CHAPTER ONE

THE ROOF

I’m a captive princess in the highest tower of a castle in the sky.

At least, that’s what it feels like. That’s what it always feels like. But today isn’t just another day of confinement. Today is a special kind of torture.

“Turn just a bit, darling,” Adam, the skinny new photographer, says in a pretentious accent that I’m certain is entirely fake.

I comply, and the motion makes the rhinestones on this frothy pink monstrosity of a ballgown catch the late afternoon light, setting them to sparkle like the tears I’m not allowed to shed.

“Lovely, lovely,” Adam murmurs, apparently oblivious to the fact that I’ve taken two steps back in a desperate attempt to put distance between myself and the edge of the rooftop observation deck.

For the briefest of moments, I wish I really were Rapunzel. But with my waist-length blonde locks twisted into an updo and held in place by ivory combs and a helmet of hairspray, I don’t have enough hair to get me down even one level, much less forty-three stories to the ground.

Not that it would matter if I did. I could never go through with it. Already, panic threatens to claw at my throat. Already, the world beyond the rooftop reaches for me with invisible hands, waiting to drag me down, down, dow—

“Sasha!”

My father’s voice slices through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. I take five slow, deep breaths, telling myself that it’s fine. That despite my unsteadiness and the pangs of fear, I made the right decision not to take my meds this morning—and to flush them down the toilet in case Father sends someone up to my room to check my supply.

The right decision, I tell myself again, with a glance toward Ruby Ryder, my best friend and personal assistant. We’ve been joined at the hip since we were twelve. That’s when she came to live with her grandmother, our housekeeper. Today, her job is ostensibly to hold makeup brushes and extra hairpins. In reality, she’s here to silently bolster me if I start to crumble under the weight of my new determination to wean myself off the damn pills Father and his cabal of doctors have forced down my throat since I was seven.

Behind the photographer, Ruby grimaces as she holds up two fingers—a signal that my father is coming.

Ice floods my veins. I turn to see him stalking toward me, weaving through the forest of light stands and electrical cords. His polished Italian shoes click against the roof tiles like a countdown. His face remains neutral—it always does when investors or clients are nearby—but I recognize the familiar fury blazing in his eyes and cringe back the moment he arrives at my side.

“Do you have any idea how expensive this shoot is?” His voice is low, for my ears only. “How important this launch is? Dammit, girl. Everything I do for you—making you the face of this entire campaign, every privilege you live under, the time and money I spend getting you the proper medications—and you can’t be bothered to follow directions?”

I want to tell him I’ve been standing here for hours. That I’ve barely eaten, much less had water. That the stupid dress weighs a ton, but I can’t sit down because, God forbid, it wrinkles.

I’ve been the face of Reed Cosmetics since I was fourteen, my carefully cultivated image of fragile beauty serving as a cornerstone of my father’s brand. A perfect princess in her stunning tower.

I hate it.

I want to scream that I never asked for this. That I hate this role I’m forced to play. That I think the newest Dreams campaign is tacky and stupid.

I want to rage that he knows the roof terrifies me, even with all the meds he forces down my throat. That he promised we’d shoot in our home’s elegant ballroom. That instead of the warm protection of four walls and familiar marble pillars, he’s positioned me three feet from a barely secure edge beyond which lies forty-three floors worth of terrifyingly empty space stretching in all directions.

But I don’t say any of that. Not to Victor Reed, the man who fathered me. The man who repeatedly says he loves me. The man who just as frequently torments me. To him, I can only whisper, “Sorry, Daddy.”

He sighs, checking his Patek Philippe Grandmaster watch with theatrical disappointment. “You know damn well we need these shots for the launch. The board is already questioning the budget.” He runs a hand through his perfectly styled silver-gray hair. “Fools, all of them. But they’ll change their minds when they see our market share.”

He points a long finger at my face, so close I can see the manicured nail. “Mark my words, child. The fairy tale aesthetic is a genius maneuver on my part. Maybe they can’t see it now, but this campaign is gold. It’s going to push us ahead of Lucent.”

