Epilogue

Vogue

Eighteen months later

Time leaps forward,and here I am, standing in the middle of my graduation. The air buzzes around me, filled with the kind of electricity that only comes when hundreds of lives are about to change. It's hot and crowded, and every fold-out chair seems to have someone's aunt perched on the edge, camera in hand.

I adjust the cap on my head, feeling the weight of it like a crown. This is it, the day I've been pushing toward. Around me, excitement fizzes through the air, mingling with nervous laughter and the rustle of gowns. I feel it too, this sense of something big, something more than just a piece of paper and a handshake.

The applause is a constant roar, a thunderous accompaniment to every name called. Each clap is a congratulation, a validation. It's a sound that carries dreams, including mine, and it's overwhelming. But not in a way that makes me want to run; it's the kind of overwhelming that tells you you're part of something grand.

People jostle for a better view, and the air is thick with the scent of summer flowers mixed with the sharp tang of excitement. For a moment, I close my eyes and just breathe it in—the hum of conversation, the intermittent cheers as another graduate takes the stage, the endless clapping. It's a symphony of celebration, and today, I'm one of its notes.

My heart beats a steady rhythm—not from fear but from readiness. Today marks an ending, sure, but it's also the start of whatever comes next for me and The Crowned Syndicate, and whatever that is, I know I'm up for it—I have to be. Dad said something big was coming and I'm more nervous about that than I am about anything that has been thrown my way since I stepped foot onto the Crestmont campus, all those months ago. All the new recruits, all the old ones, the staff that are under our thumb, is a thrilling game and one I'm going to miss playing. But onwards and upwards, as they say.

My palms are sweaty as I stand in line, waiting for my name to be called. It's surreal; this moment, like the last nearly two years, I have been sprinting toward now, and suddenly, I'm about to cross the finish line.

I shuffle forward, a step at a time, my heartbeat a drum in my ears. It's loud, louder than the steps of my classmates ahead of me, louder than the buzz that fills the stadium. Everyone here has their own story, their struggles, their triumphs. And mine? It's soaked into these robes, woven into this cap. I've earned this with every fibre of my being.

"Vogue," someone hisses from the crowd, and I flick my gaze over. There they are—Callum, Quentin, Thayer, and Harry—my four constants, the loves of my life, in a world that never stops turning. They're a wall of support, each one different, yet all of them fiercely mine as I am theirs.

They're here for me, just like they've been since day one—since before we knew we'd become this tangled web of hearts and promises. They look at me, and I see it, the same fire that burns in me reflected in their gazes. We don't need words, not really. We're past that. It's in the tilt of Cal's head, the lift of Quen's brow, the line of Thayer's mouth, the crinkle at the corners of Harry's eyes.

"Vogue McGowan," the voice calls again, and this time it's official, the announcer beckoning me to the stage.

This is it.

I step forward, heart hammering, and let the future rush in to meet me.

As my name echoes through the hall, reality strikes with the force of a freight train. My legs carry me across that daunting stage, each step solidifying my achievements, my identity. As I reach the podium, shaking the chancellor's hand, a sense of victory swells in my chest. It's not just about the MBA; it's about conquering every damn obstacle life has thrown at me. The chancellor gives me a smile that startles me, a big beam of pride coming from a man I've only spoken to on a couple of occasions.

I turn to face the crowd, a sea of faces blurring into one massive wave of expectation. But there's clarity in where my gaze lands—on my men, on my father, on the possibility of something profound and terrifyingly new waiting just beyond this stage—and on the face that isn't there. She was invited after much trauma and thought, and she didn't show. Does it hurt? Nah. I didn't think she would, and this just proves that she never cared about me, only about what my dad's money could do for her. I no longer hope she rots in hell. I just don't care enough either way now.

A slow smile spreads across my lips as I clutch that roll of paper like a talisman against an uncertain future. This isn't just paper and ink. It's a key, an entry into chambers of power I've only glimpsed through half-open doors.

Descending from the stage, applause fading into a distant roar, adrenaline ebbs away, replaced by an anticipation sharp enough to cut. The guys converge on me—their pride is solid, wrapping around us like shields.

"I did it," I say, though it's more to myself than anyone else.

"Yes, you fucking did," Harry replies with a grin that could outshine the sun.

I'm engulfed in a group hug that smells like cologne and ambition. We're a knot too complex to untie, bound by love, secrets, and blood.

Pulling back slightly, Callum's eyes search mine with an intensity that threatens to sweep away all ceremony. "You ready for what comes next?"

"Fuck, yeah," I say with a wide grin and go to my dad, giving him a tight hug that he returns, kissing the top of my head in pride.

"Vogue," he says softly but with an edge that slices through the dissipating chatter around us.

"It's time we talked about your future beyond this milestone."

