The Forbidden Throb Chapter 176

Emma's POV:

I was halfway out of my chair when Lily's voice stopped me cold.

"You know what?" Her tone had shifted again—not pleading, not angry, but something else entirely. Something wistful and sharp all at once. "If my world had a Daniel Prescott in it, I wouldn't have lost."

I turned slowly to face her, and something cold slithered down my spine.

"I mean it," she continued, leaning back in her chair with a strange smile. "Someone like that? I'd never let him go. I'd—"

"Don't." The word came out harder than I intended.

Lily's eyebrows rose.

"Don't even *think* about it," I said, my voice low and steady despite the sudden hammering of my heart. "Whatever you're imagining, whatever angle you're working—stay away from Daniel."

"Or what?" She tilted her head, genuinely curious.

"Or I won't be nearly as polite as I'm being right now." I held her gaze, letting her see exactly how serious I was. "I promise you that."

For a moment, we just stared at each other. Then Lily laughed—a short, bitter sound.

"Now you're protective," she said. "Now you're drawing lines and making threats. Where was all this fire when he was standing in the background, watching you kiss Nicholas? When he was seeing you hold his brother's hand, hearing you plan a future with someone else?"

The accusation landed like a slap, but I forced myself not to flinch.

"That's between Daniel and me," I said quietly. "And it's not something you get to use as a weapon."

"I'm not trying to use it as anything." Lily's smile turned sad. "I'm just stating facts. All that pain? All those years of watching you with Nicholas? I didn't cause that, Emma. *You* did."

My chest tightened, but I kept my voice steady.

"If you think that's going to come between us," I said, "if you think you can use that to drive some wedge or plant some doubt—you're wrong. We've already talked about it. We're—"

"Together now, I know." She waved a hand dismissively. "Happy ending and all that. I get it. You've always been like this."

"Then why—"

"Because it makes me even more jealous," she said simply. "Don't you see? Even that—even the guilt, even the complicated history—it doesn't matter. He still wants you. He still chose you. After everything."

She stood up, gathering her bag with slow, deliberate movements.

"Do you know what I can't wrap my head around?" she asked, her voice quieter now. "How someone could know—*know*—that the person they love is with their own brother, and still give up better opportunities just to stay close. Just to be in the same city."

I froze. "What?"

"Oh." Lily looked up, and something like satisfaction crossed her face when she saw my expression. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" My voice came out sharper than intended.

She studied me for a long moment, then shook her head with a small, bitter smile.

"I really don't understand what I'm missing," she said softly. "What you have that I don't. But fine—consider this my parting gift."

She slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Three years ago, Daniel Prescott turned down positions at Johns Hopkins, Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic—basically every top hospital in the country. Chose to stay at Mass General instead, even though it meant giving up career opportunities most doctors would kill for."

My heart stopped.

"Why do you think he did that, Emma?" Lily's smile was almost pitying now. "He stayed in Boston. Stayed close to *you*. Even knowing he'd have to watch you build a life with someone else."

"And that's probably just what I know about," Lily continued, her voice taking on an edge. "God knows what else he did that you never noticed. His whole life has been about you. Orbiting around you like you're the sun, and he's just... content to stay in your shadow."

She headed for the door, then paused with her hand on the handle.

"I hope you realize how rare that is," she said without turning around. "How *impossible*. Because most of us will spend our whole lives searching for even a fraction of what he's given you."

The door swung shut behind her with a soft chime.

I stood there, frozen, as her words echoed in my head.

*Three years ago.*

*Turned down positions.*

*Stayed close to you.*

I don't remember leaving the coffee shop. Don't remember the walk back to the apartment. One moment I was standing there, staring at my phone, and the next I was pushing through our front door.

The apartment was empty. Quiet.

I stood in the entryway, Lily's words playing on repeat in my head.

*His whole life has been about you.*

My phone buzzed in my hand, making me jump.

**Daniel:** * There's a bento box in the fridge—I made your favorite teriyaki salmon with the brown rice you like. Heat it for 2 minutes, no more or it'll dry out. And there's miso soup in the blue container. Miss you.*

I stared at the message, my vision blurring.

Every time I thought I'd finally grasped the full extent of what he did for me, something new would surface.

I walked to the kitchen on autopilot, opened the fridge.

There it was. A glass bento box with compartments—the expensive kind from that Japanese store in Cambridge he'd driven forty minutes to because I'd mentioned once, *once*.

The teriyaki salmon was perfectly portioned. The vegetables were arranged by color. There was even a small container of pickled ginger on the side because he knew I liked the palate cleanser between bites.

I sank into one of the kitchen chairs, still holding the bento box, and let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.

"What did I do in my past life?" I whispered to the empty kitchen. "What could I possibly have done to deserve this?"

Saved the galaxy, maybe. Cured cancer. Solved world hunger.

I opened the container with trembling hands. The smell of teriyaki sauce and perfectly steamed rice filled the small kitchen. I took a bite, and despite everything— despite the weight of Lily's revelations pressing down on my chest—it was delicious.

When I finished, I washed the bento box carefully, dried it, and set it in the dish rack.

I wandered into the living room and sat on the couch, staring at nothing. The afternoon light slanted through the windows, painting everything in shades of gold. It was beautiful. Peaceful.

And I couldn't stand it.

I got up and walked to the bedroom—*our* bedroom. Pulled open the closet door and reached for one of Daniel's white dress shirts. The fabric was soft, freshly laundered, carrying that clean woody scent of his detergent mixed with something that was just... him.

I changed into it, the sleeves falling past my fingertips, the hem reaching mid-thigh. Then I pulled back the covers and crawled into bed, wrapping my arms around myself.

The shirt smelled like him. Like home. Like safety.

And that's when the tears really came. They came from somewhere in my chest that had been locked tight for years, and now the dam had broken.

And then, finally, I slept.

The dream came slowly, building itself around me like a familiar room.

I stood on the beach in Portland. The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. The water was calm, gentle waves lapping at the shore.

And there he was.