The Forbidden Throb Chapter 171

Emma's POV:

Four years at BU. Four years of working library shifts to pay tuition, tutoring high schoolers on weekends, grabbing coffee between classes.

Four years of nodding at people in hallways, making small talk during group projects, attending student council meetings where we discussed event logistics and nothing more.

I pulled up my phone's contact list, scrolling through the names. Olivia. Professor Laurent. The learning group from Laurent's class. A few student council members whose conversations never went beyond "Can you take notes at the next meeting?" or "Don't forget the deadline for the spring fundraiser."

That was it. That was my entire social circle at Boston University.

"I don't understand," I murmured, staring at the screen. "Where would I even have the *time* to make enemies?"

So who the hell had I pissed off enough to warrant this kind of targeted attack?

Daniel's arm came around my shoulders, pulling me gently against his side. I went willingly, tucking myself into the curve of his body, breathing in the familiar scent.

"Emma." His voice was low, steady. "A lot of malice in this world doesn't have a reason. And even when it does, it's rarely about the target. It's about the person doing the attacking."

I closed my eyes, feeling the vibration of his words against my cheek where it rested on his chest. "But I keep thinking... I must have done *something*. Said something. "

"No." His hand moved to my hair, fingers threading through the strands with infinite gentleness. "This isn't about you. This is about whoever's behind it. Their insecurity. Their jealousy. Their need to tear someone else down to feel powerful."

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

"Let me handle this," he murmured against my hair.

"I won't let them hurt you," he said softly. "Not while I'm here."

I pulled back just enough to look up at his face. His expression was calm, but I could see the steel beneath it.

I set down the teacup and turned to face him fully, my hand covering his where it rested on my knee.

"I'm not letting you fight this alone." I squeezed his hand. "Whatever happens, we face it together. "

I thought about Grace's words, spoken over tea in her Portland kitchen: *Real love isn't one person protecting the other, sweetheart. It's two people becoming each other's harbor.*

I turned my face into his palm, pressing a kiss to the center of it. "I'm not going to hide behind you, Daniel. "

His eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat I thought he might argue. But then his expression softened into something that looked almost like relief.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Together, then."

---

By two o'clock that afternoon, I was back in my room.

I sat beside me at my desk, and my laptop opened.

From my cloud storage, I pulled up a photo I'd almost forgotten about—taken on Grace's porch in Portland, the evening sun casting everything in gold. Daniel and I sat on the old rocking chairs, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder, both of us smiling like we had all the time in the world.

Then I found the scan of our marriage certificate. Official. Legal. The State of Maine seal clearly visible, along with our names and the date.

I opened a blank post and began to type.

**To everyone who has seen the malicious post on BU Confessions:**

*Professor Daniel Prescott and I have known each other since childhood due to our families' long-standing connection. Our relationship developed over years of mutual understanding and respect, having nothing to do with any student-teacher dynamic. We are legally married, and our marriage was registered in Portland, Maine, months ago.*

I paused, reading the words back to myself.

Then I kept typing.

*We chose not to disclose our marital status publicly to protect our privacy and maintain normalcy in our respective professional environments. Daniel is the most ethical, principled person I have ever known. The anonymous accusations are not only false but constitute defamation and invasion of privacy.*

My throat was tight. I swallowed hard and forced myself to continue.

*We will pursue full legal action against those responsible for spreading these lies. Our legal team at Ropes & Gray has issued cease and desist letters and is preparing a formal lawsuit. We will not tolerate this attack on our reputation and privacy.*

I attached three images: the Portland photo, the marriage certificate (with sensitive information like our Social Security numbers redacted but the date and location clearly visible), and the first page of the cease and desist letter—complete with the Ropes & Gray letterhead and an attorney's signature.

Then I copied the entire post and pasted it into identical drafts on Twitter and Facebook. Same words. Same images. Same message.

My finger hovered over the "Post" button.

Three seconds. That's how long I stared at it, my heart hammering, my palms slick with sweat.

Then I pressed it.

Instagram: *Posted.*

Twitter: *Posted.*

Facebook: *Posted.*

On the BU forum, I titled the thread "RE: False Accusations - The Truth" and pinned it to the top of the Public Discussion board.

The moment it went live, I felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs.

I pushed back from the desk, my legs shaky as I stood. I walked to the window. Back to the desk. To the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

*You did the right thing,* I told myself.

When I came back to the desk, my phone screen was lit up like a Christmas tree. Notification after notification, the numbers climbing so fast I could barely track them.

Instagram: 800+ likes. 67 comments.

Twitter: 205 retweets.

BU forum: 2,000+ views.

I picked up my phone with shaking fingers and opened the Instagram comments first.

*Holy shit. They're MARRIED? And the marriage certificate is legit?*

*The person who posted anonymously is the real trash here! Hiding in the shadows to slander people!*

*Professor Prescott's professional ethics are well-known across campus. I believe Emma. Sue them!*

*A legally married couple gets slandered as homewreckers? Has the world gone insane?*

*Ropes & Gray is a top-tier Boston law firm. Whoever posted that anonymous shit is FUCKED.*

There were skeptical voices too—*But the power dynamic is still problematic...*—but they were quickly drowned out by a tide of support.

I scrolled through Twitter, where the conversation had taken on a sharper edge.

*People really will believe any anonymous post without fact-checking, huh?*

*The fact that someone would go this far to destroy two people's reputations is genuinely disturbing.*

My phone rang at exactly 3:00 PM.

Olivia's face filled the screen.

I answered the video call, and immediately her voice exploded through the speaker.

"Emma. Stop talking and open Twitter. Right now."

"What? Why—"

"Just do it. Search for Daniel Prescott's name."

Confused, I pulled up Twitter on my laptop. Typed in his name.

And froze.

Daniel had retweeted my post from his verified Harvard Medical School account—@DrDanielPrescott_HMS, the blue checkmark gleaming next to his name. The account he usually only used for sharing published research papers and conference announcements.

His caption: **My wife. My choice. My responsibility.**

Posted fifteen minutes ago.

"Holy shit," I whispered.

"Oh! And Emma—the original post on BU Confessions? It's gone. Deleted. The forum moderators put up a notice saying they're cooperating with the legal team and tracking the IP address of whoever posted it."

"They're running," I murmured. "But it doesn't matter. We'll find them anyway."