Page 43 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

I’m finishing my cake and am stealing a bit of Grimm’s when I spot Leo Grimm in the crowd. He flashes the same rakish grin that’s been splashed across the society pages at least a hundred times, then heads our way.

“The prodigal princess returns,” he says, his voice carrying that same irreverent tone that seems embedded in his DNA.

“And looking far too good for my brother’s company.

” He glances between me and Liam. “Quite the splash you two are making,” he adds, looking more than a little amused by the farce of it all.

“I know Liam already spoke to you,” I say, “but if you don’t stay away from Ruby, I’ll be kicking your ass, too.”

“The lady speaks! And with such authority.” He grins, unrepentant. “I was merely being hospitable to a guest at our family’s affair.”

I lift a brow. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

He looks pointedly between me and Grimm. “Affair?”

“Hospitable,” I say. “I think the word you’re actually looking for is harassment.”

Leo holds his hands up. “Hey, I already said I’d give her space.”

“You did,” I agree. “I just don’t think you’re a man of your word.”

He turns to Liam. “I’ll talk to you later, bro.” He shoots a sideways glance at me. “And you’re right about that one. No doubt there.”

“Right?” I ask once Leo’s swallowed up by the crush of guests.

“That you’re the loveliest woman here,” he says, and while I don’t believe him, what woman in her right mind would argue with a compliment like that?

“I’m going to grab us some champagne to go with this,” Grimm says. “Don’t move.”

As he slips away through the crowd, I take another bite, closing my eyes to savor the rich flavor.

I’m so lost in chocolate heaven that I don’t immediately notice the shift in the air, like the temperature has suddenly dropped.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I know he’s there before I even turn around.

“There’s my beautiful fiancée.”

Desmond Bane’s voice slithers over me like oil on water. His smile is practiced. Perfect. The kind that appears in society magazines but it never reaches his eyes. Those remain cold and calculating. The eyes of a predator assessing its next meal.

He seems to think that will be me.

He steps closer, seeming to materialize from the crowd as if conjured by my worst fears. In his impeccable tuxedo with a massive gold watch that probably cost more than most people’s homes, he looks like success personified. Only those who know him—really know him—see the darkness underneath.

“I’m not your fiancée.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “I never was.”

His smile doesn’t falter, but something flickers in his eyes—a flash of rage quickly masked. “A momentary misunderstanding, darling. Your father and I have already discussed it. The announcement was merely … premature.”

I scan the crowd for Grimm, spotting him at the bar, his back to us as he waits for the champagne. I consider shouting for him, but it’s not as if Bane has me at knifepoint.

I can handle this. I’m clear enough now to fight my own battles.

“It wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I say, lifting my chin. “It was a mistake. One that won’t be repeated.”

Desmond’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes harden to chips of ice. “Your father is quite determined about this match.”

“I don’t care how determined he is,” I say. “I won’t marry you.”

“We’ll see.” His smile is triumphant now. “The guardianship hearing is coming up fast. Once your father regains control, you’ll find yourself with significantly fewer options.”

The cake turns to ash in my mouth. Even if he can’t legally force me to marry Desmond, my father could make my life unbearable until I comply.

“Your father and I are very like-minded when it comes to managing … difficult situations,” Desmond continues.

“I’ve had the south wing of my estate redecorated for you.

Soundproofed, of course. For privacy.” He leans closer, dropping his voice.

“I know how easily startled you can be. All those … delicate nerves.”

My stomach twists. I know what he means—no one would hear me scream.

“There you are.”

Grimm’s voice cuts through my rising panic as he materializes at my side, two champagne flutes in hand. His tone is casual, but I can feel the tension radiating from him as he assesses the situation.

“Liam Grimm. I wondered which brother would be playing white knight tonight.” His smile widens, showing too many teeth. “Though I must say, the bastard son seems an … unusual choice.”

“Better a bastard than a butcher,” Liam replies, his voice soft but razor-sharp.

Desmond chuckles, a sound utterly devoid of humor.

“Such melodrama. And here I thought the Grimms were known for their business acumen, not their theatrics.” He turns to me, ignoring Grimm completely.

“It’s interesting to see the company you’re keeping these days, Sasha. Your father will be … fascinated.”

“Is there something you wanted, Bane?” Grimm asks, handing me one of the champagne flutes before sliding his arm around my waist. “Other than to make uncomfortable small talk with my date?”

“Date?” Desmond’s eyebrows rise. “Is that what this is? Interesting. Tell me, is she simply a convenient weapon against Victor, or is there more to it?” His gaze slides to me, then back to Liam. “She is exquisite, I’ll grant you that. Though perhaps a bit … fragile for your tastes.”

“Unlike your previous wives?” Liam’s voice is casual, but the threat underneath is unmistakable.

For just a moment, Desmond’s mask slips. Something vicious and ugly flashes across his face before the polished veneer snaps back into place. “Careful, Grimm. Accidents happen so easily. Especially to those already prone to mishaps.”

He turns to me, taking my hand before I can pull away. His fingers are cool and dry, his grip just tight enough to be uncomfortable.

“I’ll see you at the hearing, Sasha.” He brings my hand to his lips, and it takes everything in me not to recoil. “Do try to look your best. You know how I appreciate … presentation.”

