The Forbidden Throb Chapter 157

Nicholas's POV:

My entire body went rigid, blood rushing to my head so fast I could feel my pulse hammering in my temples.

I took a half-step back, my shoulder blades hitting the wrought-iron railing of the terrace. The metal was cold even through my cashmere sweater, grounding me just enough to force out something resembling a laugh.

"Fine," I bit out, my jaw so tight it ached. "Fine. You win, Emma. You're the saint, I'm the asshole. Is that what you want to hear?"

I pushed off from the railing, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.

"But don't act like you're so innocent in all this," I continued, my voice rising despite my best efforts to keep it level. "Don't pretend like you didn't have one foot out the door the entire time we were together. Like you weren't just waiting for something better to come along."

I gestured sharply at the ring on her finger, at the expensive coat draped over the chair, at the whole scene around us.

"Well, congratulations, Emma. You found it. You found your upgrade. Your meal ticket. Whatever you want to call him."

The words were vicious, meant to wound.

"But you know what?" I continued, my voice dropping lower, taking on an edge that felt mean and petty and desperate all at once. "I'm not leaving. Not today."

Emma's eyes widened slightly, the first real crack in her composure.

"I'm going to wait right here," I said, gesturing to the terrace around us. "We can both just... wait. Together. Until your generous benefactor comes back from wherever he is."

"After all," I continued, my tongue pressing against the inside of my cheek in a gesture I knew made me look cruel, "I want to see which fool has the nerve to compete with me for you. Want to know exactly who this guy thinks he is."

The words came out sharp and bitter, fueled by jealousy I could barely contain.

"I'm what, exactly?"

The voice came from directly behind me—low, measured, and achingly familiar.

My entire body went rigid.

No. No, no, no—

I turned slowly, my heart suddenly pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, and found myself face to face with the last person I wanted to see right now.

Daniel stood in the doorway leading from the restaurant to the terrace, his tall frame backlit by the interior lighting.

I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the stone terrace with a harsh sound that made a couple at a nearby table look over

Daniel's expression was perfectly neutral. Perfectly controlled.

Which somehow made it worse.

But even as my mind scrambled for some other explanation—some way this could be a joke, a misunderstanding, anything other than what it obviously was—my body was already reacting.

My knees went weak. My palms started to sweat. Every muscle in my body locked up with a tension.

The sparkling wine I'd had with lunch started to churn, mixing with the adrenaline and fear into something that tasted like bile.

"I—" My voice came out as barely a whisper, my brain scrambling to make sense of what I was seeing. "I didn't— I mean, I saw you in the dining room earlier, but I thought—"

I stopped, the words tangling in my throat. My palms were slick with sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs.

*Ask him. Just ask him.*

But I couldn't. Couldn't form the question that was burning in my chest, couldn't give voice to the suspicion that was making it hard to breathe.

"I thought you and Luke had left already," I finally managed, the excuse sounding weak even to my own ears.

But Daniel wasn't looking at me anymore.

He'd moved past me, his attention fixed entirely on Emma, and I watched—frozen, unable to look away—as my brother's entire demeanor transformed.

The cold neutrality melted away, replaced by something I'd never seen on his face before. Something warm and tender that it made my chest hurt to witness it.

He crossed the terrace in three long strides and reached for Emma's shoulders, his touch gentle but firm as he guided her back to her chair. She sat, looking up at him with wide eyes, her face still pale but no longer quite so stricken.

Daniel's hands moved to smooth the fabric of her cream-colored sweater where it had wrinkled at her shoulders, then up to tuck a strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear with a tenderness.

Then he leaned down—close enough that their faces were nearly touching—and spoke in a voice so low I almost couldn't hear it.

"Baby," he murmured, and the endearment hit me like a punch to the gut, "you barely touched your lunch. Were you waiting for me?"

Then he leaned in further, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Emma didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. Didn't show even a flicker of surprise.

She just... accepted it. Tilted her head slightly into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Like they'd done this a thousand times before.

The realization crashed over me like ice water, and suddenly I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

I stood there, frozen, watching them like an idiot, my thoughts a chaotic mess.

Then Daniel straightened, and his hand found Emma's—their fingers intertwining. He turned to face me fully, and the look in his eyes was calm, almost pitying.

"So," he said quietly, his thumb absently stroking the back of Emma's hand, "you wanted to know who I am. "

He paused, and something flickered across his face.

"Nicholas, you've known me your entire life. You should understand perfectly well exactly who—and what—I am."