Page 128 of The Tower

She clears her throat. “I probably should have said something to you earlier. After all, it’s been going on for three years, give or take.” Maya inspects her manicure, casually gleeful in the wake of this bomb she’s dropped.

“I think it started as opposition research. Know thy enemy’s daughter—that sort of thing. But it became something quite different.”

Three years. Him watching my only private space. My sanctuary. The one corner of the world where I could truly be myself, free from eyes, free from judgment.

All along, he was there. Watching. Invading.

I think of Prince Killiam whose face was hidden for so long. The lover who anticipated my desires before I voiced them. The man who pushed boundaries I hadn’t known I wanted pushed, who claimed me in ways both terrifying and thrilling.

Liam. It was Liam all along.

I stand abruptly, needing space, air, escape from this crushing revelation.

I force a laugh and a smile. “I’m so sorry you wasted your time, but at least the drive’s pretty.”

“Wasted my time?”

“Liam told me all of that before the hearing. He said he couldn’t bear me not knowing the truth.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and I can’t tell if she believes me or not.

I’m not sure I care.

Right now, I just want her gone.

“Well, then,” she says, “I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”

“No trouble. But I have work to do, so please forgive me for not inviting you in.”

“Of course,” she says, and I take a bit of glee in the fact that she looks just a bit unstable. I keep my chin up, ironically calling on skills I learned as my father’s little puppet about reflecting one emotion to the world, while keeping your true turmoil locked up inside.

“Well,” she finally says. “Then I’m off.”

“I’ll give Liam your regards,” I say, then stand frozen until her car disappears down the drive. Only then do I move, mechanical steps carrying me inside, to the bedroom we’ve shared.

The room feels wrong now, tainted. I look around what I’d thought was a haven, seeing it through new eyes—a new cage built by a man who violated my privacy in the most basic way.

I pack methodically, gathering the few things that are truly mine. Just clothes, the laptop he gave me, notes for Elysium’s expansion. I leave the jewelry, designer clothes, art supplies. Even the canvases I’ve painted and the sketches I’ve drawn in our days here. They feel contaminated now. Everything does.

I call for a car, and while I’m waiting, I write one note—blunt and unambiguous.

I know about Elysium.

I know about Prince Killiam.

Do not come after me.

I place the note on the counter, fingers lingering on the paper as I remember the scissors I’d noticed next to the notepad. Something shifts inside me. Not just betrayal now—something harder, colder. Rage, maybe. Or determination.

I grab the scissors and move to the bathroom without conscious thought, flipping on the harsh lights, confronting my reflection. The woman staring back looks like me but feels like a stranger—too trusting, too easily deceived. Liam’s words echo in my head: “God, I love your hair. It’s like spun gold.” He’d say it while winding strands around his fingers, tugging gently to tilt my face up for a kiss. How many times had his hands tangled in it as we made love? How many times had he watched me in Elysium, where I’d sometimes let Vale’s golden hair flow free in the wind as she rode?

My fingers twist in the long strands, pulling them taut. One cut. Then another. Golden locks fall into the sink, onto the floor. Each snip of the scissors feels like severing a cord that bound me to him. To the lie.

The first cuts are jagged, angry. But something shifts as I work, my movements becoming more deliberate. I’m not destroying—I’m creating. Each cut precise now, shaping what remains into something new. Something mine.

When I finish, my hair barely brushes my shoulders, the ends uneven but purposeful. I look younger. No—I look different. Like someone I haven’t met yet but might like to know.

I sweep the fallen strands into my palm, golden threads that represented the woman he thought he owned. The princess in her tower.