Page 3 of The Tower

Then my father is beside me. “Quit being such a child,” he growls, pressing his hand to my waist and moving me closer to the void.

No, no. Please, please no.

I’m going to be sick. Surely, they don’t want to photograph me like this.

I know he feels me trembling. I know he’s using this moment.

Using my fear.

But all he says is, “So lovely. The light hits your face perfectly here.”

A wave of nausea crests over me and I spin toward him. “Father, I⁠—”

“Do not embarrass me, Sasha.” His voice is low. Cold. Accusing.

I look down at my shoes, hating this reminder that I need him. That I’m not strong enough for the world outside.

I force myself to look up, expecting to meet my father’s stern, commanding eyes. Instead, I see the deep lines of his frown as he stares across the roof. I turn, following his line of sight.

That’s when I see him.

Liam Grimm.

The devil’s spawn.

Two

Him

Him.

Here at my shoot. The man who ripped out my soul just over three years ago.

My stomach twists, and I fight the urge to vomit. I have no idea why he’s here, but he stands less than fifteen yards away, just past the small shed connecting the stairwell to the rooftop, watching as I pose and Adam clicks off shot after shot.

His hair is the color of copper, highlighted by gold—so different from the raven-black hair of his father and brothers. Even from this distance, I can see his eyes—the palest of blue, like something supernatural. Something predatory.

He wears his perfectly tailored dark suit as if he’s the one who should be in front of a camera. Or in a boardroom. Every inch of him radiates command, but this is no benevolent ruler. Liam Grimm is dangerous—just like his half-brothers. Just like his vile, outlaw of a father.

Elias Grimm may be the person I despise most in the world. But his son Liam falls solidly into second place—not only because everything I’ve heard suggests he’s a chip off the old block, but also because of what happened at a charity gala three years ago. Words he whispered for my ears only. Words I’d anticipated would be sweet but turned sour and rotten. Taunts that I was nothing. That I’d tried to damage the launch of Lucent’s newest product by spreading lies.

That I was my father’s little marionette doll who only knew how to dance the tune he played. And that, like my father, I would lie and cheat to get my way.

I’d told myself he was only trying to hurt me—that he was the liar, not me. But it didn’t matter. He’d made me ashamed that I’d let myself crave him even for a moment. I’d wanted to lash out, to scream that he didn’t know me at all—but I knew him. Knew exactly what his family had done.

Knew the blackness of their souls.

But he’d slipped back into the crowd before I could find the words, much less my voice.

Now, a shiver races up my spine. Part of me wants so desperately to escape that I consider leaping over the barrier and taking my chances with the air and atoms. But another part—some foolish, hidden part—can’t help being perversely intrigued. And the longer I watch him, the more I want to confront him and demand answers.

I turn to where my father stands just out of camera range. “Why is he here? Why is there a Grimm at our shoot?”

“Industry courtesy.” Father’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I invited Elias to see our new campaign. I knew that bastard would send a proxy.”

“You invited him? Why would you do that?”

Father shrugs, his manner infuriating, given what Elias Grimm did to my mother. “I was curious to see who he’d send in his stead. Looks like Liam may be in the running to be the next CEO.”