Page 60 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Forty-One

Surrender

T he aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries surrounds me when I emerge from the bedroom the next morning. For a moment, I’m transported back to Connecticut—to lazy mornings on the terrace, watching mist rise from the valley below, Liam’s presence a steady comfort beside me.

But this isn’t Connecticut. This is Reed Tower, and the man arranging breakfast on my dining table carries the weight of betrayal on his shoulders, visible in the careful precision of his movements, in the tension that shows when he hears me enter.

He turns, and the hope in his eyes is so naked that I almost look away. I’ve never seen Liam Grimm like this—uncertain, exposed, stripped of the control he wears like armor.

“Good morning.” His voice is carefully neutral despite the emotion evident in his expression.

“Morning,” I reply, moving to the table where he’s laid out a spread that reminds me painfully of our time together—croissants, fresh berries with cream, coffee in my favorite mug.

I take my seat, noticing that he’s put my note at the center of the table. Have breakfast waiting, and we’ll talk - S

I look at him—really look at him—for the first time since Maya dropped her bomb. He’s lost weight, making the angles of his face sharper, more pronounced. I see shadows under his eyes, too, evidence of more than a few sleepless nights.

I want to pull him close and hold him tight, but I force myself to stay put. I’m still not sure if what I need can mesh with what he’s capable of giving.

We eat in silence for a few moments, the tension between us so thick I almost feel I should add a third place-setting.

Finally, I’m unable to take the silence any longer. “Why Killiam?” I ask. “Of all the ways you could have interacted with me in Elysium, why choose to become the prince who Vale loved?”

He doesn’t flinch from the question, though I see the effort it costs him to maintain his composure.

“It wasn’t planned,” he says. “I’d been in there for months, watching you build this incredible world, seeing who you were when you thought no one was looking, and realizing I liked that woman.

” He draws a breath, lifts one shoulder in a tiny shrug.

“I wanted to know you—not the woman your father let the world see. And in Elysium, you were real in a way you couldn’t be anywhere else. ”

“So you manipulated me. You used Elysium to learn what I wanted, what I fantasized about, and you used what you learned to become closer and closer to me. To Vale.”

“Yes. It was selfish and invasive and wrong. And that’s exactly what I did.”

The straightforward acknowledgment both surprises and disarms me.

“When did it change? When did it become more than surveillance?”

His brow furrows as he considers the question.

“I’m not sure there was a single moment.

It was gradual—seeing your creativity, your resilience, your determination to create something beautiful despite being trapped.

I started looking forward to our meetings in Elysium more than I should have.

And I started thinking about you even when I wasn’t monitoring the system. ”

“Me? Or Vale?”

He meets my eyes. “I was learning that there isn’t much difference.”

I look away, because he’s right.

“And after?” I say, once I’ve gathered myself. “When you took me from the gala and demanded everything as payment—was that just an extension of the game? Another way to possess me?”

“At first, maybe. I told myself it was about revenge, about using you against your father. But Sasha,” he says as he leans forward, “from the moment you were actually in my life—the real you, not Vale—nothing went according to plan. You weren’t what I expected.

You were … more. Hell, Princess, you were everything to me. You are everything.”

His words melt me a little, which is why I lash out, my voice sharpened by the pain in my heart. “You lied, dammit. Every day, every moment we were together, you knew this massive truth about us—about our connection—and you didn’t say a thing.”

“I was afraid,” he admits, clutching his napkin like a life raft. “I’ve been through all kinds of hell in my life, and there’s nothing I haven’t faced down. But you fucking terrified me.”

I shake my head, not understanding.

“Dammit, don’t you get it? I was afraid that if you knew, you’d leave. That you’d never be able to look at me without seeing the violation. And since I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, what choice did I have but to stay silent?”

“Even if that meant our relationship was based on lies?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t attempt to soften or excuse it. “I did that. And I have to live with it, whether you forgive me or not.”

We fall silent again, the weight of truth hanging heavy between us. I study him across the table, this man who has been both my jailer and my liberator, my deceiver and my protector. The contradictions seem impossible to reconcile.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” I say honestly, unable to look at him. “I want to,” I say to the tabletop, “but I don’t know if I can.”

“I know.” His voice is rough with emotion. “I won’t blame you if you can’t.”

I lift my head, drawn to look at him by the intensity of his voice. “But if you give me the chance, I will spend every day proving that what we found in Tribeca and locked down in Connecticut was real. That what I feel for you is real, regardless of how it began.”

There it is—the question that’s been haunting me since Maya’s revelation. Was any of it real? The connection, the understanding, the sense of finally being truly seen?

“I want to show you something,” I say, making a decision.

I stand, then lead him into my studio. I cross to an easel in the corner, removing the cloth that covers my most recent work.

It’s a painting of the Connecticut house, rendered in oils with painstaking detail—the glass and stone gleaming in morning light, the forest surrounding it in vibrant greens and golds.

“You painted this?” he asks, genuine surprise in his voice.

I nod. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the life we had there.” I shrug. “I guess I was trying to hold on to a piece of it.”

His eyes move from the painting to my face, and I see something like hope kindling in that vibrant blue. “It’s beautiful,” he says.

“It was,” I agree quietly. “What we had there was beautiful, Liam. And I think … I think parts of it were real. The parts that matter.”

