26. Vogue

As my eyes reluctantly open,I'm greeted with the stillness of an empty room. Disappointment washes over me, as I had hoped to wake up to the familiar sounds and presence of the twins. But instead, all I'm met with is silence. As I sit up, my senses immediately become alert, picking up the faint noise of voices and slamming coming from the living room. My heart begins to beat faster in anticipation. With cautious steps, I make my way to the door and press my ear against it, straining to hear any signs of a possible conflict. After a moment of listening, I realise that the noises are just lively chatter and not a heated argument or fight. Relieved but still curious, I quickly cross over to the luxurious en-suite bathroom to shower and change before facing whatever chaos awaits me in the living room. The sound of water cascading down on me drowns out the noise from outside as I hastily clean myself up, trying to mentally prepare for whatever situation I am about to walk into.

Getting dressed in black leggings and a black tee, I pad barefoot over the fancy hardwood floors and into the living room, where the four guys are scattered, each of them engaged with their own piece of business. They look up as I enter and immediately stop what they're doing.

I'm not suspicious by that, merely curious what they've found out already while I was playing at being possum.

"Any updates?" My voice cuts through the thick atmosphere.

"Rival factions are tightening their circles," Callum reports. His eyes are steel, reflecting the gravity of our situation, with zero sign of the dirty sex we had only a couple of hours ago. "They're spooked. Making moves in the dark."

"Let them," I retort, lips curling. "Shadows might be their playground, but we own the night. We have something they don't."

"Which is?" Thayer prompts, leaning back on the couch, arms folded over his chest.

"Me." The word hangs between us, heavy with implication. The room holds its breath, waiting for me to elaborate. "I'm the wildcard they can't account for. I'm not even an ace, and that's what makes this so perfect."

"No, you're a Queen," Quen mutters, eyes fixed on me with such intensity, I feel my cheeks heat up.

"Vogue's right, though," Harrison cuts in, swiping through data on his tablet. "They expect The Crowned Syndicate to play defence, not offence—even now—not to lose more territory by defending what we've kept."

"Exactly," I say, pacing now, every step punctuated with purpose. "It's time to flip the script."

"Flip it how?" Quen asks, his gaze sharp, analytical.

"Hit them where it hurts. Their rep, their resources, their resolve." With each point, I tap my finger against the glass tabletop, driving it home. "Undermine their confidence, turn allies into liabilities."

"Risky," Thayer says, pushing off from the couch to stretch, his expression blank, which makes it really difficult to gauge what he's thinking. "If we misstep?—"

"Then we don't misstep," I cut him off, no room for doubt. "We can't afford to."

"Repercussions will be severe," Quen notes. "For us, for the university. Every action leaves a mark. This is bigger than Crestmont."

"Let them leave marks," I shoot back, fierce. "As long as they're not on us. Some of those fuckers thought they could abduct me and use me as fuck knows what leverage for fuck knows what nefarious reasons. No. I'm not some asshole who gets used like that. They thought I was the weakest link, well fuck that. They don't know the beast they've unleashed by treating me as ‘just a girl'."

"Whoa," Callum says, hands up at my sudden outburst—sudden even to me. I knew I wasn't dealing with it, having pushed it aside to focus on the bigger picture, but it seems that it is in my face now, demanding attention. Well, it's got it. "Are you okay, princess?"

"Fine," I grit out. "Just pissed. I'm not even scared anymore, just angry. I want to make those assholes pay."

"They paid," Thayer says calmly, like we aren't discussing a bloody massacre.

"Not all of them," I retort, and he raises an eyebrow, impressed.

"Finally," I murmur to him and only him. "Emotion."

His surprised look makes me snort, and he echoes the sentiment: "Well, what can I say? You bring it out in me, sweetheart."

"So, what does this mean?" Callum interrupts. "Are you making a declaration?"

"Yeah. I'll face the consequences of this with my father at some point, not right now, but when he decides to show his face. He can come to me. I'm not chasing him down for this approval, nor his permission."

"Spoken like a true leader," Harry says.

"Leader or not, I didn't come here to play second fiddle to anyone," I state, feeling that familiar surge of adrenaline. This game of power and influence is intoxicating.

"Then let's hit them first," Harry suggests, giving me a slow smile. "A pre-emptive strike."

"Information is ammunition," Quentin adds, tapping a pointed finger on his temple. "And we've got plenty."

"Good," I nod, decisive. "In the meantime, business as usual."

"Yeah, we've got that casino night tomorrow and fuck all has been done," Callum mutters.

"Then let's get on that. This is a good time to schmooze and network, and whatever it is you do. We use the event to our advantage. Show everyone The Crowned Syndicate is still in charge." I glance around at each of them, seeing my determination mirrored in their expressions. My anger has seeped into the room, stirring them. I'm ready for this battle as much as they are.

"We need to be strategic," Quentin says. "Every move calculated."

