The Forbidden Throb Chapter 25

Emma's POV:

The music swelled around us, couples spinning past in a blur of silk and sequins, but in our small orbit everything had gone still.

"We broke up just a week ago, Emma. *One week.*"

The accusation in his tone was clear. I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks, grateful suddenly for the mask that hid my face.

*What had I been thinking?*

The lie had slipped out in a moment of wounded pride, a desperate attempt to match his cruelty with indifference. But now, I felt the first stirrings of regret.

*One lie always breeds a dozen more.*

Still. The words were out there now, hanging between us like a gauntlet thrown.

"And you?" I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. "What about Megan? You certainly didn't waste any time."

Something flickered across his face. His jaw tightened, and I saw him draw breath as if to speak, then stop himself.

Instead, he lifted his chin, his green eyes hardening. "That's different."

"How?" I challenged.

"It just is." His tone had gone cold again, dismissive. Then his grip shifted, pulling me through another turn with more force than necessary. "Who is he?"

"That's none of your business."

His eyes narrowed. "Tell me who he is."

"No."

"Emma—"

"What does it matter?" I pulled back slightly, as much as the dance would allow. "We're not together now. Who I see is my own concern."

Nicholas let out a short, bitter laugh.

"God, you're already this defensive about him? What, have you known him all of a week? Less?"

His fingers dug into my waist. "He's probably just playing with you. Using you for—"

"Stop." The word came out harder than I'd intended, cutting through his speculation like a blade.

Several nearby couples glanced our way.

I could feel their curiosity, their attention drawn by the tension crackling between us.

I lowered my voice, but kept the steel in it. "Even if that were true—even if he *were* just playing—it would still be better than what I had with you."

The words landed like a slap.

I watched Nicholas's expression shift through shock, anger, and something that might have been hurt before settling into cold fury.

"Is that right?" His voice was deadly quiet.

"Yes."

"Fine." He released me so abruptly I stumbled slightly. "You know what, Emma? Good for you."

The music still played. The waltz wasn't over. Couples continued their graceful circuits around us, but Nicholas had already dropped his hands from my waist, from my hand.

He stepped back, his face a mask of barely controlled rage.

"Enjoy your new relationship," he said.

Then he turned and strode off the dance floor, his long legs carrying him through the crowd with single-minded purpose. He didn't look back.

The music played on.

And I stood there, alone in the middle of the dance floor, suddenly hyperaware of every eye on me. The curious glances. The whispered speculations.

*The girl who'd been abandoned mid-dance.*

Heat crept up my neck.

My hands felt cold and clammy. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the polished floor and vanish.

Instead, I lifted my chin and forced my feet to move. Walked off the dance floor with as much dignity as I could muster.

The bathroom became my sanctuary, all marble and gold fixtures and soft lighting that was probably meant to be flattering but just felt exposing.

I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection

The princess mask stared back, serene and unbothered, a perfect contrast to the turmoil beneath.

*I have a boyfriend.*

What a stupid, reckless lie.

The bathroom door opened.

I didn't look up, focusing instead on turning on the faucet, making a show of washing my hands.

"Well, well."

That voice. Sugary sweet with an edge of venom.

Megan.

I raised my eyes to the mirror. She stood behind me, her Cleopatra costume perfectly intact, dark wig gleaming under the lights. Her arms were crossed, her expression one of cool amusement.

"That was quite a performance out there," she said, moving to stand beside me at the sinks. "Very entertaining."

I turned off the water, reaching for a towel. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Oh, I did." She examined her reflection, touching up already-perfect lipstick. "Especially that final moment—when Nicholas just walked away and left you standing there, all alone in the middle of the dance floor."

A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips. "That was *exquisite*. "

My hands stilled on the towel.

*Breathe. Just breathe.*

"You know," I said slowly, meeting her gaze in the mirror, "I heard you earlier. In the ballroom. You and your friends."

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Complaining about how cheap Nicholas has gotten. How he won't buy you things anymore. How disappointing it all is."

A flash of something crossed her face—surprise, maybe, or irritation at being caught.

I continued, my voice soft but clear. "So I have to wonder... why are you working so hard to play the devoted girlfriend? All that sweetness, that adoration—it's exhausting, isn't it? Pretending to be madly in love with someone you're just using for his credit card?"

For a moment, she froze.

Then Megan's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "At least I'm smart enough to get *something* out of the relationship. What did you get, Emma? Besides humiliated?"

She adjusted her wig one final time, satisfied with her reflection.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," she said sweetly. "I'm sure your *boyfriend*"—she loaded the word with skepticism—"is waiting for you somewhere."

Then she swept out, leaving me alone with my reflection and the faint scent of her perfume.