Page 121 of The Tower

Liam’s hand squeezes mine gently. “Somewhere special,” he says. “Someplace I want you to see.”

I want to ask for more details, but I’m too wrung out to care. Besides, I trust Grimm to take care of me. And for now, at least, it’s enough to know that wherever we’re heading, it’s away from the chaos, the cameras, and the questions for which I have no answers.

Away, with Liam Grimm—the man who started as my captor, became my protector, and now …

Well, now I don’t know what he is. Not enemy, not exactly an ally. More than just a lover, more than just a friend. He’s something far more complicated. Something I treasure.

And traveling alongside us, invisible but somehow newly present, is the ghost of my mother, whose legacy has unexpectedly found its way back to me.

As the city gives way to suburbs, and suburbs to the lush green of countryside, I let my head rest against Liam’s shoulder, surrendering to exhaustion and the strange peace of finally, truly being my own person.

Free to choose. Free to decide.

Free to be.

Thirty-Seven

Unfettered

As we come up the long, winding drive through acres of lush Connecticut woodland, the trees part to reveal what can only be described as a modern masterpiece of glass, stone, and wood, perfectly integrated into the hillside as if it grew there naturally.

“You live here?” I ask, unable to keep the awe from my voice.

He shrugs, but I can see a hint of pride in his eyes. “When I need space to think.”

The car circles a fountain before stopping at the front entrance—a massive door of polished wood flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows. Grimm steps out first, extending his hand to help me from the car before sending the driver on his way.

I’m still reeling from everything that’s happened today. The hearing. My father’s absence. The revelation about my mother’s company. And now this—a hidden retreat that seems a world away from the chaos we’ve left behind.

He unlocks the door, pushing it open to reveal an interior that’s somehow both minimalist and incredibly warm. Wood and stone and glass again, soaring ceilings and glimpses of forest through enormous windows.

“What do you think?” he asks, watching me carefully as I turn slowly to take in the space. There’s an openness, a sense of freedom in the design that speaks to something deep inside me. After a lifetime of confinement, of walls and locks and constant surveillance, this place feels like freedom.

“It’s incredible,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“That means a lot,” he says. “This place has my blood and sweat.”

“Wait, what? Are you saying you built this place?”

“Every board, every nail. Either by my own hand or with the help of a contractor if it was more than a one-man job.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

He shrugs, looking almost boyish under the praise. “It’s a good way to work off steam,” he says. His lips twitch, and I see a flicker of heat in his eyes. “There are other ways, of course.”

He closes the door behind us, and something in the soft click of the latch shifts the energy between us. We’re alone. Truly alone, perhaps for the first time since this all began. No lawyers. No reporters. No looming threat of my father or his allies.

Just us, and the victory we’ve shared.

He moves closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “How are you feeling about everything?”

The question is simple, but the answer is anything but. How am I feeling? Elated. Terrified. Exhausted. Exhilarated. Free. So many emotions swirling inside me that I can barely identify them, let alone express them.

But there’s one thing I know with absolute certainty—I want him. Here. Now.

“I feel like burning off some steam,” I say, then close the distance between us in two quick steps, my hands finding his face, pulling him down to me. The kiss is hungry, desperate, a collision rather than a meeting.

He responds instantly, his surprise lasting only a fraction of a second before his arms wrap around me. He drives me backward until I’m pinned between the cool surface of the entry wall and the heat of his body. His hips press against mine, hard evidence of his desire making my breath catch. The solid warmth of him, the urgent pressure of his mouth on mine—it feels like the only real thing in a day filled with unreality.