Page 144 of The Tower

“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.”