“All of it was real for me,” he says, his voice low and intense. “Every moment, every conversation, every touch. The deception was in how we got there, not what we found once we arrived.”

I turn to face the window, the view of Manhattan spread out below, so different from the peaceful forest surrounding his Connecticut home. “There’s something else I need to show you.”

Moving to the window, I step onto the small fire escape outside.

“Sasha,” he says, and there’s so much joy in his voice that I know he understands.

“It’s still there” I tell him. “The fear. But it doesn’t control me anymore.” I turn to face him, the wind tugging at my hair. “That’s because of you. Because you showed me I was stronger than I thought. That I could face the things that frightened me.”

Something shifts in his expression—hope warring with caution, as if he doesn’t dare believe what he’s hearing. When he extends a hand to help me back inside, I take it, and I don’t let go once I’m safely back in the apartment.

“When I found out about Elysium, about Prince Killiam, I was shattered. I thought everything between us was just another manipulation, another cage built by someone who wanted to control me.”

“It wasn’t?—”

“I was wrong,” I say. “What happened in Connecticut was something new—something honest, despite how it began.”

I see the hope on his face, and I take a deep breath.

Then I say the words I’ve been pondering for days.

“I think we’re meant to be together,” I tell him, looking down at our interlocked fingers.

“All the twisted paths that brought us here … they led us to something real. Something worth fighting for.”

The relief that crosses his face is almost painful to witness—a man who expected condemnation finding grace instead. “Sasha …”

I step closer, wanting to feel his warmth, to see the storm of emotions in his eyes. “We can’t go back to how things were. But maybe we can build something new. Something based on truth this time.”

He lifts his hand, then kisses the back of mine. Then he lets go and cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip in a way that’s achingly familiar.

“I love you,” he says, the words simple and devastating in their sincerity. “I have for longer than I’ve been willing to admit, even to myself.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper. “That’s what scares me most.”

When he kisses me, it’s not the passionate claiming I’ve come to expect from Liam Grimm.

It’s gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid I might disappear if he asks for too much.

I’m the one who deepens it, pressing closer, letting my body communicate what words can’t fully express—that despite everything, despite the lies and betrayal, what exists between us is powerful enough to survive.

We stumble toward the bedroom, a tangle of hungry kisses and determined hands that can’t get enough of each other. By the time we crash onto the bed, we’re both half-undressed and fully desperate, tearing at our remaining clothes like they’ve personally offended us.

There’s something frantic about the way we reach for each other now—like we need to erase the distance with our bodies that we’ve already bridged with words.

The rest of our clothes are ripped off, tossed aside, and then he’s above me, looking down with an expression of such raw vulnerability that it takes my breath away.

In this moment, stripped of all pretense and deception, Liam Grimm is more naked than I’ve ever seen him—not just physically, but emotionally.

The man who always maintains control, who plans ten steps ahead, is utterly present in this moment, holding nothing back.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

“You almost did,” I admit, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

He lowers his head, pressing his forehead to mine, our breath mingling in the charged space between us. “I will never lie to you again,” he promises. “Not about anything, no matter how difficult the truth might be.”

“I’m holding you to that,” I say, then pull him down for a kiss that closes the last of the distance between us.

What follows is unlike any of our previous encounters—more intense for the honesty that now exists between us, more passionate for having nearly been lost. He worships my body with hands and mouth, atoning for betrayal by bathing me in pleasure, and I respond in kind, claiming him as mine despite everything that should have torn us apart.

When he finally enters me, the sensation is both familiar and new.

A fresh intensity. A deeper connection so that when that glorious release finally comes, it’s shattering.

A wave that crests and breaks, flinging us both into ecstasy.

He collapses beside me, gathering me against him as if still afraid I’ll disappear.

I curl into his embrace, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear.

“We should go back to Connecticut,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice heavy with satisfied exhaustion.

“Yes,” I agree, the thought of returning to the peaceful sanctuary of his home—our home—is deeply appealing. “But not yet. There are things I need to handle here first.”

“Reed Cosmetics?”

I nod. “I can’t keep avoiding my responsibilities. My mother’s legacy deserves better than that.”

His arms tighten around me. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

“I know,” I say, snuggling close.

We lay in silence for a while, my finger tracing patterns on his chest as I let my mind wander. Minutes pass, maybe hours, and somewhere in there we begin to talk. The garden at the Connecticut house, plans to monetize Elysium, trips we want to take together, the future of Reed Cosmetics.

“I think I want to rebrand in a way that honors my mother.”

“Lydia Cosmetics?” he suggests.

“Maybe. But maybe something even bigger than a name change. I don’t know.” I trace patterns on his chest, thinking. “And, of course, I still want to market Elysium.”

“You’ll be a busy woman.” He nips my ear. “It’s very sexy.”

I laugh. “There’s a way to motivate me to get busy. You’ll help me?”

He strokes my hair, smiling in a way that tells me he likes it short just as much. “I will always help you.”

I smile as we slide into an easy back and forth. There’s still a wound from his betrayal, but it’s overshadowed by the potential of what we might build together.

Eventually, conversation gives way to comfortable silence, and then to sleep, and for the first time since leaving Connecticut, I know I’ll sleep soundly, his presence more powerful than the ghosts of the past that haunt Reed Tower.