Page 59 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Forty

Waiting Game

I feel just as empty when I wake the next morning. Time and sleep have not taken the rough edges from the wounds, and my soul still feels empty.

More, I still want the man who wounded me.

Part of me wants to believe that all of it—my escape with Liam, the revelation of my father’s manipulations, the blissful weeks in Connecticut—was just another elaborate fantasy, an Elysium-like escape from reality.

But the ache in my chest is too real, the betrayal too raw. It happened. Every wonderful, painful moment. And now it’s all gone.

With a sigh, I go through the motions of the day, showering and dressing mechanically, choosing clothes from the vast closet that now seems like a museum of my former life filled with designer pieces I never selected, but that hang here only because my father deemed them appropriate for his living is porcelain doll.

I settle on simple black pants and a white blouse—neutral, forgettable, nothing that would catch a photographer’s eye.

When I enter the sitting room, my heart nearly stops.

Liam Grimm sits in one of the armchairs, looking simultaneously out of place and perfectly at ease. He’s disheveled in a way I’ve never seen before—hair uncombed, stubble darkening his jaw, clothes wrinkled as if he’s been wearing them for too long.

“How did you get in here?” I demand, my voice surprisingly steady.

His eyes meet mine, bloodshot and exhausted. “The same way I get anywhere I want to be.”

“By hacking in. By invading. By watching without permission.” Each accusation comes out sharper than the last.

He doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”

The simple admission, devoid of excuses or justifications, fuels my anger. “Get out.”

“Sasha—”

“Get. Out.” I point toward the door, my arm trembling with suppressed rage.

“I will,” he says, standing slowly as if his body aches. “After you hear what I have to say.”

“I’m not interested in explanations or excuses.”

“Good, because I have neither.” He takes a step toward me, stopping when I instinctively back away. “What I did was wrong. Inexcusable. I knew that even as I was doing it.”

The admission catches me off guard. I expected denials, minimizations, clever rationalizations that would make me question my own outrage.

“Then why?” I ask, the question escaping before I can stop it.

He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. “It started as research. Know your enemy. I needed to know if you were complicit in your father’s actions, if you were just another Reed scheming against my family.”

“And Prince Killiam?” The name tastes like ash on my tongue. “Was that research too?”

A shadow crosses his face. “No. That was … something else.”

“What? A game? A joke? Let’s see how far he can push the poor, delusional Reed girl? Make her think it’s just AI spinning a man for her.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” I demand, fury rising again. “Explain to me how you justified pretending to be someone else, manipulating my desires, violating the one space I thought was truly mine.”

He’s silent for a long moment, his expression raw.

“I can’t justify it,” he says finally. “What started as observation became … fascination. I saw a different Sasha in Elysium—brilliant, creative, strong, nothing like the public persona your father created. The more I watched, the more I wanted … a connection.”

“So you decided to manipulate me. To become my fantasy lover.”

He nods, once again not denying it. “I told myself it was harmless. That in Elysium, we were both playing roles, both becoming something other than ourselves. But the truth is, I wanted to know you in a way your father’s security would never allow in the real world.”

“And after? When you had me in the real world, when I was literally in your bed, following your everything bargain ? You still didn’t tell me.”

“I should have,” he says. “Every day that passed made it harder. How do you tell someone you’ve been spying on their most intimate thoughts? That you know their fantasies, their fears, their desires because you invaded their privacy?”

“You don’t,” I say coldly. “You just keep lying.”

“Yes.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I kept lying. Because I was afraid of losing you.”

The admission hangs between us, raw and honest in a way that makes my chest ache. I want to cling to my anger, to let it shield me from the pain, but his unvarnished confession makes it harder than I expected.

“You should have thought of that before you slid into Prince Killiam,” I say, my voice low but steady. “Before you seduced me in Elysium. Before you built this … this fiction of connection between us.”

“It wasn’t fiction,” he says, a flash of intensity breaking through his mask of careful control. “Not all of it. What I felt for you—what I feel—is real, Sasha.”

He drags his fingers through his hair again. “Hell, it’s the only real thing in my life.”

I shake my head, fighting the dangerous pull of his words. “How would I know? Everything between us started with manipulation and lies. Even if your feelings changed, the foundation is rotten.”

He takes another step toward me, stopping when I raise a hand in warning. “You’re right. But I’m asking you—begging you—for a chance to build something new. Something honest.”

“You stole my agency, Liam. You manipulated things to how you wanted them just like my father did. So you tell me—how the hell am I supposed to trust you again?”

“I don’t know.” His shoulders slump slightly in resignation. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just … time. Space to prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

Part of me—a traitorous, yearning part—wants to give in, to believe that what we shared in Connecticut was real despite the lies that came before. But the wound is too fresh, the betrayal too profound.

“I need you to go,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I need space. To think. To figure out who I am without men who watch me and manipulate me and try to mold me into their version of who I should be.”

Never once would I have thought that Liam Grimm has anything in common with my father, but he doesn’t deny a word of it. In fact, he accepts my edict with grace.

As he moves toward the door, a thought occurs to me. “How did you get past security?”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I told you once—I’m very good at what I do.”

“Which is breaking into places you don’t belong?”

I see the flinch he tries to hide. “Yes,” he agrees. “That’s part of it.”

He pauses at the threshold, turning back to face me, his eyes burning with an intensity that makes my breath catch despite everything. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning. And the next. And the next. For as long as it takes. Also,” he adds with just the flicker of a smile, “I love your haircut.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.

I sink onto the couch, trembling with the aftermath of the confrontation— anger and grief and a confused longing. And, yes, with humor and a touch of pleasure, just because he still likes my hair.

I stifle a sigh, frustrated with my roiling, changing emotions.

How can I still want him, still miss him, after what he did?

