33. Vogue

Aaron glaresat my phone ringing on his desk, picks it up, switches it off, and replaces it exactly where it was. "They're worried about you," he says.

"No shit. I was abducted."

"They'll know it was me."

I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

Aaron glances away for a moment, and I can tell he's weighing his words. "Vogue, this isn't about me trying to step in as your father after all these years. It's about survival now." His voice is brisk. "You're not just some girl from Westfield anymore. You're a McGowan, and that comes with perks and targets."

I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, the ‘perks' he talks about, but the only thing that seems to be raining down on me is danger from every fucking angle. "I'm a Jameson, first off."

He slams his fist down on the desk, making me jump. "You're a McGowan to them. My blood."

"So you're saying I'm a target? Because of your last name?" I ask, unable to keep the acid out of my voice.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he confirms grimly. "And if you want to get out of this alive, you need to play by certain rules."

I lean forward, anger sharpening my response. "And what rules would those be exactly? Obey? Stay silent? If that's the case, you're going to be disappointed." My gaze doesn't waver from his.

He smirks. "No. The first rule is to know when to fight and when to use your head. You've got a fire in you—I respect that—but it needs direction."

"Direction? And do you plan on giving that to me? Are we going to bond at the shooting range?"

Aaron's smirk fades into a serious line. "Maybe we will, but not today." He walks around his desk, sits down and steeples his fingers, looking at me with an intensity that chills me to the bone. "We need to figure out who is betraying us from the inside. It's a dangerous game, Vogue. Enemies are not always out in the open."

I can't help but snort at that. "Enemies, betrayal, secret fucking wars. This is all just some twisted reality I've stepped into."

He nods solemnly. "Yes, you can look at it that way. But your life is at stake here. Whether you choose to accept it or not, you need our protection. You have already been in danger once."

"Yeah, thanks to you."

"I have done everything I can to protect you, Vogue." Desperation seeps into his words. "This was not how I wanted your life to be."

"Well, too late for that." I sit back and cross my arms.

He fixes his gaze on mine, and we just stare at each other for a few seconds, which feels like an eternity.

"Why did you abandon me?" I blurt out suddenly and then shake my head at myself. This will get us nowhere. Nothing he will say will help.

Aaron sits back, the hardness in his eyes softening for just a moment. "You think I had a choice?" His voice is almost a whisper, the layers of the untold story thick between us. "Your mother took you away for your safety. My life, this life," he gestures around the stark room, "it's not meant for children. She wanted better for you."

"So you're blaming her?"

"Her?" He raises an eyebrow.

"I know she lied to me about where the money came from for my university. But where the fuck was the rest, hmm? Where was the money to help feed me or keep me warm? To stop me having to—" I cut myself off before I can finish that sentence.

"Having to what?" His voice takes on a dark undertone.

"Starve," I blurt out.

"I gave your mother money every month."

I shake my head. "Liar. She has never had two pennies to rub together."

He narrows his eyes. "Then what did she do with it?"

"Stop it! Stop trying to deflect! Your story makes no sense. I grew up dirt poor, I still am. So is Mum. If you say you were never far away, then what the fuck were you doing while we were freezing to death?"

"Trying to provide for you!" he roars. "Megan…" He clenches his fists together, so angry, I think his head is about to explode. I shrink back in my seat, staggered. He is genuinely outraged by this, but I can't wrap my head around any of it.

He swallows hard and grimaces at me. "I'm not going to sit here and pretend I can make up for lost time or lost opportunities to be a father. Nor am I going to rehash my past actions or surmise what your mother did with all that money. But what I can do is keep you safe now."

"Why should I trust you?" I challenge, feeling my control slipping as anger and betrayal bubble up inside me. His words make no sense. He has to be lying because if he's not then that means my mother is.

And she has already lied.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Fucking fuck!

"Because," Aaron says firmly, rising from his seat with an authoritative presence I can't ignore, "if you don't, it won't just be your life on the line—it'll be theirs too." His gaze flicks to the phone before returning to mine.

The mention of Callum, Quentin, Thayer and Harry sends a jolt of fear through me—my heart stutters at the thought of anything happening to them because of me.

The room goes cold, or maybe it's just the chill settling in my veins as he stands there, a spectre of power and secrets. My breath hitches, and I force myself to keep looking at him. "Are you threatening me? Or them?"

"It's not a threat, Vogue. It's reality," Aaron says roughly, the words weighted with an edge that cuts through the bullshit. "This game we're playing—it's lethal, and it doesn't care about love or loyalties."

There's a beat of silence between us, heavy as lead. Aaron's eyes hold mine, unwavering, unapologetic. For a moment, I see the man he might have been once—someone who had dreams and fears like everyone else. But that man is gone, buried under years of decisions made in the shadows.

I stand up abruptly. I need to move before I lose it completely. "So, what now?" I demand, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside me.

Aaron follows my movement with his eyes, considering his next words carefully. "Now you stay close."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Close." Taking in a deep breath, I ask the question that's burning in my mind. "Why are you doing this now? Why come forward after all these years?"

He looks at me, his jaw set. "Because the past has a way of catching up, no matter how hard you try to outrun it. My legacy is knocking on your door, Vogue."

I can feel my heart hammering against my ribcage. There's a sting of truth to his words that I can't ignore. The threat isn't just abstract anymore; it's concrete, and it's here.

"Who knows about me?" I ask sharply.

"Enough people to be a problem," he replies, his tone grim. "We've kept you under the radar all your life, but now someone's connecting dots that should have remained unconnected."

"The insider?"

He nods grimly.

"And you have no idea who it is?"

"Not yet."

His admission hangs in the air, thick with ominous potential. It feels like a clock ticking down somewhere, but I can't find it, can't stop it. We are exposed and vulnerable. The thought that my life—and theirs—could be ripped apart by some unknown enemy sends an icy wave of terror through me.

I look down at my hands, trying to steady the tremor in them as I grapple with this new and confusing reality. "What's your plan?"

Aaron moves closer, his eyes scanning the room before settling back on me. "We tighten our circle. Keep you and the boys under constant watch."

"Prisoners in our lives," I mutter bitterly.

"No," he corrects sharply, "survivors in a war most people don't even know is happening."

I look up at him. Aaron, my father, the man who should've been there but wasn't, and now I'm supposed to just fall in line because he says so?

"So what? You're expecting me to jump every time you say so? I'm not one of your foot soldiers."

"You don't have to be," Aaron says evenly, but there's an undercurrent of something else there, too. A plea? Regret? "But Vogue, I need you to understand the severity of this situation."

I nod tersely, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how affected I am by all this crap as I sit again. "I need time to think about this. About everything you've said. I need to call Mum… this whole thing is a shitshow."

"No kidding," he mutters. "You can go back to your life at Crestmont under a very specific set of rules. No negotiation."

"And what rules would those be, then?"

"The boys are currently undergoing a test. If they pass, you get to live under their protection. If they fail…"

I don't even want to ask what happens if they fail, other than they will probably be dead. "What kind of test?" I croak.

"If they survive, they can tell you all about it back home."

He sits down again and leans back, folding his hands in his lap, giving me a searching stare that leaves my insides stripped bare.