The Forbidden Throb Chapter 155

Nicholas's POV:

Luke's equestrian center sprawled across the countryside like something out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement—all weathered wood, pristine white fencing, and horses that probably cost more than most people's cars.

The Prescott family had invested heavily in the place, which meant we got VIP treatment.

I stabbed at my Dover sole without much enthusiasm, only half-listening as Sophia chattered about her latest Phillips Academy achievements.

The private dining room overlooked the main arena, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of riders putting their mounts through their paces.

"This sea bass is incredible," Sophia said, taking a delicate bite. "Luke really knows how to run this place."

"Mmm." I took a sip of the Sancerre Luke had recommended, scanning the grounds with practiced disinterest. A few other families dotted the terrace—the usual crowd of old money and aspiring socialites who frequented places like this.

Then Sophia's fork clattered against her plate.

"Oh my God."

I looked up, annoyed at the interruption. "What?"

Her green eyes had gone wide, fixed on something beyond the window. "I think I just saw someone we know."

"Sophia, half of Boston's elite probably comes through here—"

"No, I mean..." She leaned forward, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Nicholas, I think I just saw Emma."

My hand froze mid-reach for my wine glass. "Impossible. Emma doesn't ride. And she certainly doesn't frequent places like this."

"I'm serious!" Sophia's whisper was insistent, her green eyes bright.

Then she kicked me under the table—hard.

"Ow! What the—" I glared at her, but she was practically vibrating with excitement, leaning so far forward she was about to fall out of her chair.

I kicked her back, harder, and went back to twirling my linguine with deliberate nonchalance. "You're being dramatic."

"I swear if I'm wrong, I'll call you 'big brother,'" Sophia hissed.

That made me pause, fork halfway to my mouth.

Sophia had been calling me by my first name since she learned to talk. The only time she'd ever shown me any real respect—called me anything remotely brotherly—was during those few months when I'd been with Emma.

I set down my fork, studying Sophia's face. She was dead serious.

"Emma doesn't have money or connections," I said slowly, but with less certainty than before. "Today's crowd is all Luke's close friends and club investors. Even if she wanted to social-climb her way into some new guy's wallet, she couldn't get in here without an invitation."

"Exactly!" Sophia's eyes gleamed with vindication. "So who invited her?"

I leaned back in my chair, affecting boredom even as my pulse quickened. "We're here to support Luke, not star in some melodrama. What if you're wrong? I'll look like an idiot."

"Fine, don't go." Sophia speared a piece of cake with unnecessary force. "I just saw Emma laughing, looking really happy. She's probably here with her new... boyfriend. You going over there would just be awkward anyway. Embarrassing, even."

The way she said "boyfriend"—with that knowing, pitying tone—made something twist in my gut.

My mind flashed to the mysterious limited-edition luxury car and the BU Confessions post I'd seen weeks ago—the one suggesting Emma had found herself a "sugar daddy." I'd dismissed it then, told myself it was just campus gossip, jealous speculation. But what if...

"I'll go check," I heard myself say, setting down my glass with deliberate care. "Can't have you obsessing over this all night."

Sophia's smile was knowing, almost pitying. "Sure, Nicholas. Whatever you say."

"However, Nicholas." Her voice dropped, losing its teasing edge. "If it really is Emma... and if she's here with someone... don't start anything, okay?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean it." She fixed me with a look far too mature for a high school student. "Don't make a scene. Don't be an ass. Because if you do, Daniel's going to have to clean up your mess again, and honestly? I'm tired of watching that happen."

"I know. I'm just going to check if it's actually her," I said, standing up and straightening my jacket. "That's all. Satisfy your curiosity."

I made my way through the club's ornate corridors, past the main reception area with its vaulted ceilings and equestrian trophies gleaming in glass cases. Through the tall windows, I could see riders in the outdoor arena, their movements precise and practiced.

Then I spotted them—Luke Richardson pulling someone along the flagstone path that led toward the private stables, gesturing animatedly about something. The other person turned slightly, and I recognized the profile immediately.

Daniel.

I stopped short. My brother, here. Today.

The surprise lasted only a moment before logic caught up. Of course, Daniel was here. He and Luke had been friends since children.

I headed in the direction Sophia had pointed out.

The observation terrace on the second floor overlooked the Charles River, a favorite spot for guests seeking privacy or Instagram-worthy views.

And there she was. Really Emma.

She stood alone at the wrought-iron railing, her back to me, her hair catching the light from the vintage sconces. She wore a cream-colored dress, and she was looking at her phone, completely absorbed.

"Well, well, well. Flying solo tonight?"

She turned, and the shock on her face was almost gratifying. Almost.

Those blue-green eyes I used to find so endearing now just looked wary. Guarded. Like I was a stranger she'd rather avoid.

"Nicholas." My name came out flat, emotionless.

I sauntered over, forcing casualness I didn't feel, and dropped into the chair across from her. Crossed my legs.

Relief hit me first—she was alone. No older man hovering possessively, no sugar daddy with his arm around her waist. Just Emma, by herself.

But the relief lasted only a heartbeat.

Because then I saw it.

My gaze dropped to her left hand, still clutching her phone, and my breath caught in my throat.

And there it was. One ring on her ring finger like a fucking declaration.

My throat went dry. My pulse thundered in my ears.

But I smiled. Leaned back. Made my voice drip with exactly the kind of contempt that would hurt most.

"Damn. Your new sugar daddy really spared no expense, huh? That yellow diamond alone—what is that, five carats? Six? Must've cost him at least two million."

Emma's face went white. She looked down at her hand as if seeing the rings for the first time, and something in her expression made my chest ache even as satisfaction curled through me.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, voice dropping to something almost conversational—which somehow made it crueler.

"So tell me, Emma—does he even tell you how much it costs? Or did he just sneak it out of his wife's jewelry box when she wasn't looking?"

I let out a low whistle, eyes fixed on the ring. "Better enjoy it while you can. Who knows when he'll need to return it."

Her jaw clenched.

I continued, unable to stop now that I'd started, the words pouring out like poison. "You used to go on and on about wanting a 'real connection,' about how money didn't matter. Guess that changed once you figured out what money could actually buy you, huh?"

"Hope he's worth it," I said, standing up, looking down at her with all the disdain I could muster. "Hope those rocks on your finger make up for whatever's left of your self-respect."

For a long moment, she just stared at me. Then, slowly, she lifted her chin. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but steady—steadier than I'd ever heard it.

"You came all the way out here just to say this to me?"