Page 63 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Forty-Three

Hard Reckoning

B y mid-morning, the news is everywhere: “COSMETICS MAGNATE VICTOR REED DEAD IN CONFRONTATION WITH GRIMM HEIR.”

Similar headlines are plastered across every major outlet, each version more sensational than the last. Some paint my father as a tragic figure, others as the villain he truly was.

Some portray Liam as a cold-blooded killer settling a family feud.

Still others spin him as a hero who protected his former enemy—a woman with whom he’d fallen in love—from the father who’d abused her for most of her life.

The last reads like a romance novel and is the closest to the truth. I’m just not sure if it’s a truth I can live with.

Reporters circle Reed Tower like vultures, their cameras and microphones ready to capture even the smallest tidbit to feed their ratings.

Inside, Ruby and I work with a crisis management team on the official statement that acknowledges my father’s death, the past abuse that was revealed at the guardianship hearing, and the new revelation to the public that he killed my mother, his wife.

Other than that, I’ve decided to say nothing.

And I certainly won’t say that I’m sorry he’s dead, as that would be a lie.

But at the same time, I am sorry, because I’d wanted the chance to see justice served. To see him locked up and paying for what he’d done to me.

Liam took that possibility away, and while I don’t know if I can forgive him for that, I do know it’s not something I choose to talk about with the press. The world has had enough peeks into my life. It’s time to draw the curtains and live outside the spotlight as much as I can.

“The board wants an emergency meeting,” Ruby says, tablet in hand as she scrolls through the flood of emails and messages. “They’re freaking out about stability, stock prices, public perception—you know, the usual corporate panic.”

“Of course they are,” I say with a tired sigh. “Schedule it for tomorrow. I need time to get my head straight.”

“And this,” Ruby continues, swiping to another screen, “is the official police report. They released it twenty minutes ago.”

I scan the document, taking in the key points of the carefully worded narrative: Victor Reed, wanted for multiple charges. Confronted by Liam Grimm. An altercation ensued. Reed drew a weapon. Grimm fired once in self-defense. Multiple witnesses corroborated the sequence of events.

Clean. Simple. Believable.

And mostly bullshit.

I set the tablet aside, exhaustion hitting me in waves. “Any word on Desmond Bane?”

“Nothing solid. Leo’s sources say he fled the scene before the shooting.

The thought of Desmond still out there sends an unpleasant chill through me. But I have bigger problems right now—the company, the press, the legal aftermath of my father’s death.

And Liam. Always Liam.

As if summoned by my thoughts, he appears in the doorway, face carefully blank. “The press conference is set for four. Legal has prepared statements for both of us. They think we should appear together—show a united front.”

The sound of his measured voice ignites something in me that I’ve been holding back since our return from the police station.

“Get out,” I say quietly.

Ruby’s head snaps up, eyes widening. Liam remains perfectly still, only the slight tightening of his jaw showing he’s heard me at all.

“Sasha—”

“I said get out,” I repeat, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “Not just my suite. The tower. I don’t want you here.”

Ruby stands awkwardly. “I should probably?—”

“No,” I interrupt. “Liam is leaving. There’s nothing to discuss.”

Liam’s eyes meet mine, searching for something—understanding, maybe, or forgiveness. When he doesn’t find either, he nods once. “The statement?—”

“Will be handled,” I say, cutting him off. “I’ve managed press conferences without you before. I’ll do it again.”

Pain flashes across his face, quickly masked. Good. Let him hurt. Let him feel a fraction of the betrayal he tossed at me.

Without another word, he turns and leaves, his footsteps fading down the corridor. The moment the elevator doors close behind him, my composure cracks. I hug myself as I tremble, furious and scared and mourning the trust that has died between us.

“What the hell happened?” Ruby asks, urging me into a chair. “I mean, I know what happened with your father, but?—”

“It wasn’t self-defense,” I say, forcing the words out past the knot of tears in my throat. “He went there planning to kill my father.”

“Oh, Sasha.”

“I wanted to see that bastard behind bars. Grimm stole that chance.”

“What can I do?” Ruby asks, her hand warm on my shoulder.

I draw a deep breath, pulling myself together piece by piece. “Same as you’ve been doing. We focus on the company. Nothing else matters right now.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to argue, or at least ask about Liam. About what I’m going to do next. Thankfully, she doesn’t. “Okay, then,” she says. “One step at a time. Let’s get through today.”

I nod. “One step at a time.”

The press conference passes in a blur of flashbulbs and shouted questions, and I deliver my statement with the composure expected of a Reed. If the reporters notice Liam’s absence, they don’t push it—not with the Reed legal team flanking me like guard dogs.

By evening, I’m emotionally and physically drained, and as the weight of the day presses down on me, I allow myself a moment of genuine grief—not for the father who had imprisoned and controlled me, but for the father I might have had in some other life, some other reality.

My phone rings, Liam’s name lighting up the screen. I let it go to voicemail, unable to face his voice, his explanations, his justifications. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

When sleep finally comes, it’s broken and shallow, haunted by dreams of my father’s face, of Liam’s hands covered in blood, of towers with no exits and doors with no keys.

Morning brings little relief, but at least the immediate crisis is manageable.

The board meeting goes as well as can be expected—questions answered with calm authority, a path forward outlined.

I present my plans for rebranding as Lydia Cosmetics, honoring my mother’s original vision while propelling the company into the future.

If there are doubts, they’re kept respectfully muted.