Lucent.

Just the name of the Grimm family’s cosmetics line makes my skin prickle. Sophisticated. Elegant. Dripping with class. Everything our campaign is not.

The irony isn’t lost on me—how the vilest family in Manhattan creates the most beautiful products. They lie and cheat and steal to get what they want.

And they kill.

I fight the urge to hug myself as I think of my mother, now nearly twenty years in her grave. I was seven when my father told me Elias Grimm, the family’s monster of a patriarch, was the one I’d seen murder her. Worse, he’d gotten away with it. “That family has the police in their pocket,” Father had said.

I was too young then to understand what that meant. I only knew the Grimm family had taken my mother from me—that because of them, I’d been left alone with my father, a monster of a different kind.

And I swore that someday—somehow—I would get revenge on Elias Grimm and his entire clan.

If this Dreams campaign had even the slightest chance of kicking Lucent’s marketing ass, I’d be all for it. But instead, we’re pushing something tasteless and stale—like poisoned apples wrapped in gold leaf.

I say none of this out loud. Instead, I meet my father’s eyes. “We’ll get their market share, Father.” I say it because that’s what he wants to hear. And I’ll pay the price if I try to tell him anything else.

He grunts, his expression thunderous. My insides tighten, only to loosen when Adam calls out, holding up his camera and gesturing for me to return to his side.

I start to move, but my father’s hand closes around my upper arm. “We need to see that smile of yours, Sasha. That sparkle. This is about making dreams come true.”

I lift my face to his and look deep into those emerald green eyes, so like my own. “I wouldn’t know about dreams coming true,” I say—but only in my head. I gave up on dreams long ago. Now, I have only nightmares. Except for that one lingering dream of escape.

That’s a nightmare, too though, because I know it will never happen.

What I say aloud is, “Yes, Daddy.”

His mouth curves into a saccharine smile as he nods toward the onlookers. “Dreams,” he repeats, his voice booming as he sweeps his arm toward the banner hanging near the catering table. It bears the Reed Cosmetics logo and the campaign slogan: Make your dreams come true. “And aren’t dreams the reason we’re here?”

I want to run, but I know my role in this twisted fairy tale. I rise on tiptoes, then kiss his cheek as the reporters’ cameras flash. When I settle back on solid ground, I aim a simpering smile at the onlookers, then hurry toward Adam so we can start the whole damn performance all over again.

I hit my mark and strike the next pose, following Adam’s direction. For a few minutes, I manage to lose myself in the fantasy that I’m Rapunzel, trapped in a high tower, waiting for my prince.

But too soon, the fantasy dissolves like mist. After all, I know better than to believe in fairy tales. I’m just a girl playing dress-up, and any rescuing will have to be done by me.

Too bad I don’t have a clue how to make that happen.

“A bit to your right,” Adam says, and I force my hesitant feet to move closer to the waist-high railing that separates the roof from the void. My insides go ice-cold as I move, and I wish desperately that I’d taken the damn meds. But I tell myself I’m safe—that I won’t go over. There’s a barrier now, unlike that horrible day when my mother died.

A barrier and concrete firm under my feet. Solid. Sturdy. Safe.

I won’t go over. I won’t fall. I won’t get lost in the vast oblivion.

I gulp air, realizing I’ve forgotten to breathe. I stamp my foot, the heel making a sharp sound against the roof. Solid. All solid.

Except it’s not.

It’s all just atoms. The same atoms that make up the air, and air won’t keep me safe. Air is just something to get lost in. To fall through.

“Tilt your chin up and smile.” I hear the edge in my father’s voice as he approaches from behind me. “Remember, you’re selling fairy tales.”

I want to snap that I’m not. I’m selling makeup by being the frothy, pink, fake image of sanitized tales. Nothing like the stories the Grimm family used to publish centuries ago—dark  and dangerous and cautionary.

