Page 76 of Save Me
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.
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 thatmakes 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 justpaper and ink. It’s a key, an entry into chambers of power I’ve only glimpsed through half-open doors.