"Agreed," I nod. "We can't afford haphazard decisions now. We reel them in with charm and the pretence of normalcy, then strike when they least expect it."

Callum strides over and cups my face. His touch is gentle and reassuring. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

I look up at him, seeing not just his support but that of all the guys in his statement. "More than anything," I reply, my voice steady.

Thayer chuckles darkly from where he now stands by the window, looking out into the night. "Well then, let's get ready to put on a hell of a show."

As the guys get back on their phones, plans begin to form, and everyone starts buzzing with activity, I realise I've truly become a part of something here—something dangerous and binding, and though I never anticipated any of this when I first arrived at Crestmont, there's no denying it now: I'm right where I need to be.

The Syndicate may have been weakened, but with me at its core, we're about to become stronger than ever before.

I turn on my heel, and head back to my room. I've still got grades to maintain and lectures to attend. I have nothing to offer but words and pep. I've got both in spades, but this is their show. I'm just the one with the business degree and analytical mind. I see things others don't, and make no mistake, The Crowned Syndicate is a business. It's what drew me to these guys in the first place.

There's no rest for the wicked, and as I crack open a textbook, my mind wanders. It doesn't just wander; it fucking sprints down every possible scenario we might encounter in the coming days. Each paragraph I read blurs into strategies and counterattacks, business theories meshing with the dark underpinnings of The Syndicate's operations.

Midnight ticks by, and my lamp lights up the bedroom with a warm glow. There's a knock at the door, which brings me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

Thayer sticks his head around the door. "Everything's on track. We are good to go."

"Okay, great. You need anything from me?"

"Do you know how to count cards? We need someone who knows that we can trust to keep an eye on things."

Giggling, I nod. "Actually, yeah. At Westfield, we held card nights frequently, and I taught myself for extra pocket money." The revelation leaves a cold place in my heart of nights where I was too broke to put the heating on in the middle of winter and lived off a can of soup for three days. This is why it fucking hurts so much that Dad has all of this… and gave me nothing.

I gulp, and my eyes go wide.

"What?" Thayer asks, coming into the room with a concerned expression.

"Dad."

"Hmm?"

"I just thought of him as dad and not my father."

He nods slowly and crosses over to me. He kneels and takes my hand in a soft gesture that startles me. "It's natural. You're learning about him, picking up his life, this life in the dark. Your thoughts are shifting. You are more ready to confront him than you think you are."

"Not likely," I murmur, staring into his remarkable grey eyes.

"Don't rule it out because you're angry. You have a right to be, but I'm saying this is bigger."

"Yeah." I press my lips together and then do something crazy. I lean forward, my hand curling around the back of his neck, and I kiss him, deep and hard, pouring all my frustration and fire into the contact as I open my legs and draw him against me. His response is immediate, his hands snaking around to pull me closer as if he's trying to absorb my temper through osmosis.

His lips are like velvet, moving in perfect synchronisation with mine, making me want to stay lost in this moment forever. Our breaths intermingle as we reluctantly pull away, both panting from the intensity of our kiss.

"What was that for?" Thayer manages to ask, his forehead still pressed against mine.

"Motivation," I murmur. "We need to be sharp for tomorrow."

Thayer smirks, his thumb caressing my cheek. "Oh, I'm always sharp, Vogue. But I'll take whatever you're offering as encouragement."

I push him back playfully and stand up. "Get out of here and let me study."

He stands too, winking at me before he exits the room. "I'm in the next room if you need me."

"And what would I need you for?" I ask with a seductive tone.

"You'll find that out soon enough," he whispers and leaves me alone, longing for more of his kisses. The shock has worn off from Callum and Quentin's words earlier. So, what if they all want me, and I want them? Who is anyone to judge anyone anything? Sure, it's all physical and lusty right now, except maybe with Quen. We seem to have hit a deeper note already, but the others will get there. I know we will. We are too close, too involved for it not to now.

Alone again, I take a deep breath and refocus on my textbook. The pages might seem mundane compared to the swirling world of power plays I've entered, but knowledge is power, and I'm going to arm myself with every weapon possible.

Sleep feels like a luxury I can't afford tonight, not with plans to devise and moves to make. My mind is a whirlwind of statistics and probabilities intermingled with images of Thayer's intense gaze and perfect kisses.

The guys see something in me that's crucial to our collective survival in this risky game. It's not just about survival anymore; it's about supremacy—taking control of our destinies and not letting anyone else dictate how.

This is my armour—knowledge, preparation. While these guys have their fists and guns and charm, I've got balance sheets and market analyses.

But it's not just about numbers; it's about people, and that's where I excel; reading them, playing them like a hand of cards, knowing when to hold back and when to reveal just enough truth to keep them guessing.

I remind myself that despite everything—the danger, the moral ambiguity—I'm here because of opportunity. An opportunity to leave a legacy far removed from any working-class roots that tried to anchor me down. An opportunity to prove that success isn't reserved for those born with silver spoons in their mouths.