But since I’d have to be out of my mind to say that aloud, I force my lips into yet another practiced smile. Anything to finish this shoot. The sooner it’s over, the sooner I can get back inside.

The thought calms me even as fresh terror rises—the promise of being safe inside clashing with the stark reality that I’m outside, with Central Park spreading below me like a verdant carpet. In this moment, I’m reminded of all the open space around me, and vertigo hits with a vengeance. My head swims, my stomach plummets, and I’m suddenly convinced I might float away untethered, tumbling down, down, down to shatter into a million pieces.

It would be a relief. An escape.

It would be over.

No.

I slow my breathing, settle back on my mark, and force my fear-stiffened body to strike the pose—even as I wish I hadn’t tossed the damn meds.

So that I can cope, I imagine I’m painting this scene rather than living it. Creating depth and perspective on a flat canvas. Or coding sections of Elysium, my private virtual world where everything is under my control, and girls who tumble off buildings fly instead of fall.

“Take three steps closer to the edge,” Adam calls. “I want the skyline rising behind you.”

I glance in that direction. Three steps would put me right there, where even a deep breath could shift my balance and send me hurtling over.

The possibility locks me in place. I can’t move. I’m frozen. Terrified. Ashamed.

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.

CHAPTER 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.”

A dangerous smile tugs at his mouth as he turns to Adam. “Done?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get ready for the next set-up.”

When Adam nods, Father turns his attention back to me. “And you go change before we lose the light.”

He hurries away before I can ask another question. That’s probably for the best. I’ll confess—if only to myself and Ruby—to having lusted over Liam Grimm in the past. But that was before his whispered taunt… and nothing more than a fantasy.

In the real world, Liam Grimm is not a man I care to know. Or to know anything about.

Ruby hurries over with Mindy, the wardrobe coordinator, and despite the urge to look back, I keep my eyes forward as I follow them into the small tent that serves as a changing room. “Did you see him?”

I grimace. “Father invited him. Can you believe that?”

Ruby’s mouth twists, but since Mindy’s pulling a dress over my head, I miss the rest of her expression. The rustle of stiff material blocks out her words, too.

“…surprised.”

“What?” I say, catching only the tail end.

“I said that considering the circumstances, I’m not too surprised. That your dad invited him, I mean.”

“The circumstances?” Clearly, my bestie has lost her marbles. “He’s a competitor. Giving him early access to our ad plans? It might be a stupid campaign, but that doesn’t mean Father should—”

Ruby holds up a hand. “What are you talking about?”

“Liam Grimm,” I say with a glance toward Mindy, who looks uninterested. “His father murdered my mother, remember? Their Lucent brand is Reed Cosmetic’s biggest competitor. Ringing any bells?”

She cocks her head, her forehead furrowed. “All sorts of bells. But what does that have to do with—?”

“Father invited Liam Grimm to the shoot,” I snap.  “How can you not think that’s insane?”

“Wait. What?” She gapes at me. “Liam Grimm? Your dad invited Liam Grimm?”

“Yes! What have we been talking about?”

She runs her fingers through her tumble of auburn curls. “I had no idea. It’s just him, right? None of his brothers?”

“Just him,” I assure her. Years ago, Ruby made the mistake of dating Leo, the youngest and wildest of the Grimm brothers. To say it hadn’t ended well would be the understatement of the century.

“But if you weren’t talking about Grimm,” I ask, “then who….”

“Desmond Bane.” The name hangs in the air like icicles as Mindy extricates me from the rest of my princess garb.

I shudder. “Why were you talking about him?”

“Duh. He’s here.”

Bile rises in my throat. Desmond Bane is a walking horror movie with the Midas touch.

Everyone in my family’s social circle knows he’s the vilest human on the planet—and that he’s had a thing for me since I was fourteen.

Seeing him here on the day of my shoot is really not a good sign.

I’m in only a bra and panties now, and I yank a robe off the rack, waving away Mindy and the hanger overflowing with the next costume.

