Page 137 of The Tower

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.”