Days pass, then a week. Liam continues to call, to text, his messages increasingly desperate, increasingly raw. I read them all but respond to none. What is there to say? How do you begin to address such a fundamental breach of trust?

“He’s a mess, Sasha,” Ruby says one afternoon. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Good,” I reply, the word lacking the conviction I intend.

“Don’t you think you should at least talk to him? Hear his side?”

I look up from the marketing reports spread across my desk, a flurry of thoughts and feelings kicking back up as they do whenever I think of him. Which is pretty much all the time.

The truth is, despite everything, I still love him.

And I miss him with an intensity that frightens me.

But at the same time, he stole something vital from me.

Something he knew I wanted. And, yes, I know he feared that Victor would get to me before I could get him in a courtroom.

But that doesn’t change the truth. It doesn’t give back what he stole.

“I can’t,” I say finally. “Not yet.”

Ruby sighs. “Just think about it, okay? He loves you, Sash. He fucked up, but I truly believe he loves you.”

“I know he does,” I say. “I’m just not sure that’s enough.”

Even without him beside me, Liam Grimm stays in my mind, finding his way into my dreams, my thoughts. Funny things he’d whispered come back to me for no good reason. I shiver suddenly, certain I’d felt the brush of his fingers.

I try to ignore it, pouring all of my focus into reshaping Reed—no, Lydia—Cosmetics to reclaim my mother’s vision while also working on expanding Elysium’s reach. I sleep little and eat less, driven by a restless energy that’s the only thing keeping me upright.

I’m tempted to lose myself in Elysium, but I don’t. I’m too afraid that if Liam is there as Killiam, Vale won’t have the fortitude to walk away. Especially since I’m feeling that fortitude fade in the real world.

It’s nearly midnight on the twentieth day after my father’s death when the elevator to my suite opens without warning. I look up from my laptop to find Liam standing in my living room, disheveled and haggard in a way I’ve never seen him before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect.

“You need to start answering your phone,” he counters, a flicker of his usual intensity briefly visible beneath the exhaustion.

I close my laptop and set it aside, but I stay seated on the couch. “Ruby let you up?”

He just tilts his head and cocks a brow, clearly insulted that I’d think he needed clearance.

Despite myself, I laugh.

“Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for. Five minutes to explain, and then if you still want me gone, I’ll go. For good this time.”

The promise—or threat—of permanence makes me pause. Do I want him gone for good? The thought creates a hollow ache in my chest, an emptiness I can’t ignore.

“Five minutes,” I agree, gesturing to the chair across from me.

He remains standing, too agitated to sit. “I’ve been thinking about what to say, how to explain, for weeks now. And I realized there’s no explanation that makes it right. No justification that erases what I did.”

The admission catches me off guard. I’d expected defenses, rationalizations, clever arguments designed to minimize his guilt.

“So this is going to be a quiet five minutes?”

I see the hope bloom in his eyes, and wish I’d kept my snark to myself.

“I was wrong,” he says simply. “Not just in what I did, but in how I did it. I took a choice from you that wasn’t mine to take, and the truth is I knew better, especially after our talk about Elysium.”

He pauses, as if expecting me to say something. I just look at him, part of me still furious. And another part of me hoping that he knows what to say to get me through to the other side of that anger.

“He was going to take you,” Liam says, his voice rough with emotion. “He had a plan, a team, a facility outside U.S. jurisdiction. He was going to drug you, imprison you, control you.”

Bile rises in my throat, and my skin goes cold.

“I couldn’t—” He breaks off, struggling for composure. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you back in that nightmare. Not when I could stop it.”

“So you appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner,” I say, though the words lack their earlier heat.

“Yes,” he admits. “I did. I told myself it was protection, but it was also—oh, hell, it was like what your father did, I know that. I took a choice that should have been yours. Hell, I took it even though I knew you would have said no. You wanted him alive and tried and imprisoned. I just wanted him gone, because that was the only way I could be certain you could be safe. So, I did what I did. And the truth is, if I had to do it all over again, I don’t know if I’d do it differently. ”

I gape at him. That really wasn’t the speech I’d been expecting.

“But,” he says, taking a step forward, “I do know that I’d tell you first. I’d let you try to talk me down, explain why I have to let the bastard live.

Tell me all your worries about me being the one who ends up behind bars.

And you’d be right. And I’d pull back, and we’d call in the authorities.

He’d still be alive, but he’d be behind bars.

I wouldn’t have the satisfaction of killing him, but I’d have you.

And that matters, Sasha. That matters so much.

Because right now, not having you is killing me. ”

He’s moved closer, and now he kneels in front of me, his hands on my thighs. He lifts one to my face, and I only realize I’m crying when he wipes away a tear. The brutal honesty of everything he’s said has cut deep into my core, and I have to force myself not to pull him close.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he says. “I’m asking for a chance to earn your trust again. To prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

I study him—the shadows under his eyes, the stubble darkening his jaw, the tension radiating from his shoulders. He looks as miserable as I feel, and I want to scream yes , but I have to be smart.

“I need time,” I finally say. “Will you give me that?”

“It’s not mine to give. Take the time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

As he turns to leave, I find myself speaking before I’ve fully formed the thought. “Grimm.”

He pauses, hope flickering briefly in his eyes.

“Thank you,” I say. “For telling the truth. For not trying to justify what you did.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I’m learning,” he says. “Slowly, maybe. But learning.”