Page 153 of The Tower

Something raw flashes across his face, there and gone in a blink. “Princess …”

“I’m thinking we keep Connecticut as our main place,” I continue, letting him process. “Maybe get a small place in SoHo. Neutral territory. Not Reed, not Grimm. Just ours.”

“Ours,” he repeats, like he’s testing how the word feels in his mouth. “I like that.”

The countryside starts opening up around us, familiar and somehow still new. The last six months have changed everything. I still have nightmares sometimes—my father, the drugs, the years I lost to his control—but I never face them alone.

When they wake me up at night, Liam’s there, his arms around me, his voice soothing me until the ghosts fade away.

He gets trauma in a way nobody else in my life ever has—the way it sticks to you, shapes you, blindsides you when you least expect it.

Now, he turns to smile at me. Have I told you how good Connecticut looks good on you?”

I laugh, delighted. “I’m glad. “It’s the first place that’s ever been mine,” I tell him. “Well, ours.”

He grins at the correction, and I marvel again at how this man—this complicated, dangerous, brilliant, fucked-up man—makes me feel safe. Seen. We’ve both lived in shadows our whole lives, and somehow, together, we’ve found our way into some kind of light.

The driver steers the car down the long drive to the house, trees arching overhead like a tunnel leading from the real world to our own magical realm. I roll down my window and breathe in the smell of pine and earth and flowers and greenery.

“We’ve come a long way,” I say, watching the forest open to glimpses of the house ahead.

“That we have,” he agrees, squeezing my hand.

When we reach the house, Liam insists on carrying me over the threshold like we’re some newlywed couple instead of two people who’ve been living together for months. I laugh but let him do it, loving the easy strength in his arms as he lifts me into the foyer.

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask when he sets me down.

“Just celebrating the victory,” he says, but there’s something else about him—a nervousness I’ve never seen from him.

He leads me into the living room, where a small wooden box sits on the coffee table. It’s beautiful, made from dark polished wood with intricate carvings that catch the late afternoon light.

“What’s this?”

“Something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he says, guiding me to sit beside him on the couch. His face goes serious. “It belonged to my mother. One of the few things I have of hers.”

My chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice. Rebecca’s death is a wound that never really healed.

“Elias gave it to me when I turned eighteen,” he adds, running his finger over the carved surface. “It was one of the few nice things that man ever did for me. He told me it was her favorite thing, and she used it to hold other things that were precious to her.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, genuinely moved that he would share this with me.

From his pocket, he pulls out a tiny golden key. “I’ve only opened it twice. I’ve been saving what’s inside for the right moment. For the right person.

The weight of what he’s offering hits me like a punch to the chest. This man, who’s spent his whole life protecting himself from vulnerability, is giving me something he’s kept private all these years.

“You sure?” I ask.

He places the key in my palm, closing my fingers around it. “I’m sure. Because I trust you. Because I love you.”

My throat goes tight as I carefully push the key into the lock. It turns with a soft click, and I gently lift the lid.

Inside, nestled on faded velvet, is a ring—a diamond on a delicate gold band that catches the light streaming through the windows.

“Liam …” I whisper, suddenly understanding. He takes my hand, his expression more open and vulnerable than I’ve ever seen it. “Sasha Reed, will you marry me?”

The question shouldn’t surprise me—we’ve been heading here for months—but it does. Not the question itself, but the raw emotion behind it. The complete openness from a man who’s spent his life hiding behind walls.

“Yes.” I whisper, then louder, “oh, yes.”