14. Callum

There isno doubt in my mind that Aaron is going to have our asses if he finds out about how we take his daughter all together. He must know this goes deeper than mere protection.

She comes out looking like a warrior ready for battle. Her clothes hug her in all the right places, yet they're practical and all her. She's got that glint in her eye, the one that says she's ready to take on the world, and we'll be damned if we let her do it alone.

"You ready?" I ask as she slings her bag over her shoulder.

She nods, eyes steely. "Yeah."

We make our way downstairs and, once again, climb into the SUV.

With Vogue on the back seat next to me, I know we're heading into uncharted territory. We are walking into a shitstorm, but it's one that is necessary. The drive back to Aaron's is short, and we arrive through the gates, driving up to the house where a surprise awaits us.

"Dad," I murmur as I see the black Bentley parked neatly off to the side.

"Dad?" Vogue asks quietly, giving me a raised eyebrow.

"Yep. Duke of Woodhurst. This should be super fun."

"Not," Quen growls on her other side. He still has issues. He refuses to take the title of Lord even though it's his as the second-born son to a Duke. He blames his abduction from the hospital entirely on our father, and to be fair, I don't blame him. It should never have happened, and how it did is a plague that will curse us both until Quentin accepts that his life was stolen from him, but he now has it back. All my life, I knew something was off.

It was only when I confronted my parents, seeking answers as to why I always felt like half of me was missing, that my mother broke down and confessed the sordid story.

Nothing, not even a hoard of rampaging demons, could've stopped me from finding my brother and bringing him back home. However, all it took was for me to open the goddamned door to see him standing there one morning, angry, broken and lost.

"Cal?" Vogue whispers, taking my hand. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I reply, not really meaning it. Dad has tried with Quen, but this isn't the time for a confrontation.

Or maybe it is. Maybe it's time they had it out, mafia style. Fists and anger.

Thayer parks up, and we climb out. Harry and Thayer take Vogue's bags as well as their own and march straight into Aaron's house with me and Quen trailing behind.

"You need to sort this shit out."

"Don't really want to." He scowls fiercely at me before turning away.

"Tough shit, brother. It's time." I heft my bag up and enter the house, seeing Aaron greeting Vogue and the other guys with suspicion.

"We're all moving in," I inform him, not scared of him in the least. He is practically my second dad.

"Oh, really?" he inquires, glaring at me. "And what makes you think I want you here?"

"Vogue wants us here." End of story.

For a second, I think I'm about to meet the end of my story, but Vogue steps up, her spine straight as an arrow, undeterred by the looming presence of her father. Aaron's eyes flicker to her, a silent question hanging in the balance.

"We're stronger together," she says with an unwavering voice. "And if I'm doing this, I need them with me."

Aaron's gaze lingers on Vogue, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he finally nods, the gesture terse but accepting. "Fine. But if even one of you steps out of line, Adam will have great delight in beating you into the fucking ground. One. By. One. Got it?"

Vogue smiles, a small victorious curve of her lips. "Got it."

"Not you," Aaron mutters and turns away to disappear further into his grand mansion.

Harry and Thayer disappear upstairs with Vogue's bags, leaving Quen and me in the entrance hall with our father, who's just stepped into view from the adjacent study.

"Callum, Quentin," our father says, his tone formal despite the family ties. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Surprise," Quen replies dryly.

The Duke of Woodhurst gives us a scrutinising look. "We need to talk."

I can feel Quen tensing beside me, a coiled spring of frustration and resentment waiting to snap. It takes everything in me not to push him towards our dad and get this damn confrontation over with.

Instead, we stand there like a pair of statues, the air thick enough to cut with a knife. I nudge Quen subtly with my elbow. He glares at me but steps forward, his jaw set and his eyes hard.

"Talk then," Quen spits out, his voice laced with years of pent-up anger and confusion. The Duke's gaze doesn't waver as he looks at him, but there's a flicker of something that might pass for regret.

"In private," Dad adds, tilting his head slightly towards the study.

I look between them—two men cut from the same cloth but worlds apart. "I'll be here when you're done," I tell Quen, offering him a nod of silent support. He doesn't acknowledge it, just stalks past Dad and into the room beyond.

As the door clicks shut behind them, I exhale slowly. This family drama could either unify us or shred what little fabric we have left holding us together.

Harry comes back down first, eyebrows raised in question as he spots me alone. "Where's Quen?"

"Duking it out with the Duke."

He snickers despite the severity of this clusterfuck.

"Vogue okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, settling in. All hell is about to break loose, isn't it?"

I glance at the study door and sigh. "Probably."