12. Vogue

I sit tight,taking it all in. The sumptuous mansion with its intimidating fa?ade feels like a slap across the face with its lavish excess. It's a different planet compared to where I was dragged up, and the reminder stings like hell.

As we pull up to the front, lights flicker on inside, chasing away the shadows of night that cling to the windows. A cold shiver runs down my spine because now I wonder if he knows why we're here before we've even stepped inside.

Thayer parks close to the entrance, killing the engine. The silence that follows is heavy, pressing down on me until I feel like I can't breathe. I need air, space. But most of all, I need fucking answers.

Before any of us can move to get out of the SUV, the front door opens, and Aaron stands there, a mug of something steaming in his hands. He is dressed casually, which is neither surprising nor unusual at this hour, but it makes him look more ‘Daddish' than I've ever seen him.

"Vogue," he says when I climb out and approach him.

"Where is she?" I demand without preamble.

Aaron's gaze slides over me, then to the guys as they join me. No one speaks; it's my show here.

"Who is she?" he asks, bringing those cold eyes back to me.

"Mum's gone, her phone's disconnected, her flat's rented out. What do you know about it? And do not lie to me. I know you know something."

Aaron takes a sip from the mug with a controlled motion that's neither hurried nor dismissive. He studies me, his eyes settling into the hard lines of someone measuring his next move on a chessboard.

"Vogue, let's go inside. It's damn cold out here," he says finally, stepping aside to let us pass. There's an edge to his words that suggests this isn't a conversation for the open air. It also tells me that whatever he's about to say isn't going to be good.

The interior of the mansion makes me choke back a sob of longing. It's utterly gorgeous. The marble floor, the soaring ceilings, the art that probably costs more than my mother would earn in a lifetime. The guys follow me in, a silent, solid presence at my back. I feel them there, their support a tangible thing in this foreign space.

Aaron leads us into what looks like a study—book-lined walls and leather furniture. It's extravagant but lived-in at the same time. He sits behind an oversized desk while we remain standing, looking out of place with our lack of sleep, travel-worn clothes and tense expressions.

I cross my arms over my chest, needing the barrier against whatever's coming. "Talk," I say flatly.

He takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. "Megan has left the country. Packed her bags and fucked off."

"What?" I snap. "Don't be ridiculous. She could never afford to…" That ice in my veins is now spreading out to my entire body. I shake my head. "No."

"I'm afraid so. After you informed me that you hadn't seen even a penny of that money I gave her to make sure your life was comfortable but not extravagant so as to draw attention to yourselves; I went searching for answers."

"You're lying." Tears well up and spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.

"I wish I was," he grits out, pissed off. "But she saved all that money up, it seems, so that once you flew the coop, she could do a runner from her sad life to live it up in Jamaica."

"No!" I roar, slamming my hands down onto the mahogany desk that separates us. The room seems to vibrate with my denial. "She wouldn't do that! She wouldn't just leave me without a fucking word!"

Aaron remains impassive, leaning back in his chair as if bracing for my outburst. "Believe it or not, Vogue, it's true." He reaches into a drawer and places an innocuous brown folder on the desk between us.

My mind is racing, trying to piece together fragments of conversations, half-remembered details that might've hinted at a plan so ludicrously out of character for the woman who raised me.

"But why? Why would she—" I can't finish the question, choking on a mixture of betrayal and fear.

"Because she was a low-class whore who didn't give a flying fuck about you," Aaron hisses, his anger getting the better of him. "Why else?"

"Please," I say, shaking my head as his words hit a spot deep inside me that makes it hurt to breathe. "She loves me."

"She let you grow up in poverty. I should've done more. I should've kept a closer eye on her. Appearances were deceiving from the outside. She kept up a good front of having money to provide for you but behind closed doors you were starving."

"It makes no sense! If she had that money, why did she let us freeze in winter and go hungry? Why wouldn't she just use it, if not for me, for herself?"

"Clearly, she wanted every last penny for her dream holiday," he says bitterly.

"This is fucked up," I spit out, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "You're telling me she just abandoned me? And for what? Sun and sand over her own daughter?"

Aaron doesn't flinch. "The evidence is there, Vogue."

I snatch the folder, flinging it open to scatter its contents across his desk. Photos, bank statements, a one-way plane ticket—every piece a nail in the coffin of the life I thought I knew.

The guys close in around me to offer comfort, but nothing can stop this freefall into an abyss. Each document I scan is another cut, another slice to the gut. They show a trail of money that's damningly clear, and if that wasn't proof enough, a photo taken of her, laughing on a white sandy beach with a pink cocktail in her hand. Photoshopped? Maybe, but my head tells me Aaron isn't fabricating this story, even if my heart needs to believe he is.

