Thomas wanted to believe her more than anything in the world as she stood before him, looking so utterly miserable. He so wanted to reach out and take her into his arms, tell her he was sorry and beg for her forgiveness, but he needed answers first, and irrefutable ones at that. He wouldn't let her fool him with a trembling lip and a voice no louder than a whisper again. It could have very well been another act. He was tempted to believe her without so much as an explanation, now that he'd looked at the contents of the box, wondering why she would have given something that could have landed her in prison for life to him if she'd thought there was any chance he'd release it. But that was just it – it could have been a well-calculated risk, knowing him as she did. Perhaps she'd thought he wouldn't be that cruel and, had he known just how incriminating the evidence was, she would have been right. He would have burned the whole thing and never even thought about releasing any of it.

"How?" he asked her. "How were you going to fix anything by going with him?"

Danielle looked away and began chewing on her lip. "I offered him a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Thomas asked, though he could imagine.

She huffed, still not meeting his eyes. "The kind he would have accepted. Asked him to get rid of what he has on you."

"And you thought he'd uphold such a deal, did you?" He couldn't believe she'd be quite so naïve. Then again, if what she was saying was true, she'd already proven how naïve she was by entering into a contract with Montmartre in the first place.

Danielle made a noise that wasn't quite a laugh but was perhaps supposed to be one. "No, I didn't think he would."

"Then why—"

"He needed to believe me, didn't he? I couldn't have him be suspicious," she explained, her hands fiddling with the hem of her dress. "Would have worked if Ethan hadn't interfered, too, I'm sure."

There was a knot forming in his stomach as Thomas started to piece everything together, though he didn't understand quite yet. "What would have worked?"

"I had Dean call in some favours. Got into the security cameras in his office. We would have had the footage, then," she told him and he felt like he was going to throw up. He almost wished he hadn't eaten just now. "It would have worked, I know it."

Thomas was once again floored by just how naïve she appeared to be. "It wouldn't have. I'm certain he's had people try to blackmail him like this before, Danielle, you wouldn't have been the first one. You would have—"

"You don't understand," she interrupted him, and he did have to stop speaking to hear her, her voice having gone quieter again. "I'd have told him I've changed my mind. I'd have asked him to stop."

That made even less sense to him. How would that have helped anyone? Let alone her, because if there was one thing Thomas was sure about, it was that Montmartre would not have cared a bit. "Danielle, I don't think…" He cleared his throat. "I don't think he would have listened."

She finally looked up at him when she spoke, holding his gaze. "I know. I was counting on it."

It was then that the penny dropped and Thomas gained a new appreciation for Mr Blake, who, as it appeared, had prevented what would have been a rather ugly outcome to Danielle's insane plan. "No. No, that's not – no, you – no."

"It's the only way I could think of that would have stopped him for good," she said, clearly trying for a nonchalant tone but he knew better.

The trembling of her lower lip caught his eye and before he could change his mind or she could protest, he'd rounded the counter and wrapped her up in a tight embrace. It was no later than her face was buried between his neck and his shoulder that tears began to fall from her eyes again, and Thomas could feel them soak through his shirt.

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered into her hair, the endearment slipping out unbidden but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. "What were you thinking?"

She sobbed against him once more before she told him, her voice barely above a breath, "I just wanted to fix everything."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her she wouldn't have fixed anything – that she would have only put herself in harm's way – but he found it would be best to wait to tell her that. So he simply pulled her closer then, resting his chin on top of her head, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't know, Danielle, I didn't know."

He'd never felt quite so terrible about not having had all the facts, and he cursed himself for not having talked to her before he'd gone and tried to ruin her life. He almost couldn't believe he'd acted in such an impulsive way but, then again, it wasn't so usual for him to have any type of feeling that could cloud his judgement. And the disappointment – the betrayal – he'd felt when he'd seen her go with Montmartre had been one hell of a cloud.

Danielle wasn't sure just how she had ended up in Hunt's arms after the day they'd had, but she most certainly was not going to complain. He was warm and comforting and she wished she'd never have to leave his embrace again. Unfortunately, she knew he had more words for her – a proper scolding about how stupid she was, and how wrong it would have been to go through with what she'd planned – but just now she decided to cling to him a little while longer, at the very least until her tears would subside.

Eventually, they did, and she pulled back a little, feeling that Hunt was just as reluctant to let go as she was. He did, though, once she took a step back, and she couldn't help feeling a little bereft. She had half a mind to just step back into his arms again right away and clasped her hands behind her back to stop her from doing so.

"Are you all right?" Hunt asked before she could even get a word out.

She nodded. "I am. I'm fine," she confirmed, taking a moment to consider her next words. "I would have been fine, too,

"Maybe so," he said, though the exasperated look that told her he didn't believe that in the slightest didn't escape her. "But it was a bad idea all around."

Danielle huffed. "Was it? You just told me you didn't think he would have listened. You know he's a creep and a… a fucking predator. You know."

"There's a difference between suspecting and having proof," he argued, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

And she did understand, which made it all the more infuriating. "I could have provided proof!"

"And what if your plan backfired?" he asked, his voice raised now. "What if someone found out what you've done?"

She didn't have an answer for that. "Well, I…"

"At best, it would have been a crime in and of itself," Hunt said, shaking his head. He spoke quietly now, his voice serious. "At worst, your actions would have discredited any real case that could be made against him. You would have discredited his victims."

He was right, she knew. It would have been wrong in many ways, but she was so sure it would have worked, and if it had, they'd have had a way to make him go away for good. Not just for their sake, but for everybody else's, too. "What was I supposed to do, then?" Danielle asked. "Wait for some other young actress to fall into his trap for real and hope to catch it on camera?" She shook her head. "That doesn't sound like the height of morality to me."

"There has to be another way, Danielle," he said and she felt like a chided child.

Hanging her head, she said quietly, "It wouldn't have just been for you, you know."

"I know," he assured her. She could see him lift his hand from the corner of her eye, letting it hover above her shoulder before he took it back, not touching her. "He will get his just deserts one day. He will. But not like this, sweetheart. Not like this."

She hadn't been sure if he'd noticed he'd called her that earlier, but this time she was. This time it was intentional, and she felt her heart flutter the tiniest bit. It didn't change anything about the situation, though, and she sighed. "It's not like I could try it again, anyway."

"Good," Hunt said with a nod, and then she felt his hand on her shoulder after all. "I'll do anything in my power to help you bring Montmartre down if that's what you wish to do. This time, I'll be there to help."

There wasn't much of a choice but to accept that that was the best option now, and she nodded. "Okay. We will find a way to get you out of this project, and we will find a way to bring Viktor down. Whichever comes first," she said determinedly.

"We will," he agreed and gave her a small smile.

Danielle returned that smile, then, feeling as if now was the time to lighten the mood, said, "I do have one question, though."

Hunt regarded her, eyes narrowed, and she was sure her semi-cheerful tone had made him suspicious. "What kind of question?"

"Were you jealous?"

The smile that tugged at one corner of his lips – though it never quite made it into a full smile – told her everything she needed to know. He didn't dignify her with an answer, though, and instead asked her, "How would you feel about a little campfire in the backyard?"

"A campfire?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

He grinned then and nodded to the box and papers that still lay on the counter. "We better get rid of those, don't we?"

"Can we make s'mores, too?"

Hunt chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm all out of marshmallows."

"I suppose just warming our hands over it will do," she said as she put everything back into the box and tucked the thing under her arm to carry it outside.