To her surprise, Viktor did take her to lunch first, at some fancy restaurant she'd never managed to get a reservation at before, and Danielle got the impression he was trying to feel her out. Maybe he suspected something was off, after all. He didn't let on whether or not he knew of her plans, however, and she simply sat and waited for him to speak. Which he did after he ordered them a dish Danielle was almost certain she wouldn't enjoy.

"You want something from me," Viktor stated once the waiter was out of sight.

Danielle swallowed hard. "Don't you want something from me?"

"Mhm," he hummed, nodding. "You're not getting out of your contract if that's what you were thinking of asking."

She shook her head. "I wasn't."

"It's Hunt, then," he said, once again observing rather than asking.

She thought about it for a moment, wondering if it would be wise to just outright tell him, or if she should play dumb. She decided on the former. Viktor wasn't stupid, after all, and he wouldn't believe for a second that she didn't have an agenda. "Yes."

"You want me to let him go."

Well, that, at least, he didn't get quite right. Though, in the end, the result would be the same. "I want you to get rid of what you have on him."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. "Which would result in him walking away. You know he didn't sign a contract."

She hadn't known, though she'd suspected. "Maybe."

"And you trust me to keep my word, were I to give it?" he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Danielle shrugged. She trusted him as far as she could throw him, but she wouldn't let him know that. "You've not released the photos yet, so I'm inclined to believe you're a man of your word."

He seemed to be mulling it over for a few seconds, then nodded. "Very well, I shall destroy what I have in return for your… services."

She shuddered at the way he said it, but there was nothing for it now. Besides, she'd made the decision days ago already. Everything was in place.

"I have another request," she said after a moment.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, and she could see plainly that he still doubted her intentions. "My, you're quite demanding, aren't you?"

"It's nothing you should have a problem with," she said, fighting the bile threatening to rise in her throat. This was the important bit, wasn't it? The one thing she needed him to agree to. "Could we go to your office? I've always wanted to be fucked against a window overlooking the city."

His eyes widened for a moment, and he had that predatory look to him again. But that was just fine because Danielle could see that that remainder of suspicion he'd had, had disappeared. He took a sip of his water, then leaned back in his chair with that villainous smile of his. "I believe we have a deal."

The pang Thomas felt in his chest when he saw Danielle get into the car with Montmartre told him everything he needed to know. He'd been fooled – and, oh, what a fool he was! – by her. He'd let his affections, however unwelcome they were in the first place, blind him to the truth.

Less than an hour ago, he'd convinced himself of her innocence – and he'd been quite convinced because he'd thought he knew her – and now she'd gone and shattered any hope he'd allowed himself.

She was in cahoots with Montmartre, he could see it now. She'd likely been from the very start, and her story about his niece and the wallet must've been designed to tug at his heartstrings – make him believe he meant more to her than he did. And he'd been stupid enough to believe it. She'd played him like a fiddle when she'd come to see if he was all right earlier, manipulated him into showing her he cared, and he'd let her.

And now that she had what she wanted, she'd gone off with Montmartre again – to celebrate, he imagined. The thought had his stomach turning over, and suddenly he couldn't bear being on this godforsaken film set for another minute. He knew, soon enough, he'd never have to be again. He'd make sure of it.

Calling himself every word for idiot he could think of, Thomas went back inside for as short a moment as he could, calling out to the first person he found to send everybody home. He was only half-aware of the fact that he drove quite a bit over the speed limit on his way back to his house, but he just needed to get home before he fell apart. Which he promptly did, the moment he closed his door behind him.

But he had to pick himself up again, and soon. There was a call he needed to make.