"Mum wouldn't," I murmur, half to myself. But there it is in black and white—the betrayal no daughter should ever have to see.

My mind is stuck on a loop: Mum's smile, her laugh, how she held me tight whenever life kicked us down. All a fucking lie?

"You didn't want my life to be ‘extravagant', so she took that as permission to make me suffer in the worst way possible," I seethe, fixing Aaron with a glare that could scorch paint off walls. I sold myself to creepy, sleazy guys to make enough money to pay rent and buy food when all the time she was hoarding cash like a fucking cunt so she could make a great escape to the Caribbean.

"You can blame me," Aaron says calmly. "I should've stepped up, but my involvement was risky for you, her and me. I never thought she would stoop so low… But this is my fault. I accept full responsibility?—"

"And so you fucking should," Callum growls. "This is beyond fucked up!"

Aaron shoots him a glare that could wither a houseplant, but Callum doesn't falter. Not even for a second.

"You screwed up by letting this happen."

"I know."

"That's not good enough! You owe her."

"I know."

"No! I don't want anything from you," I choke out.

I shove the damning evidence back into the folder, my hands trembling with a fury that's all-consuming. "I don't want your fucking money, your guilt, none of it!" I'm screaming now, voice cracking under the strain. "You can't buy forgiveness, can't erase what she did to me."

Aaron nods, an almost imperceptible lift of his chin. "What do you want then?"

I don't know. Revenge? Justice? My mum back, telling me there's been some horrific mistake? But this isn't a world where mistakes are forgiven easily. This is the world they live in—the world I'm slowly being dragged into. A world where blood ties strangle and promises shatter.

"I want… I just..." I trail off, the words lodged in my throat like a shard of glass.

Silence stretches among us, thick and suffocating, until Thayer steps forward, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. His touch is a lifeline as I try to navigate through this storm of betrayal.

"Let's get out of here," he says softly.

"Yeah," Quen adds with quiet intensity. "This is bullshit. She needs space."

Harry's hand finds mine and gives it a reassuring squeeze, and I'm suddenly grateful for these guys. They're not just part of this messed up world; they're my anchors in it.

Aaron is clearly not used to being dismissed so easily though. "Vogue?—"

"No," I cut him off sharply. There's nothing he can say that will fix this. "I don't want to hear it."

"Do you want me to get her back here?"

That stops me dead in my tracks. "You can do that?"

"Not much I can't do."

"Then why haven't you done it already?"

"It's not my decision to make. Also, if I lay eyes on that woman again, I will kill her. Is that what you want?"

His gaze has gone hard, his entire attitude is scary as fuck, and I gulp. "Is that what I want?" I repeat.

The question echoes in the massive, ornate room, bouncing off the gold-gilded frames and the cold marble floors. The air feels too thick to breathe, and I can feel the guys tensing up around me. They can sense how close Aaron is to breaking point, how his barely contained fury is a wild animal on a short leash.

"No," I say, finally, my voice steadier than I feel. "I don't want her dead."

Aaron's expression doesn't change; he just stares at me with those piercing eyes that see through all the bullshit. "Then what do you want?"

"I..." My brain is a whirl of emotion and adrenaline. Why does he keep asking me that? What do I want? To run? To hide? To confront her? Each possibility seems more frightening and impossible than the last.

"I just need to think," I finally say. I need to think about how things could have been so different if she hadn't been a selfish bitch.

Thayer nods and steps closer, his body language protective. "We'll take care of her," he tells Aaron, his voice laced with a warning. It's clear: they're standing with me, no matter what.

Aaron looks as if he wants to argue, his jaw set stubbornly. But instead, he exhales harshly and waves a dismissive hand. "Fine. Go."

We don't need to be told twice. We leave the mansion's cold power and step into the comforting dawn.

"No, wait." I frown and turn back around, striding back through the mansion to the study where Dad is gathering up the pieces of paper strewn all over his desk. When he hears me, he looks up. His expression is haggard for a moment before he adjusts his features into the usual mask.

"Teach me," I state.

"Teach you what?"

"To never, ever be taken advantage of again. I want to know everything, every way to make this life work for me, not against me. I'm done being its bitch."

"Are you saying you will leave Crestmont, live here with me, train with me by my side every fucking day until you feel like you can't learn anything more, only to be surprised that you've only just scratched the surface of the underworld?"

"Fuck," I mutter. When he puts it like that… "Yes. Fuck, yes."

His eyes flicker with respect or maybe satisfaction, but there is definitely monstrous fatherly pride glaring in the smugness of his sinister smile.

"Alright," he says with steel in his voice. The kind of steel that has built empires and toppled kingdoms. "You'll learn at my side. But be warned, Vogue, the oath you took is binding. Once you walk this path, there's no turning back."

I nod, because I've come to the same conclusion. "I'm all in."