Page 145 of The Tower

Ruby sighs. “Just think about it, okay? He loves you, Sash. He fucked up, but I truly believe he loves you.”

“I know he does,” I say. “I’m just not sure that’s enough.”

Even without him beside me, Liam Grimm stays in my mind, finding his way into my dreams, my thoughts. Funny things he’d whispered come back to me for no good reason. I shiver suddenly, certain I’d felt the brush of his fingers.

I try to ignore it, pouring all of my focus into reshaping Reed—no, Lydia—Cosmetics to reclaim my mother’s vision while also working on expanding Elysium’s reach. I sleep little and eat less, driven by a restless energy that’s the only thing keeping me upright.

I’m tempted to lose myself in Elysium, but I don’t. I’m too afraid that if Liam is there as Killiam, Vale won’t have the fortitude to walk away. Especially since I’m feeling that fortitude fade in the real world.

It’s nearly midnight on the twentieth day after my father’s death when the elevator to my suite opens without warning. I look up from my laptop to find Liam standing in my living room, disheveled and haggard in a way I’ve never seen him before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect.

“You need to start answering your phone,” he counters, a flicker of his usual intensity briefly visible beneath the exhaustion.

I close my laptop and set it aside, but I stay seated on the couch. “Ruby let you up?”

He just tilts his head and cocks a brow, clearly insulted that I’d think he needed clearance.

Despite myself, I laugh.

“Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for. Five minutes to explain, and then if you still want me gone, I’ll go. For good this time.”

The promise—or threat—of permanence makes me pause. Do I want him gone for good? The thought creates a hollow ache in my chest, an emptiness I can’t ignore.

“Five minutes,” I agree, gesturing to the chair across from me.

He remains standing, too agitated to sit. “I’ve been thinking about what to say, how to explain, for weeks now. And I realized there’s no explanation that makes it right. No justification that erases what I did.”

The admission catches me off guard. I’d expected defenses, rationalizations, clever arguments designed to minimize his guilt.

“So this is going to be a quiet five minutes?”

I see the hope bloom in his eyes, and wish I’d kept my snark to myself.

“I was wrong,” he says simply. “Not just in what I did, but in how I did it. I took a choice from you that wasn’t mine to take, and the truth is I knew better, especially after our talk about Elysium.”

He pauses, as if expecting me to say something. I just look at him, part of me still furious. And another part of me hoping that he knows what to say to get me through to the other side of that anger.

“He was going to take you,” Liam says, his voice rough with emotion. “He had a plan, a team, a facility outside U.S. jurisdiction. He was going to drug you, imprison you, control you.”

Bile rises in my throat, and my skin goes cold.

“I couldn’t—” He breaks off, struggling for composure. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you back in that nightmare. Not when I could stop it.”

“So you appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner,” I say, though the words lack their earlier heat.

“Yes,” he admits. “I did. I told myself it was protection, but it was also—oh, hell, it was like what your father did, I know that. I took a choice that should have been yours. Hell, I took it even though I knew you would have said no. You wanted him alive and tried and imprisoned. I just wanted him gone, because that was the only way I could be certain you could be safe. So, I did what I did. And the truth is, if I had to do it all over again, I don’t know if I’d do it differently.”

I gape at him. That really wasn’t the speech I’d been expecting.

“But,” he says, taking a step forward, “I do know that I’d tell you first. I’d let you try to talk me down, explain why I have to let the bastard live. Tell me all your worries about me being the one who ends up behind bars. And you’d be right. And I’d pull back, and we’d call in the authorities. He’d still be alive, but he’d be behind bars. I wouldn’t have the satisfaction of killing him, but I’d have you. And that matters, Sasha. That matters so much. Because right now, not having you is killing me.”

He’s moved closer, and now he kneels in front of me, his hands on my thighs. He lifts one to my face, and I only realize I’m crying when he wipes away a tear. The brutal honesty of everything he’s said has cut deep into my core, and I have to force myself not to pull him close.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he says. “I’m asking for a chance to earn your trust again. To prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

I study him—the shadows under his eyes, the stubble darkening his jaw, the tension radiating from his shoulders. He looks as miserable as I feel, and I want to scream yes, but I have to be smart.