Page 41 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Thirty-One

High Society

T he crowd swirls around me, a kaleidoscope of designer gowns and perfectly tailored tuxedos. The top of Grimm Tower has been transformed into the most breathtaking display of wealth I’ve ever witnessed—and that’s saying a lot.

Massive ice sculptures catch the moonlight, reflecting the glow onto the rare orchids from Southeast Asia that cascade from custom-built crystal pergolas.

Champagne fountains flow endlessly. And the glittering Manhattan skyline provides a backdrop that makes even my father’s lavish galas seem quaint in comparison.

A server in white gloves offers me a glass of champagne from a tray.

Not just any champagne—Dom Pérignon White Gold Jeroboam.

I recognize the distinctive bottle that costs more than most people’s monthly rent.

Alexander Grimm doesn’t just serve expensive champagne—he serves the kind of champagne that becomes legend in society columns.

I smooth the front of my gown, hyperaware of every eye that turns my way as Liam guides me through the sea of New York’s elite.

My mind races, and I search out every exit, wanting to ensure I can get inside quickly if I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of the space surrounding this opulent enclave.

As we stroll, I catch snippets of whispered conversations, some admiring, others suspicious. The pressure of their stares makes my skin prickle, but Liam’s steady presence beside me acts as an anchor.

In one corner, a famous tech billionaire negotiates with a Saudi prince while pretending they’re just chatting about the weather.

Near the edge of the terrace where the glass barriers provide an illusion of safety, the heiress to a banking fortune I met three years ago laughs too loudly with a designer whose latest collection costs more than what most Americans make in a year.

This is wealth so extreme it has its own gravity, pulling everyone into carefully calculated orbits.

“Sasha! Darling! What a surprise to see you here.” Carole Van Ryan, one of my father’s oldest associates, leans in to kiss both my cheeks. Her meticulously sculpted silver hair gleams under the twinkling lights, setting her diamond choker—that must be worth millions—afire.

She glances at Grimm, then back to me. “I have to confess that I’m surprised to see you here. There’s been such a kerfluffle of gossip about your engagement to Mr. Bane.”

She smiles, letting a pause hang in the air. When my silence passes the point of rudeness, she turns to Grimm. “And you’re Ms. Reed’s escort for the night? Do set the rumor mill to rest. Everyone’s all atwitter about whether you kidnapped Ms. Reed from the gala or eloped.”

“What delightful stories,” Grimm says, then gestures to include the entire roof as he lightly presses his hand to the small of my back. “We really should mingle.”

“But-but you’re well?”

I pause in the act of stepping away and look over my shoulder. “I am,” I assure her, my society smile firmly in place. “In fact, I’m finding that independence suits me.”

“Oh. Well, yes.” Her gaze shifts meaningfully to Grimm. “And in such unexpected company. Your father must be beside himself.”

“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t spoken recently,” I say smoothly.

Her eyes widen behind what I’m certain are thirteen-thousand-dollar designer frames.

“My dear, surely you know he’s been telling everyone you’ve been abducted?

There’s quite the reward for information on your whereabouts.

” She leans in, her perfume—custom-blended, no doubt—clouding around us. “Some are saying ten million.”

I force myself not to react. “How interesting. But I promise that Mr. Grimm hasn’t abducted me. I make a show moving closer as his arms goes around my waist. “The farthest thing from that, in fact.”

“Oh,” she says, looking scandalized.

The whole situation is so surreal it’s all I can do not to laugh.

“Sasha!” A booming voice cuts through the ambient chatter. Maxwell Hartwell III, banking magnate and notorious gossip, approaches with his third wife trailing behind him. The diamonds in her ears could fund a small country’s infrastructure. “Is it true? You left poor Desmond at the altar?”

“Hardly the altar, Max,” I correct, feeling Liam tense beside me. “Just an unfortunate announcement.”

“Not according to Desmond,” Maxwell says, his expression gleefully scandalized.

“He’s here tonight, you know. Telling anyone who’ll listen that the engagement is absolutely still on.

Says your various … conditions … made you nervous and you simply needed to retreat home. Temporary setback, he called it.”

I feel my heart stutter. “Desmond is here?”

“Over by the east terrace. With the Ashcroft-Hathaways.” Maxwell’s eyes dart between Liam and me, clearly cataloging every detail for later gossip.