“Back up,” I say to Ruby as I slip on the robe and tighten the belt, as if the flimsy silk could provide any real protection. “Tell me all of it.”

Ruby shrugs. “That’s all I know. He’s here. He’s an investor, right? So I guess it makes sense.”

“Has he been talking with Father?”

“Mostly he’s been watching you and rubbing his hands together like some creepy, evil mastermind.”

I shudder. She’s exaggerating the evil mastermind part—probably—but that doesn’t change the fact that Desmond Bane has a reputation for breaking his toys. And his favorite toys are his ex-wives and mistresses.

“Father’s probably convincing him to invest another mil or two,” I say, as much to convince myself as Ruby.

“An investment,” Ruby repeats, as Mindy helps me into the next wearable torture device. “That must be it.” Ruby’s frown suggests she doesn’t believe it. Then again, maybe she’s frowning at my outfit—yet another overly sugary princess dress.

I scowl, then poke her.

“Ouch!”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I—it’s probably nothing. Okay!” she adds when I give her the look. “It’s just that earlier today, Anita told me that he had a breakfast meeting with your father in the small dining room. She was the one serving them, and you know how they talk when the help’s around, like Anita’s invisible and stupid. So she heard a lot when she wasn’t back in the kitchen.”

“And?”

“They were talking about tomorrow’s gala. She said your father mentioned some big announcement.”

“About what?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Not for sure.”

“Not for sure?” I repeat. “That means you think something.”

“Just—Desmond’s been hot for you since forever, and your dad wants access to his bank account.”

“And you think, what? That Father’s going to sell me? Money in exchange for a ring on my finger?” That’s absurd. Except it’s not, and Ruby knows it, too.

She drags her fingers through her curls. “It’s only—Sasha, I’ve got a really bad feeling. Can you get out of going to the gala?”

I just cock my head. She knows the answer as well as I do.

She lets out a long breath. “Well, at least I’ll be there, too.”

I nod, remembering that she’s going to be working as a waiter for the catering service. “It’s probably nothing,” I say, but even as I speak the words, I know they’re wrong. With my father, it’s never nothing.

He has some horrible new plan for me. Which means that tomorrow night, I need to be ready for anything.

Mindy ducks out of the changing tent and I’m about to follow, but Ruby tugs me back. “So? How are you feeling? You ditched them, right? Do you feel any different yet? Everything I read said it might take a while to get out of your system.”

I’d read the same thing, and so far, it’s true. I tell her how my phobias feel more potent—heights and open spaces. It’s harder to stand where the photographer wants than it was the last time we shot on the roof. “But I feel more… I don’t know… here, I guess. It comes and goes. One minute I feel grounded, and the next, I almost feel like I’m floating. I think that’s normal, though, because there’s still crap in my system.”

“Well, if anything feels really off, you take them, okay? Your father’s an ass, but surely even he wouldn’t pump you full of drugs you don’t really need.”

“I’m fine,” I say, which isn’t an answer at all. But this isn’t the time or the place to tell her she’s wrong. Besides, she already knows it. She just doesn’t want to believe that anyone would drug his own daughter just to make her more obedient.

And maybe he’s not. I don’t have any solid proof. Just the way I feel when I take the meds compared to when I don’t. And not just about how I feel. On the few days I’ve risked going without my meds, I’ve come close to remembering my mother. Not just the horrible day when she died, but snuggly moments on the couch and laughing moments as we played games on the floor.

I want those memories back all the time. And I know it’s the meds that are keeping them away.

But Ruby’s right. Nobody would drug their own child without a good reason. So something must be wrong with me. Either that, or something is very wrong with Father.

Finally, I can’t hide out in the changing tent any longer, so with Ruby beside me and Mindy holding the dress’s train, I head back into the open. Sure enough, there’s Desmond, tall and sandy-haired, with the blank good looks of old money. He’s attractive if you don’t know anything about him. And if you don’t look into those dangerous golden eyes.