Because it wasn’t all a lie , whispers a voice inside me. The connection was real, even if the path to it was twisted.

I push the thought away, unwilling to give him that absolution. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

True to his word, Liam is there the next morning when I emerge from my bedroom. And the morning after that. Each day, he sits in the same chair, waiting patiently for me to acknowledge him, to listen, to give him a chance to explain.

Each day, I send him away.

On the fifth day, I find myself exploding with frustration. “Don’t you have a company to run? A life to lead? Something better to do than sit in my living room every morning?”

He looks up from the book he’s been reading, his expression calm despite the dark circles under his eyes. “No.”

The simple answer deflates my anger, leaving me uncertain how to respond. Each day, he looks more exhausted, as if he’s not sleeping, not eating properly. Part of me—the vengeful part—is glad to see him suffer. But another part worries, despite everything.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, turning away.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But I meant what I said. I’ll be here every day, for as long as it takes.”

“And if it takes forever?”

His eyes meet mine, steady and sure. “Then I’ll be here forever.”

The declaration should sound melodramatic.

Absurd. Instead, it rings with a quiet certainty that makes my heart ache.

This man, who manipulated and deceived me, who broke into my most private sanctuary, is also the man who stood beside me against my father, who showed me what freedom could feel like, who looked at me and saw something more than a pretty face on a billboard or a woman broken by tragedy and the sins of her father.

I turn away, unwilling to let him see the conflict in my eyes. “I’m going out with Ruby today.”

“Tell her I said hello,” he says simply, returning to his book.

The exchange leaves me unsettled for reasons I can’t quite articulate. There’s something about his patient persistence, his willingness to be humbled day after day, that feels more genuine than any flowery apology or dramatic gesture ever could.

Twenty minutes later I’m sitting at a café with Ruby nursing a cup of coffee. “Gotta give him points for persistence,” I admit. “Most men would have given up by now.”

She studies me over the rim of her coffee cup. “No way? Today, too?”

I nod.

“Why hasn’t security been upgraded? Chains added to your door? I’d think that Archie would be all over that,” she adds, referring to the head of security for all of Reed Tower.

I mumble a reply, then sip coffee.

“Sorry. I didn’t quite get that.”

I scowl, but answer. “I haven’t told Archie.”

“Uh-huh. Shall we discuss the works of Freud? I think someone’s got some desires she doesn’t want to acknowledge.”

“Oh, please. It’s infuriating. I just don’t want to bother Archie. He’s got more than enough on his plate.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “I think you’re impressed by his persistence.”

I scowl at her, hating how well she knows me. “That’s not the point.”

She laughs. “Actually, I think you’re a little turned on by it.”

I ignore that part. It hits a little too close to home. “The point is?—”

“The point is,” she begins, talking right over me, “that he fucked up royally. He did something unforgivable by invading the one space that was truly yours.” She leans forward, her expression earnest. “But Sasha, he also owned it. He didn’t make excuses or try to justify it.

He’s just … there. Showing up. Proving he means what he says. ”

“Since when are you on Team Liam?” I demand. “I thought you hated the Grimms.”

“He’s only half-Grimm. And he hates most of them, too. Besides,” she continues before I can slide Leo into the conversation, “what matters is that Liam owned his fuck-up. Unlike certain other men we could name.”

“He was Killiam.”

“Oh, sweetie, I know it’s hard.” She reaches across the table for my hand.

“He was deliberately playing to my desires, knowing exactly what I wanted because he’d been watching me.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was the real him, connecting with the real you without the baggage of your families’ feud. Without the walls both of you built in the real world.”

The thought is simultaneously terrifying and compelling. But the truth is, I’ve seen the real Liam, at least I think I have. And maybe she’s right. Because a lot of the things I love about him are the things that made Killiam so perfect.

Love .

Do I still.love him?

And even if I do, is that enough?

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, the words barely audible.

Ruby squeezes my hand. “Yes, you do. You’re just scared.”

She’s right, of course. Beneath the anger and hurt, there’s a decision I’ve been circling since that first morning Liam showed up in my sitting room, his eyes haunted by exhaustion and remorse.

“What if I’m wrong?” I ask. “What if I forgive him and it happens again—different lie, same betrayal? Stealing my agency, my control, just like Father did?”

“That’s the risk with anyone,” Ruby points out.

“But Sasha, think about what he did when he found out what your father was doing to you. He didn’t just expose it—he stood beside you through all of it.

When Desmond was a threat, he protected you.

When the press was hounding you, he shielded you.

When you needed to escape, he rescued you. ”

Put like that, the ledger seems more balanced than I’ve been willing to admit. Yes, Liam invaded my privacy and built a connection on deception. But he’s also been there for me in a way no one else ever has, not even Ruby.

“I need to think.”

Ruby nods. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen you as happy as you were with him in Connecticut. Not ever.”

The observation follows me back to Reed Tower, echoing in my mind as the elevator rises toward my suite.

Happy . Was that what I felt in those peaceful days and passionate nights?

The emotion seems too simple, too clean for the complex tangle of feelings Liam Grimm inspires in me.

But beneath the complications, Ruby’s right.

I was happy with him. Hell, I was blissful.

Could I be again, knowing what I know now?

As I step into my suite, I find a note waiting on the coffee table, written in Liam’s precise handwriting:

Can we talk over breakfast? - L

I stare at it, still trying to parse out my emotions, trying to truly weigh everything Ruby and I talked about. I’m still unsure. Am I ready to move beyond anger, to hear him out, to consider the possibility of forgiveness?

I pick up the note, running my fingers over the paper, imagining him writing it, hoping I’ll respond. Imagining him returning to whatever sterile hotel room he’s staying in, waiting for a sign that not everything is lost.

Making my decision, I reach for a pen.