nervously. "I'm glad."

Darren's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to an?"

She looked down once again, and once she found more courage, looked up. With a little hesitation, she said—

"I was the one who made the sexual harassnt allegation."

Silence.

Darren's expression froze.

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