“He keeps glancing this way,” I murmur.

Ruby cocks her head, indicating the other side of the roof. “So does Liam Grimm.”

I risk another look at Grimm, now standing mere inches from the barrier. For one horrible moment, I imagine the barrier breaking and him falling, falling, falling into the void.

I gasp, surprised when I realize Ruby’s holding my arm. I can see from her face that I’d fallen into the fear again and almost let it drown me.

But what baffles me is that it was the vision of Grimm tumbling over that had pushed me deep inside myself. After all, it’s not as if I care if he lives or dies.

Frowning, I turn just enough to see him, still casually flirting with that terrifying void. He’s chatting with the art director, but his head turns toward me as if he’s caught my scent. I meet his eyes, then stumble, shocked by the zing of electricity that seems to sizzle across my skin.

The man’s an arrogant asshole, but there’s something about him. Something both compelling and terrifying about this man who flirts with the edge. Who can look into the abyss and not fall.

Or maybe he’s already fallen. The man truly is a devil, after all.

“You okay?”

I turn to find Ruby studying me. We’ve arrived at the makeup tent, and as I sit in the chair, Ruby puts her hand on my shoulder. “What is it?”

“Just tired,” I lie. “I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press. Soon enough, the makeup artist drapes me, and I’m grateful to have something else to think about. She adds more glitter to my cheeks, and I can’t help but swallow a sardonic smile. I’m twenty-six years old, shooting an ad for cosmetics aimed at adults, and I’m being dressed like a third grader’s fantasy of a fairy princess. It’s one of those moments where you either laugh or cry.

Or throw yourself off a roof.

“Places in five,” Adam’s assistant announces, and the moment I’m released from the makeup chair, I head toward the refreshment table. I want one of the bagels slathered in cream cheese, but until we wrap, I’m allowed nothing but water or apple juice. Can’t risk staining my teeth, spilling on my dress, or—god forbid—bloating.

I’m sipping juice through a straw when I feel a tingle up my spine. The kind of sensation that warns you of danger. That survivors will say protected them from the car that jumped the curb or kept them from getting on the plane at the last minute.

When I look up, I see the danger staring back at me, predatory and calculating. Liam Grimm. Something dark and magnetic pulls me toward him, and I’m by his side before I can stop myself.

“Mr. Grimm,” I say, my voice as sharp as steel. “It’s been three years. Have you finally come up with some new insults to toss at me?”

His mouth curves into something predatory. “Ms. Reed. Still playing dress-up for the man who owns you?”

I stiffen, hating that his words mirror how I’ve been feeling all day. Victor Reed’s pretty little dress-up doll.

“I see your daddy’s still sending you off to sniff out the competition. I guess that makes you little more than an errand boy.” I flash my most charming smile. “Not surprising. Lucent’s a diamond. And Daddy wouldn’t want to give too much responsibility to someone who’s nothing more than ordinary quartz.”

It’s a low blow, but he deserves it. After he cut me off at the ankles three years ago, I made a point of learning more about Liam Grimm. Including that he’s the product of an affair, that his birth mother is dead, and that except for Leo, his brothers and stepmom haven’t exactly welcomed him into their loving embrace.

I watch his face as I speak, but I see nothing. No twitch in his cheek. No darkening of his eyes. No narrowing of his gaze. As far as I can tell, my words haven’t fazed him at all.

Well, damn.

“You’re hardly one to speak of quartz, Ms. Reed. Especially since we both know your campaign is a far cry from a jewel.” His eyes move slowly over me, and for a moment, I’m lost, trapped in the power of that dark, commanding gaze.

Trapped, yes. But at the same time, I have no desire to break free. Not yet.

And that is what makes Liam Grimm truly terrifying.

I draw a breath and lift my chin. “Like what you see?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, revealing a dimple that softens the hard planes of his face. My body relaxes, unwittingly sliding into complacency by the hint of compassion I think I see in his eyes.

