Page 67 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

I curl against Liam as the car pulls away from the Celestial, heading north toward home.

We spend most of our time there now, only coming into the city when we have to.

I watch the Manhattan skyline shrinking behind us, remembering how I used to be terrified of open spaces.

How just the thought of leaving the tower would send me into a spiral of panic.

Now I crave space—the woods surrounding our house, the lake we swim in on hot days, the endless sky at night so full of stars it makes my throat tight.

It’s taken a while, but time, the drugs finally out of my body, and my father’s death took me most of the way.

Liam took me the rest, literally opening the world for me.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say as we cross the bridge, leaving the city behind. “About what’s next.”

Liam glances over, curious. “For the company?”

“For us.”

His hand finds mine, our fingers twining together with the easy intimacy that still surprises me sometimes. “I’m listening.”

“I want to sell the Reed Tower penthouse.”

The words hang between us. I’ve been holding onto the place despite barely using it, unable to let go of that last connection to my childhood.

Not to my mother—I have Lydia Cosmetics for that—but to the few happy memories that have come back to me.

My mother singing me to sleep, teaching me to draw, chasing me around the tower in a silly game of tag.

But those memories are of my mother, not the tower.

And now that I have them back, I know she will always be with me.

“You sure?” he asks after I tell him all that. “You spent seven years there with her.”

“I did. But even though I have so many good memories back, it’s still the place where she died.” I turn to face him. “The truth is, it’s not home. It hasn’t been for a long, long time. But you are, Liam. Wherever you are—that’s home to me now.”

Something raw flashes across his face, there and gone in a blink. “Princess …”

“I’m thinking we keep Connecticut as our main place,” I continue, letting him process. “Maybe get a small place in SoHo. Neutral territory. Not Reed, not Grimm. Just ours.”

“Ours,” he repeats, like he’s testing how the word feels in his mouth. “I like that.”

The countryside starts opening up around us, familiar and somehow still new. The last six months have changed everything. I still have nightmares sometimes—my father, the drugs, the years I lost to his control—but I never face them alone.

When they wake me up at night, Liam’s there, his arms around me, his voice soothing me until the ghosts fade away.

He gets trauma in a way nobody else in my life ever has—the way it sticks to you, shapes you, blindsides you when you least expect it.

Now, he turns to smile at me. Have I told you how good Connecticut looks good on you?”

I laugh, delighted. “I’m glad. “It’s the first place that’s ever been mine,” I tell him. “Well, ours.”

He grins at the correction, and I marvel again at how this man—this complicated, dangerous, brilliant, fucked-up man—makes me feel safe. Seen. We’ve both lived in shadows our whole lives, and somehow, together, we’ve found our way into some kind of light.

The driver steers the car down the long drive to the house, trees arching overhead like a tunnel leading from the real world to our own magical realm. I roll down my window and breathe in the smell of pine and earth and flowers and greenery.

“We’ve come a long way,” I say, watching the forest open to glimpses of the house ahead.

“That we have,” he agrees, squeezing my hand.

When we reach the house, Liam insists on carrying me over the threshold like we’re some newlywed couple instead of two people who’ve been living together for months. I laugh but let him do it, loving the easy strength in his arms as he lifts me into the foyer.

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask when he sets me down.

“Just celebrating the victory,” he says, but there’s something else about him—a nervousness I’ve never seen from him.

He leads me into the living room, where a small wooden box sits on the coffee table. It’s beautiful, made from dark polished wood with intricate carvings that catch the late afternoon light.

“What’s this?”

“Something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he says, guiding me to sit beside him on the couch. His face goes serious. “It belonged to my mother. One of the few things I have of hers.”

My chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice. Rebecca’s death is a wound that never really healed.

“Elias gave it to me when I turned eighteen,” he adds, running his finger over the carved surface. “It was one of the few nice things that man ever did for me. He told me it was her favorite thing, and she used it to hold other things that were precious to her.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, genuinely moved that he would share this with me.

From his pocket, he pulls out a tiny golden key. “I’ve only opened it twice. I’ve been saving what’s inside for the right moment. For the right person.

The weight of what he’s offering hits me like a punch to the chest. This man, who’s spent his whole life protecting himself from vulnerability, is giving me something he’s kept private all these years.

“You sure?” I ask.

He places the key in my palm, closing my fingers around it. “I’m sure. Because I trust you. Because I love you.”

My throat goes tight as I carefully push the key into the lock. It turns with a soft click, and I gently lift the lid.

Inside, nestled on faded velvet, is a ring—a diamond on a delicate gold band that catches the light streaming through the windows.

“Liam …” I whisper, suddenly understanding. He takes my hand, his expression more open and vulnerable than I’ve ever seen it. “Sasha Reed, will you marry me?”

The question shouldn’t surprise me—we’ve been heading here for months—but it does. Not the question itself, but the raw emotion behind it. The complete openness from a man who’s spent his life hiding behind walls.

“Yes.” I whisper, then louder, “oh, yes.”

His smile is like sunrise—slow and beautiful and inevitable. He takes the ring from its velvet bed and slides it onto my finger. Perfect fit, because Liam Grimm would never leave something like that to chance.

“It’s not an heirloom,” he says. “Other than the box, I don’t have any heirlooms. But I thought we could start our own traditions, collect our own heirlooms.”

“I love that,” I say as I gaze at the ring on my hand, feeling gooey and safe and loved.

The ring is a symbol that I belong to him. That we belong to each other. Not a cage, not a claim, but a promise. A partnership.

I glance at the box, then back to Liam. “She would have loved you,” I say, the words coming from someplace deeper than thought. “She would have been proud of the man you are.”

His arms go around me, pulling me close, and I feel the slight tremor in his body—this powerful man who’s letting me see his heart.

“I love you,” I say, the words still feeling new and precious on my tongue.

“I love you too, Princess,” he replies. “Every difficult, extraordinary bit of you.”

As he leads me toward our bedroom, I feel something settle inside me—a peace I never thought possible, a certainty about the road ahead.

It won’t be perfect. Liam will always struggle with his need to control everything, to protect what’s his.

I’ll always push back, demand my space, insist on being an equal partner.

But we’ll figure it out together.

And now, for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the future. I’m hungry for it.