I glance back at the guys, all looking elsewhere as they hang back. I narrow my eyes, frowning at them. They already know, the fuckers. They know what Dad wants to talk to me about.

"Let's walk," Dad murmurs, looping his arm through mine as Adam slips in behind us, never far away as the guys move in behind him. I stifle my snicker and touch the back of my neck. The chip is still there. I don't mind it. They will always know where to find me, and the dark thrill that skitters through my greying soul, blackens it that bit more.

We find a secluded spot on the campus, the summer sun beating down on us as I slip my sunglasses on from my gown pocket. He stares at me, his arms crossed, exuding that same mysterious vibe that will never fade, no matter how close we get.

"This next move has been planned for the last two years, Vogue. It's big. It's going to be frightening at first, and you will get a lot of attention and criticism and a whole shitload of animosity and possibly hatred thrown your way."

"Okay," I say slowly. "Go on." I'm not backing down. Hate away. I don't give a flying fuck.

"The endgame is simple. Control," he answers simply. "Influence. We need to stay ahead, and you're going to help us do that."

"By doing what?" Spit it out, old man.

"At the start of the next academic year, you will be the new Chancellor of Crestmont University."

I stare at him for a few seconds before my blood runs cold. "What?"

"You heard me."

"That's insane," I hiss. "I'm twenty-four."

"And?"

"And—and…" Okay, I got nothing. "And it's stupid."

"No, it's smart and what we've been planning. You are the only one who can do this. With you in control of the entire campus, its students, its staff, its funding, The Crowned Syndicate effectively owns Crestmont. No other rival gang will be able to set foot here. It will be a stronghold that no other university has. Do you understand the scale of this?"

I nod, the weight of his proposition sinking into my very bones. It's heavy, heavier than anything I've ever carried. But it also feels right, like the last piece of a puzzle snapping into place, albeit twenty years earlier than I could ever have imagined, if I had dared to imagine this at all. I let out a shaky breath and try to wrap my head around the enormity of it all. Dad's right. I'm going to get it from all sides. I'm going to be under scrutiny from, well, everyone, including the Government. This is… terrifying.

"So, what? I just waltz in there and take over?" My voice is steady, but inside, I'm a whirlwind of anxiety.

"Not just waltz in," Dad clarifies with a half-smirk. "You'll be groomed over the summer. We have allies placed in key positions who will support your transition."

I laugh, a bitter sound that seems to surprise even him. "Groomed? Am I a fucking poodle now?"

He doesn't flinch at my tone. "Stop fucking around, Vogue. This is serious."

My nervous laughter dies as quickly as it erupted. Serious is my middle name—or it might as well be, considering the shitstorm that's been my life up to and including this moment. "Alright," I say. "Let's say I do this?—"

"You will do this," he interrupts.

"Fine," I snap back, defiant even in acceptance. "What about them?" I jerk my head back toward where the guys stand, pretending not to eavesdrop but failing miserably. Even Adam looks interested, and that's a fucking first.

"They have their roles to play." The certainty in his voice chills me to the core. "And they know it."

Turning to look at them, I see it then: the resolve etched into each of their faces. They signed up for this. It's the endgame to end all endgames. Fuck. That's some forward fucking planning. Jesus.

"Understood." I nod once, firmly.

Dad nods, satisfaction clear in his stance. "You will shine," he murmurs.

"I hope so," I murmur back.

The moment stretches, taut as a wire. I turn away from Dad and go to my guys.

"Everything good?" Harry's voice cuts through the hum of post-ceremony chatter, a low rumble that doesn't betray the weight behind the words.

"Define ‘good,'" I quip, but there's no laugh following, just a heavy silence that hangs over us like a storm cloud. "You are all a bunch of pricks."

"We know," Callum states. "But you love us anyway?"

"I do," I say with a smile, unable to stay angry with them.

There's a heartbeat of silence, and then Quentin steps forward, his presence grounding. "We've got you, Vogue. Always."

Thayer grins and says, "We're part of your life. That means we've got a stake in this too."

"Damn right," Harry affirms, and the fierce loyalty in his eyes burns bright enough to chase away any lingering shadows of doubt in my mind.

"Thank you," I manage, the words thick with emotion I don't have time to indulge.

Their nods are all the answer I need—solidarity without suffocation.

"Then let's get ready to play the game," Cal says, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "And win."

"Play and win," I echo, letting the power of those words sink in. My pulse steadies, determination crystallising with every second. This isn't about stepping into darkness; it's about owning it, shaping it to my will.

I feel the full weight of my decision settles around me. It's heavy, but not unbearable. I square my shoulders, ready for whatever comes next. The Crowned Syndicate might be a beast in the shadows, but I'm not just any piece on the chessboard anymore—I'm the Queen now, and I will topple anyone who tries to come at us, without hesitation.