He glances down, then lifts his gaze slowly, his eyes moving over me like a caress, the sensation so oddly intimate that I can barely breathe. When he meets my eyes, I see a hint of warmth there. But that heat turns frigid as he holds my gaze, the frost cold enough to make me shiver.

Then he takes a single step backward and, with a slow movement of his hand, indicates the frothy pink and silver monstrosity of a ball gown. “You’re wearing the proof of your father’s debasement. That man will steal and destroy anything.” His eyes once again sweep over the gown. “Even my family’s legacy.”

I hear the hard edge of fury in his voice and have to bite my tongue to keep from shouting that I hate it, too. The ridiculous fluff that makes up the dreams we’re selling.

But I won’t say it. I won’t align myself with this man in any way. Not after what he said. What his family’s done.

I blink, trying to force back tears as I think of my mother. Of the night when Elias Grimm crept up to the roof. The night when I watched helplessly as he sent her tumbling over even as my father tried to grab her in time to save her.

But it was no use. She tumbled off the edge, then down, down, down into the void.

I shiver, then hug myself, trying not to think of the fear she must have felt. I’d been only seven, and my mother had been my world.

The Grimm family had taken her from me.

I force myself to stand straighter, then take a single step toward him. “Your father is a monster,” I say. “Do you think I don’t know what he did? What he took from me?”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think he’s going to simply walk away. Then he lifts his chin, and something savage flashes in those cold, blue eyes. He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear. “Careful, Princess. The villain in one tale is often the victim in another.”

A twitch of dread runs up my spine, and I step back. I know only one thing for certain about Liam Grimm—the man is at least as dangerous as Desmond Bane. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, I’m drawn to his flame. “Stay away from me.”

He meets my eyes, and my breath catches. Then he nods, just a single tilt of his head. “As you wish.”

He takes a step away from me, then another. And then, despite my own better judgment, I blurt, “Why are you really here?”

He turns back slowly, and I want to kick myself when I see victory painted all over his face. “To see the girl who haunts my dreams,” he answers, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “To watch the daughter of the man who destroyed my mother be paraded around like a porcelain doll.”

“Destroyed?” I shake my head. “That never happened. It was your family—”

“Better be careful, Princess,” he says, moving closer, trapping me by nothing more than the force of his presence. “Accusations can be as dangerous as a blade.”

Before I can stop myself, I slap him, the crack of palm against cheek startlingly loud. He catches my wrist before I can pull away, his grip like iron, his eyes blazing.

“That fire,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my racing pulse. “That’s not your father in you. That’s all Lydia. And your father extinguished her fire, too.”

“Don’t you dare say my mother’s name.”

“I’ll do or say whatever—”

Ruby appears suddenly, breaking the moment. “They’re waiting,” she says, her voice like ice and her eyes on Grimm.

He releases me slowly. Deliberately. “Enjoy your tower while it lasts, Rapunzel,” he says, then leans forward to whisper in my ear. “Because one way or another, I’m going to tear it down. And you’ll have to decide if you’re falling or flying.”

My skin burns where he touched me, as if I’ve been branded. Walking back to my mark, I can feel his eyes tracking me—a predator assessing his prey.

I take my position at the edge, the vast openness beyond the barrier no longer the most terrifying thing on this rooftop. That distinction now belongs to the savage current flowing between me and the man my father raised me to hate—a current that feels dangerously like desire.

My father positions himself where he can watch both me and Grimm, his scowl deep. Desmond stands beside him, his predatory gaze making me want to scrub my skin raw in a boiling bath.

“Come on people,” Adam calls, his camera already clicking. “We’re wasting the light.”

Immediately, I twirl, flashing my brightest smile. What choice do I have? I’m the princess in this story, after all. The innocent virgin lost in the woods and trapped between two monsters.

There’s no way out. Not for me. Because real fairy tales don’t end with happily ever after. They end with blood and teeth and pain.

And I’m beginning to wonder if I’m the heroine of my own story—or the sacrifice.

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