The Forbidden Throb Chapter 166

Emma's POV:

The overhead lights dimmed further as Daniel's presentation moved into its final segment.

On stage, he shifted seamlessly from discussing post-operative monitoring protocols to addressing the psychological impact on patients' families. His voice remained steady, professional, yet I caught the subtle softening when he mentioned "the human element of cardiac care."

*He's thinking about Mia's father,* I realized, remembering Quinn's story about the coffee incident. *Even now.*

"And that," Daniel concluded, his eyes sweeping across the packed auditorium, "is why we must never forget that behind every procedure, every statistic, there's a life—and people who love that life."

The applause that erupted was thunderous. I found myself clapping too, my hands stinging slightly from the force, pride swelling in my chest until it almost hurt.

Beside me, Olivia let out a low whistle. "Okay, I take back every joke I made about doctors having god complexes."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too widely.

The Dean returned to the podium, his expression one of barely concealed admiration. "Dr. Prescott, that was absolutely extraordinary. I believe we have time for questions from the audience. Please, if you have any—"

Hands shot up before he could finish. The Dean chuckled, scanning the crowd. "Let's start with... yes, the young man in the third row."

A nervous-looking undergraduate stood, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

"Dr. Prescott, I'm a pre-med sophomore, and I'm already feeling overwhelmed by the workload. How did you manage to excel academically while also developing the practical skills needed for surgery?"

Daniel's expression gentled slightly. "Excellent question. The truth is, there's no shortcut. You need to master the foundational knowledge first—truly master it—because only then will you find yourself moving fluidly when you're actually in the OR."

He paused, his tone becoming more direct. "My advice? Focus on doing what's required at your current stage exceptionally well. Don't rush ahead. The practical skills will come, but they mean nothing without the theoretical framework to support them."

More hands shot up. The Dean scanned the crowd and pointed to a young man in the middle section.

My stomach dropped when I recognized him.

*Blake.*

He stood, microphone in hand, his posture confident and open. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly across the auditorium.

"Dr. Prescott, did you date anyone during your undergraduate years?"

A ripple of surprised laughter ran through the crowd. Blake pressed on, seemingly unfazed.

"I ask because—well, I have someone I've been interested in for a while now." His tone was earnest, almost confessional. "But as everyone knows, medical students aren't exactly... popular dating prospects. We're always busy, always stressed, always choosing the library over social events."

More laughter, this time sympathetic. Several students nodded in agreement.

Blake's confidence wavered slightly as people turned to look at him, some grinning, others nudging their neighbors. A flush crept up his neck, and his words came slower, more hesitant.

"I guess what I'm asking is... how do you handle that kind of psychological imbalance? When you know you're not the easy choice, not the fun choice, but you still want to... to try?"

The auditorium erupted. Laughter and excited chatter rolled through the rows like a wave. Students whistled and clapped, clearly appreciating his boldness.

Several male voices called out encouragement—"Go for it, man!" "Shoot your shot!"

Beside me, Olivia's eyes widened. "Wait, is that Blake? " She turned to me with sudden realization. "Oh my God, Emma—I bet he's talking about *you*. He's literally asking your husband for dating advice about you. This is—"

She pressed her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "He is really brave."

But I barely heard her.

My eyes were fixed on Daniel, unblinking, my heart climbing into my throat.

*Dating in college... that's such a private question for him.*

I knew how carefully he guarded the line between his professional and personal life. He'd never given interviews about anything beyond his research. His social media presence was virtually nonexistent. Even his contact list was ruthlessly curated.

But then something shifted in his expression.

His gaze softened, sweeping across the auditorium before settling somewhere in the middle distance—or perhaps, I realized with a jolt, settling on me.

The corner of his mouth curved upward, barely perceptible. His left hand—the one wearing his wedding ring—rose slightly to adjust the microphone.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost intimate, yet it carried perfectly through the hushed auditorium.

"No," he said simply. "I never dated anyone during my undergraduate years."

A pause. The silence stretched, expectant.

"But I has been secretly in love with someone."

The words echoed through the speakers, and for a heartbeat, the entire auditorium seemed to freeze.

Then the screaming started.

High-pitched, excited shrieks erupted from every corner of the room, building into a wave of sound that no amount of shushing from the Dean could suppress. Students were on their feet, some clutching their friends, others filming on their phones.

Beside me, Olivia grabbed my arm and shook it so hard my entire limb went numb. "Oh my GOD—Emma, did you hear that? "

But I couldn't respond. Couldn't move.

I sat frozen, staring at the man standing behind the podium, bathed in spotlight.

Daniel's hand rested lightly on the podium's edge, his posture relaxed despite the chaos he'd just unleashed. When he spoke again, his voice cut through the residual noise with quiet authority.

"Given that our experiences are similar," he said, his gaze steady, "my advice is straightforward: don't confuse wanting someone with being ready for them."

The auditorium had gone silent again, everyone hanging on his words.

"Love isn't just about how you feel. It's about what you can provide—stability, security, a future worth stepping into." His voice took on a sharper edge. "If all you have to offer is passion and problems, you're not inviting her into a relationship. You're asking her to fix you."

My breath caught.

*He was preparing. All that time, he was preparing for me.*

Under the spotlight, Daniel's dark eyes seemed to catch the light, making them shimmer with an almost tender intensity.

"So my suggestion?" he continued, his tone softening. "Build something first. Build yourself into someone who can stand beside her as an equal, not someone who needs her to complete him. Make yourself into the kind of person whose life would genuinely be an addition to hers, not a complication."

He paused, and something flickered across his face—a shadow of old determination.

"And if you find you can't do that—if the gap between where you are and where you need to be feels insurmountable—then the most loving thing you can do is step back. Let her find someone who's already built that foundation. Don't make your growth her burden to carry."

The final words fell into absolute silence.

Blake had asked about his own feelings, his own struggle.

But Daniel's answer had been entirely about *her*. About responsibility. About worthiness. About love as action rather than sentiment.

In the silence, Blake seemed to suddenly remember he was still holding the microphone. His voice, when it came, was quieter, almost hesitant.

"And the girl you loved during college... what happened with her?"

The question hung in the air.