The Forbidden Throb Chapter 172

Emma's POV:

The call came at exactly five o'clock.

I was in the apartment, curled up on the couch with my laptop balanced on my knees, refreshing the BU forum obsessively.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer.

"Ms. Johnson? This is Diana Grey from Boston University Student Affairs."

I sat up straighter, my spine suddenly rigid. "Yes, this is Emma."

"I'm calling regarding the defamatory posts," she said. "I want you to know that I've seen your statement, and the university stands firmly behind you and Professor Prescott."

Her voice was professional, measured, but there was an undertone of warmth that made my shoulders relax fractionally.

My throat tightened. "Thank you,"

"I spoke personally with Dean Morrison at Harvard Medical School this afternoon," she continued. "We've confirmed that your marriage relationship falls completely within the ethical boundaries of both institutions. "

I closed my eyes, feeling something loosen in my chest.

"BU has a zero-tolerance policy for cyberbullying and defamation," Ms. Grey went on, her tone sharpening slightly. "Malicious dissemination of false information constitutes a serious violation. We take this very seriously, Ms. Johnson."

"I appreciate that," I managed.

"We've set a deadline for tomorrow, at 5 PM," Ms. Grey said crisply. "By then, our IT Security Department will have completed the IP trace and account verification. You'll receive a formal email with the results and our proposed disciplinary action."

After we hung up, I sat there for a long moment, staring at the darkening skyline. This wasn't just me anymore. They were standing with us.

Whoever it was, they were about to face consequences.

---

When I woke up the next morning, pale winter sunlight was streaming through the bedroom windows.

I was in Daniel's apartment, sprawled across his king-sized bed in one of his old t-shirts.

He'd left early for an emergency consult. There was a note on his pillow: *Didn't want to wake you. Bagels and cream cheese in the kitchen. Should be home by noon. —D*

I smiled, pressing the note to my chest for a moment before reaching for my phone on the nightstand.

9:47 AM. And seventeen new emails.

My stomach dropped.

The subject line of the first one made my breath catch: **Confidential Investigation Report: Case #BU-2024-SC-1847**

I sat up so fast the room spun slightly. My fingers trembled as I opened the PDF attachment.

*BOSTON UNIVERSITY*

*Office of Student Conduct & IT Security Department*

*Joint Investigation Report*

*CONFIDENTIAL*

I scrolled past the official letterhead, the case number, and the procedural language. And then I saw it.

**IP Address Trace Results:**

*All anonymous defamatory posts originated from the BU campus network. Location: West Campus Residence. Further verification cross-referenced with system login credentials identifies registered user:*

**Madison, Lily**

*Major: Communications*

I stared at the name.

Lily.

Lily Madison. That friendly underclassman who'd treated me to coffee. Who'd borrowed my notes with that grateful smile. Who'd invited me to lunch during our internship, chattering about her career dreams and asking for advice.

How could it be *her*?

I kept reading, my eyes blurring over the technical details.

**Timeline of Posting Activity:**

The report listed everything. *Everything.*

Twitter posts from @BU_truth_teller observing my "designer accessories" and "luxury car pickups."

The Christmas market photos from Paris, submitted to @BU_tea_spill on Instagram.

And then the recent escalation—after Daniel's lecture. Four different accounts, all traced back to Lily, posting increasingly aggressive comments. Building a narrative. Planting seeds.

**Technical Analysis:** *Subject employed VPN services and private browsing mode. However, campus network authentication system maintained digital footprint through automatic login credentials. All posts originated from devices registered to Madison, Lily.*

I felt sick.

I opened my Messages app with numb fingers, scrolling back through our conversation history.

The most recent exchange was from two weeks ago.

**Lily:** *Haven't seen you in forever, miss you! Thinking Cup this weekend?*

With three coffee cup emojis and a heart.

I'd added Lily during freshman orientation—she was from Portland too, a fellow Mainer at BU, and we'd bonded over that shared background.

Then we'd run into each other again during my internship last summer. After that, we'd crossed paths regularly on campus. She was always so sweet, so eager to help. As long as it didn't cross any major boundaries, I'd always been willing to lend her a hand—proofread a paper, share my notes, offer career advice.

Now, staring at those cheerful emojis, I felt sick.

Had it all been an act?

I was about to close the chat when a new message popped up at the bottom of the screen. From Lily.

**Lily:** *Emma, I'm SO SO sorry, I saw your post yesterday, and I feel TERRIBLE. Can we talk? Please?*

My hands clenched around the phone so tightly my knuckles went white.

Another message appeared.

**Lily:** *I know you're probably mad, but please let me explain. It wasn't supposed to go this far. I saw you waiting by the back door, and I just took a photo to show my roommate because she didn't believe me that you knew him. She said it looked photoshopped, and I got defensive and stupid. I just wanted to prove I was telling the truth*

Then another.

**Lily:** *I swear I had NO intention to hurt you. I was just being impulsive and immature. I know that doesn't make it okay, but please, Emma, for old times' sake, can we meet and talk about this? I'll do whatever you want to make it right*

I felt something cold and hard settle in my chest.

"For old times' sake."

What old times? The times she'd used me for homework help? For professional connections? For photo ops to boost her own social media presence?

Another message.

**Lily:** *I know the school is investigating, and I'm FREAKING OUT. My parents are going to kill me if this affects my Dean's List standing or the student leadership elections. You know how important my resume is for grad school apps, please, Emma, I'm begging you. Can you help me talk to Student Conduct? Tell them it was a misunderstanding?*

I read that last message three times.

She wasn't sorry for hurting me. She was sorry for getting *caught*.

And she wanted me to *help* her avoid consequences.

The audacity of it actually made me laugh.

I looked at the investigation report still open on my laptop. At the timeline of posts. At the calculated, methodical destruction of my reputation.

My fingers moved before I'd consciously decided to respond.

**Me:** *It wasn't just this once. I've seen every single word you posted on BU Confessions, Twitter, and Instagram. Every. Single. One.*

I hit send and immediately started typing again.

**Me:** *How dare you mention "old times" when you spent months systematically destroying my reputation behind my back?*

Send.

**Me:** *BU will handle this according to the Student Code of Conduct. My attorney has already sent the cease-and-desist letter. I will NOT be dropping the case.*

My heart was pounding, but my hands were steady now.

**Me:** *Don't contact me again.*

Send.

I didn't wait for a response. I blocked her number.

The front door opened.

"Emma?" Daniel's voice carried from the entryway. "I'm home. I brought Thai food—figured you might want something comforting."