As he walks away, mingling effortlessly back into the crowd, my knees weaken, and the fear I’ve been holding in crashes over me in waves.

“He can’t—” I start, my voice shaking. “My father can’t?—”

Liam’s arm tightens around my waist, steadying me. “He won’t,” he says, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “I promise you, Sasha. That will never happen.”

I look up at him, searching his face for reassurance. What I see there isn’t just determination but genuine anger—not the cold calculation of someone using me as a pawn, but the protective rage of someone who genuinely cares.

“Drink,” he says, nodding toward the champagne in my hand. “And breathe. Don’t let him see that he got to you.”

I take a sip, then a deeper breath, forcing myself to regain composure. Across the terrace, I see Desmond standing beside Alexander Grimm, both of them watching us with calculated interest. Desmond raises his glass in a mock toast, that predatory smile never leaving his face.

“I need to get some air,” I say, turning toward the less crowded side of the terrace.

“This entire event is outside,” Grimm says, but his expression softens as he follows my gaze back to where Desmond stands. “But I know what you mean. Come on.”

He leads me away from the main crowd toward a quieter corner with a cluster of chairs and a plush couch. He sits, pulling me down beside him. He puts an arm around my shoulder, and I lean in, welcoming the comfort he’s offering.

“He’s a monster.”

Liam’s hand finds mine, his fingers warm and strong as they intertwine with my own. “Good. That means he can be defeated.”

I turn to face him, suddenly desperate to believe in something—in someone—who can keep the darkness at bay. “How can you be so sure?”

His eyes meet mine, steady and certain. “Because this time the princess isn’t facing the dragon alone.”

My smile falls somewhere between giddy and shy as I whisper, “Thanks, Grimm.”

He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes me feel as if he can see straight through to my core. “You know, you could call me Liam.”

I still have the cake, and I take another bite before answering. “You’re Grimm to me. The man I used to not trust who now brings me cake.” I meet his eyes, feeling my cheeks heat. “Unless you’d rather I call you Liam?”

For a moment, he says nothing, then he smiles, slow and deliciously sexy. “That’s okay, Princess. You can call me whatever you like,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that seems to vibrate through my entire body. “So long as I can call you mine.”

The possessiveness should alarm me. After a lifetime of being my father’s property, I should recoil from anyone staking a claim. But that’s not how I feel.

Instead, a sense of belonging crests inside of me. Something that has nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with choice.

“That seems fair,” I say, the words barely above a whisper.

He lifts his hand to cup my cheek. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, and I lean into it without thinking. “Say it,” he urges, his eyes never leaving mine. “Say you’re mine, Princess. Say that I own you. All of you.”

It’s a demand, not a request. Controlling. Maybe even a bit manipulative.

But it’s real, too. And there is a choice buried inside.

And even though the choice I will make is inevitable, somehow it still feels real.

Mine.

Just like I am his.

“I am,” I whisper. “I’m yours.” And the words feel like the truest thing I’ve ever said.

The kiss is gentle at first, even sweet. Then it slides into something wild. Something like claiming. Something primal and hot that completely makes me forget that we’re in the middle of a crowded party.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me close as his mouth moves against mine with a hunger that matches my own. I hear the distinctive click of cameras and phones—but can’t bring myself to care.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my heart hammering against my ribs. The world around us seems distant, muted, as if we exist only in our own pocket of reality.

“Your brother will have a field day with those photos,” I murmur, nodding toward the photographers who are now pretending not to stare.

“Let him,” Liam says, his arm wrapping around my waist. “I’m not hiding this. Not hiding you.”

The words warm me from the inside out, but reality intrudes, cold and insistent. “My father will try to use it at the hearing,” I say. “He’ll say you’ve brainwashed me, that I’m being manipulated, that it’s Stockholm syndrome.”

Liam’s expression turns hard, determined. “We have it locked in, Sasha. Your father won’t win this time.”

I frown, doubt creeping in despite his confidence. Ruby’s warning about the Grimm-Reed feud whispers at the back of my mind. What if this is all part of Grimm’s revenge? What if I’m just collateral damage in a war that started before I was even born?

“In my experience, things go wrong more often than they go right,” I say.

“Not anymore,” he says, his voice low and fierce.

And then he’s kissing me again, right there in front of Alexander Grimm’s society guests, press cameras clicking like mad. His arm tightens around me, pulling me against him, and I surrender to the kiss, to him.

In that moment, surrounded by whispers and stares and the weight of who we’re supposed to be, I allow myself to believe him. To trust that this time, things might actually work out the way we hope.

It’s probably na?ve, but as his lips move against mine—as his hands hold me close—I can’t bring myself to care about the risks. The world disappears, and all that remains is this man, this moment, this choice I’m making with my eyes wide open.

For the first time in my life, I’m exactly where I want to be.

And still, Ruby’s warning echoes in my mind: The Grimms have their own agenda. Always have.

I push the thought away, losing myself in Liam’s kiss. Whatever agenda he might have, whatever secrets still lie between us, I’ll face them tomorrow. Tonight is for us—for this fragile, unexpected thing blooming between captor and captive, enemy and ally, Grimm and Reed.

Tonight, I choose to believe in something better than the prisons we’ve both lived in for so long.