28. Quentin

EscortingVogue to class the next day, I take her hand and give it a quick kiss. She is nervous about the TA thing, but I know she will slay it, just like she slays everything else.

"I don't know why I needed to interview for it," she mutters. "Dad said he'd sort it out."

"Formality," I say shortly but not out of any other reason than my own nerves are pinging like crazy.

"Yeah." She turns to me. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I lie. I rub my hand over my head and sigh. "No. I'm going to see the Duke after this. I think it's time we really put this to bed."

"Oh, which way are you swinging on that?" She chews her lip tentatively.

"Family first, right? Isn't that what's drummed into us from the day we understand words?"

"Not really sure, but I guess so." She smiles softly, cupping my face. "You don't need to do anything you don't want to."

I consider her words carefully. "That's the thing, though. I do want to. It's time I moved past it. It wasn't entirely his fault, you know."

"I know. And your mum?"

He chuckles. "Oh, Mum and I are fine. She was laid out, cut half open and unconscious when I was taken. None of that is even remotely her fault. Dad is the one with the power."

"I know. I'm glad you and your mum are okay. I guess, I need to meet her, if that's okay with you and Cal?"

"More than. She's away right now in Dubai, but when she gets back, for sure."

She smiles. "And here's me worrying about a formality interview for a position that I could do with my eyes closed. Go, you need to sort your own shit out." She stands on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around my neck. I brush my lips against hers. "I love you," I murmur, feeling like an idiot.

She grins. "I love you too. All of you."

Vogue steps back and waves before heading into the Admin building. I watch her go inside and then turn grimly, not looking forward to the reconciliation with Dad the Duke one bit.

Striding across to my car, I can't shake the feeling of apprehension twisting in my gut. It's like a damn snake slithering through my insides, reminding me that family business is never just business. It's blood, it's history, it's every fucking choice we've ever made coming back to haunt us.

I slide into the driver's seat and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The leather creaks under the strain, but I don't give a shit. This meeting with the old man is long overdue, and it's about time I faced him head-on. No more running, no more dodging. Today, I decide where Quentin Ravenscroft stands. As a Wakefield, a Woodhurst or just by a single name because Ravenscroft, the pretentious as fuck name my abduction family gave me, needs to go.

I fire up the engine, the sound roaring like a beast waking from slumber. It fits my mood—dark and ready to pounce. As I pull away from the curb, I allow myself one last glance at the Admin building where Vogue disappeared minutes ago.

She's a force to be reckoned with, that woman. She's been through hell and back and came out of it stronger than anyone I know—except maybe for myself. We're cut from the same cloth, Vogue and I. Survivors. Fighters. She is my entire existence wrapped up in one, and I love her more than anything. Glancing at the phone on the holder on the dash, I click it open to bring up the GPS tracker from the microchip in her neck. Breathing a sigh of relief as she is where she is meant to be, I grimace, knowing this isn't because we don't trust her. It's just so we know exactly where she is if she ever needs us.

The drive to Dad's place feels shorter than usual—probably because I'm speeding like a fucking maniac. Not that I care about tickets or cops right now; they wouldn't dare touch me once they know who I am, who I work for, and, yeah, who my fucking Dad is.

When I pull up to the Duke's stately home, I take a deep breath before killing the engine. The sprawling estate never fails to remind me of what this family represents: power, wealth, and a shitload of skeletons tucked neatly in every lavish closet. The grandeur does jack for me. It's the man inside these walls that I've got to deal with, not his gilded trappings.

Stepping out of the car, I slam the door harder than necessary. My footsteps echo against the bricked driveway as I approach the heavy oak entrance. The door swings open before I can even knock, the butler letting me in with a gentle nod.

Inside, the atmosphere is quiet, too damn quiet, like it's bracing itself for the storm coming. I don't bother with formalities or niceties as I make my way to my father's study. It's dark and smells of old leather and scotch—appropriate for a meeting that will likely end us one way or another.

He's sitting behind his mahogany desk, glaring at paperwork spread out before him. His gaze meets mine, steady and unflinching. "Quentin," he acknowledges, his voice gravelly.

"Let's cut through the bullshit," I say, taking a seat opposite him without waiting to be offered one. "You know why I'm here."

He nods slowly. "You have come to a decision about what we discussed."

"Yeah," I confirm, my voice hard as nails. "I need to know where we stand—where I stand with you. Not as the son you lost and who you want to make shit up to for appearances and for the fucking legacy, but to you."

The Duke leans back in his chair; there's only the slightest hint of weariness around his eyes, betraying any emotion. "I love you."

Those three words, said with such sincerity, have tears pricking my eyes. Damn him. This would've been easier if he had rejected me. Now I have to deal with all these bastard feelings.

A tense silence stretches between us. I swallow hard, refusing to let any tears escape. Vogue's right; it's time to move past my grudges to forge something out of the mess that's been handed down from generation to generation. It's time to do it for me, not for the Duke, not for the Syndicate.

"I can't pretend the past didn't fuck me up," I admit, voice hoarse with emotions I'm not used to displaying. "But I'm not here to dwell on that anymore. It's done. I'm here because there's a future I want—for myself, for Callum, for Vogue, and hell, even for you. I'll take the title, the honour of being your son. We'll have holidays together and play happy families."

"Play?"

"Being will take time, but I'm willing to make that effort if you are."

"Of course," he says instantly, rising and crossing over to me. Then he does something shocking, which drives home just how much he wants this.

The Duke drops to his knees in front of me and bows his head. "I'm sorry, Quentin."

"Fuck's sake," I mutter as I gulp back the thickness in my throat. "Get up. I forgive you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Life's too short, especially in this life. Aaron's shooting has made me see that it could be any one of us and not be so lucky."

Dad lifts his head and smiles, taking my hand and squeezing it tightly, tears brimming in his eyes as well.

We stand up together, his hand still gripping mine like a lifeline, a symbol of the new bond we're forging. It doesn't mean I'm going to forget every bruise and betrayal, but maybe it's about shaping the chaos into something we can both live with.