The Forbidden Throb Chapter 131

Emma's POV:

I was back at that charity gala.

September. The Prescott Foundation's annual fundraiser at the hotel. I could see it all with painful clarity—the glittering chandeliers, the string quartet playing Vivaldi, the champagne flutes catching light like liquid gold.

Nicholas's phone had been ringing from behind that hotel room door. A woman in a bathrobe had answered, her hair mussed. And I'd stood there, watching my entire future crumble into dust.

Then Daniel had appeared in the hallway. Silent. Steady. Like he'd materialized out of my desperate need for someone to make sense of the chaos.

*"Emma."* Just my name, but the way he'd said it—gentle, careful, like I might shatter if he spoke too loud. *"Do you want to leave with me?"*

I'd thought it was kindness. Simple, uncomplicated kindness.

The way you'd offer an umbrella to a stranger caught in the rain. Daniel being Daniel—perpetually gracious, constitutionally incapable of leaving someone in distress.

I'd never once stopped to ask *why* Daniel Prescott just *happened* to be in that hallway at exactly the right moment.

---

"Miss Johnson?" Professor Hermann's voice seemed to come from very far away. "You really should come inside. The wind—"

"I'm fine." The words scraped out of my throat.

I wasn't fine. I was the furthest thing from fine.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but more tears came. Hot against my frozen cheeks. Unstoppable.

Professor Hermann leaned closer, his expression shifting from polite concern to something more serious. "Your eyes are quite red. That looks rather severe—not just wind tears. The cold can cause serious irritation, even damage to the cornea if exposed too long."

He straightened, reaching for my elbow. "Come. There's a medical clinic on campus. We should have someone look at that."

"I'm really fine," I said, my voice somewhat choked up. "I just... miss him a bit."

I lifted my gaze to meet his—knowing my eyes must be swollen and red, knowing I looked like a mess.

"Professor," I said, my voice cracking. "Do you know where he is? Right now?"

Hermann blinked, momentarily confused by the abrupt subject change. His brow furrowed slightly as he processed my question.

Then, after a moment, understanding seemed to dawn on him. His eyes widened—genuine surprise crossing his features.

"Daniel never told you any of this?" He sounded almost incredulous.

I shook my head, unable to speak. Fresh tears welled up, spilling over despite my efforts to hold them back.

Hermann sighed, a sound of resignation mixed with something gentler. Sympathy, perhaps. Or compassion for two people who'd spent so long missing each other.

"It's too cold out here," he said finally, his voice softer now. "I'm getting old—these bones can't handle this kind of weather anymore."

He gestured toward the far edge of the courtyard. "There's a café not far from here. A small place where Daniel used to spend a great deal of time when he studied here. Good coffee. Warm atmosphere."

---

I let him guide me away from the bench, my legs moving mechanically through the deepening snow. My mind was elsewhere.

The café was small and warm, condensation fogging the windows.

An elderly Italian woman behind the counter smiled at us as we entered, her silver hair reminding me painfully of Grace. Professor Hermann ordered two coffees while I sank into a chair by the window, my coat dripping melted snow onto the wooden floor.

"Drink this." He placed a steaming cup in front of me. "You're shaking."

I wrapped my hands around the ceramic, but the warmth couldn't reach the cold that had settled in my chest.

My gaze drifted to the café around us. Medical students occupied nearly every table—some working alone with headphones in, others clustered in study groups.

They all looked so stressed. So consumed by deadlines and exams and the crushing weight of medical school expectations.

Had Daniel sat here like this too? Had he been one of these anxious students, racing against the clock, drowning in coursework?

I tried to picture it—Daniel hunched over books at this very table, his brow furrowed in concentration, maybe running his hand through his hair the way he did when he was tired.

A younger version of the man I knew, still building himself into the legend he'd become.

"He was never like them, you know."

I looked up sharply. Professor Hermann was watching me, a knowing expression on his face.

"Daniel, I mean." He gestured toward the stressed students around us. "He never looked like that. For him, school wasn't a challenge to survive. It was a stage to perform on."

I blinked. "I don't understand."

"Daniel Prescott arrived at this institution with every door already open." Hermann leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee cup. "The unanimous recommendation from Harvard's entire medical faculty wasn't just impressive—it was unprecedented. Department heads were competing for him before he'd even set foot on campus."

He paused, taking a sip of coffee.

"I was the Dean," he continued. "Which meant I had certain... privileges. Authority to approve accelerated graduation petitions for exceptional students."

My stomach tightened. "That's why he chose you."

"Yes." Hermann's expression grew thoughtful. "I thought he was ruthlessly pragmatic," Hermann corrected. "Another brilliant student racing through credentials, checking boxes, desperate to prove something."

He shook his head. "But I was wrong,"

Hermann met my eyes. "Young men from families like his don't need to prove anything academically," Hermann continued. "They're born with credentials. Born with connections and opportunities most people spend lifetimes trying to earn."

Or running back to, I thought, my throat tightening.

"And then I realized," Hermann said. "He wasn't trying to prove he was brilliant—everyone already knew that. He was trying to make himself untouchable. To build achievements so substantial that even his family couldn't interfere with his decisions. Couldn't control his life. Couldn't dictate who he should be or what he should want."

The words landed like stones in still water, ripples of understanding spreading through me.

Hermann reached for his phone, scrolling through something before turning the screen toward me. "Speaking of things Daniel prepared... did he give you this?"

I leaned closer, my breath catching.

On the screen was a photograph of an antique box. Even through the phone's display, I could recognize it.

It was the one Daniel had given me before Paris still sat. The one he asked me, "Open Day by Day."

And today I opened the last one.