Liam’s hand presses against my bare back, a silent reassurance. “If you’ll excuse us,” he says, his tone making it clear it’s not a request.

“We need to leave,” I whisper to Grimm. “I can’t see Desmond. Who knows what he’ll do—to me and to you.”

“Desmond Bane is a monster,” Grimm confirms, “but I believe you’ve called me the same on more than one occasion.”

I grimace. “That was before I knew you.”

He coughs out a laugh. “Your opinion hasn’t changed, Princess. We both know that. But at the moment, I’m your monster.”

I meet his eyes, seeing both humor and heat. It’s the latter that seems to zing down my body to rest between my thighs.

“Why can’t we go now? We’re here. We’ve mingled. I’m clearly functioning.”

“Your father can’t be able to argue that we came in, made one lap, and bolted.”

I want to argue, but he has a point.

As we continue weaving in and out among the guests, a waiter appears with a silver tray of appetizers so tiny and artfully arranged they look more like jewelry than food. Liam takes one and offers it to me—a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by the socialites tracking our every move.

“You know, darling,” purrs a voice that drips old money and malice, “everyone’s talking about your little …

escapade.” Marguerite Wellington, heir to a hotel fortune and my father’s occasional business partner, scrutinizes me through a jewel-encrusted lorgnette that must date back generations.

“Running from your own engagement party? Very dramatic. Very … Reed.”

She adjusts the strap of her gown. “Your father called me personally, you know. Frantic with worry.” Her smile is shark-like. “Now I see his concern was … misplaced.”

“Marguerite,” Liam cuts in, his voice glacier-cold. “I wasn’t aware Alexander had lowered the barrier to entry quite so dramatically for tonight’s event.”

Her face tightens, but before she can respond, a commotion near the spiral staircase that connects the top floor of the tower to this outdoor space draws our attention.

A young socialite has arrived, her entrance punctuated by a shower of rose petals that float down over the crowd.

The extravagance isn’t what’s impressive—it’s the casual assumption that everyone else should pause their evening to acknowledge her arrival.

Liam turns to me. “Give her a few more years and she’ll learn that money doesn’t buy attention.”

“Doesn’t it?” I ask, trying to ignore how his breath on my skin sends shivers down my spine.

“No,” he says simply. “Power does. And power isn’t always measured in dollars.”

We move through the crowd, his body shielding me from curious onlookers who either sneak peeks at me or boldly stare, as if waiting for me to break down.

“Ignore them,” Grimm says, as if he can hear my tangled thoughts. Maybe he can. God knows I’ve come to feel closer to this man in the last few days than anyone else in my life other than Ruby. Ironic and strange and scary. But somehow warm and wonderful too.

“Are you okay?” He pulls me to a stop, his eyes skimming over me as if searching for bruises.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just this week’s gossip. It will pass.”

“And the roof? Being up here?”

“Also fine,” I say, warmed by the genuine concern in his voice. “Really. I didn’t even cringe when Alex stepped so close to the edge.”

I don’t know if it’s because the meds are mostly out of my system or because of the man standing beside me, but the expanse of sky and city that stretches out around us isn’t terrifying tonight. On the contrary, it seems almost soothing. Like a visual metaphor telling me that anything is possible.

I’d first noticed the change during the helicopter ride to Grimm Tower.

Despite the height and the stomach-dropping sensation of takeoff, I’d remained calm.

Centered. The panic I’d expected never materialized—just a flutter of anxiety that Grimm’s hand on mine had easily quieted.

There’s something about him, I realize. A way he has of making me feel safe.

Protected. As if nothing can truly harm me while he’s near.

The thought is both comforting and terrifying. What happens when this is over? Will Grimm still be here, or will he disappear once he’s gotten what he wanted?

I have to fight to keep smiling, because the idea of him walking away makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with agoraphobia.

As we continue to navigate the crowd, I hear snippets of the gossip that’s spreading through the event like wildfire.

“That’s Victor Reed’s daughter. Isn’t she?—”

“— heard she was?—”

“—against her will?—”

Grimm and I share a smug look—the plan to get me noticed is clearly working, and by the time we leave, well over a hundred witnesses will have seen me functioning on this platform in the sky, just as sane and stable as everyone else.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s a reason to celebrate, and I take a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter.

“—look at the way Liam Grimm keeps her close. I heard they eloped after?—”