That question was answered when Darren pulled open the heavy teak gate.

Rachel.

There she was. His beautiful secretary.

She stood on the other side of the gate, a soft smile on her face.

Darren almost got lost in her face, not even taking in what she had on.

It was a simple, yet beautiful, sleeveless white dress that contrasted starkly with her dark brown hair.

Darren had barely ever seen Rachel in a dress, so this was an appealing surprise.

He also noticed she had done something different with her. It was down, falling in soft waves around her shoulders.

In her slightly shaded glasses, he could see his own reflection for a moment before she slowly took them off, revealing her beautiful hazel eyes.

Usually, one would be covered with strands of her hair, not that Darren ever complained, but seeing them so bright and full made him feel a certain way.

Happy. Warm.

Maybe it was because they both were no longer chips of ice, but deep, complex pools of emotion.

She somehow didn't seem angry at all with him. Not anymore, at least.

For a while, they didn't speak. They simply locked gazes, a silent, profound communication passing between them.

It was the acknowledgment of the battle, the strategy, the hurt, and the undeniable, unbreakable connection that ran beneath it all.

The nice breeze of the morning blew against them, causing their hair to whip against their faces. Yet, their eyes remained locked.

"You came," Darren said with a low voice. It wasn't as assured and certain as it was when he was talking with Ileana. This time, it was more like a whisper, carrying a weight of gratitude and surprise that he rarely allowed himself to show.

And it seemed to make Rachel happy.

Her beautiful smile that had been settling on her lips stretched wider into a full one, making her eyes even glow the more.

Seeing her smile like that, it was a sight Darren realized he'd been starving for.

"You asked me to come," she replied, her voice equally soft, but steady. "So I came."

Darren felt his heart thump. An energy of comfort and happiness pumped through him, making all the emotions rush at once.

Those words from her. It was all he'd ever wanted to hear from her for a long time.

He stepped forward, and she met him halfway.

It was like the climax of a romantic song once they closed their distance completely.

Darren's arms wrapped around her, pulling her into an embrace that felt like coming home. It was firm, possessive, and filled with a week's worth of unspoken apologies and relief.

Then, he leaned down, and she rose onto her toes, and their lips met in a kiss that was not of frantic passion, but of deep, searing reconciliation.

It was a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, of understanding, of the deep love they've shared for each other ever since the day he dragged her into his life.

Rachel Teschmacher, the Silent Witch, and him, Darren Steele, the good old Mr. Duckling.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her lips.

She breathed on him for a moment before replying. "I'm sorry too."

Finally, they parted. But Darren couldn't help but plant more kisses on her. One on her cheek and another on her forehead.

"You can't believe how happy I am that you're here," he said to her.

Rachel could believe it. She'd never seen Darren smile so much.

He held her hand and guided her into the gate. A discreet staff member was already collecting two of her expensive luggage.

Darren kept her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as he led her inside. "I have your room ready."

"Taking me to a room," Rachel remarked. "I'm already reminded of our early days, boss."

Darren looked at her. "The room in the Grant's hotel?" he said. "When I first told you about my Bitcoin plans."

She chuckled. "And when you broke the phone my mother got me as a birthday gift."

Darren laughed. "I got you a new one, didn't I?"

"Maybe," she teased. "But no new phone could replace the sentimental value of that one."

"Oh, whatever."

They walked forward, smiles on their faces. This was it. This was what Darren missed. Their back and forth jokes, her taciturn wittiness and stern approach to his business.

┏Romance Radar:┛

┏Rachel Teschmacher: 79%┛

That was a mighty bump. Darren had gotten his Rachel back.

He led her not to the west wing with Ileana, but to the master suite adjacent to his own in the east wing.

The room was a tier above in its illustriousness.

Where Ileana's was light and airy, Rachel's was sophisticated, decadent. A kind of room made for the queen or a woman similar to one.

The kind for the wife.

It had deep walls, painted with soothing ash, the king-sized bed draped in the finest black silk sheets and a duvet of silver.

The furniture was dark, polished mahogany, and the balcony was larger, with a private hot tub overlooking the most dramatic cliffside view.

Undeniably, it truly was a room for a queen, for his right hand.

Rachel paused once she got inside, taking all of it in. The guards dropped her luggages carefully and walked out.

She continued to stare, her professional eye noting the impeccable taste, the staggering expense.

"This... this is for me?" she asked. "All of it?"

"Yes," Darren replied. "I've seen your scrap book. I know the kind of designs you like. Like the gothic painting over there, and the view of the cityscape because you don't like to feel too far away from civilization."

Rachel was almost dumbfounded. "You knew all that?"

Darren smiled. "Never forgot."

There was a short silence for a while, Rachel's heart was beating alongside this silence, butterflies filling her stomach.

She had almost forgotten how appreciative Darren was of people around him.

"Darren…" she began, turning to face him. She took both his hands in hers, her gaze earnest. "I need to apologize."