The Forbidden Throb Chapter 49

Emma's POV:

I stood frozen in the doorway, my fingers still gripping the handle of my suitcase.

Everything felt unreal—the warm glow of the apartment, the quiet hum of the heating system, even the weight of the wedding ring on my finger.

Daniel had moved toward a sleek panel near the entrance, his movements efficient and practiced.

"Let me set up your fingerprint," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "For the front door."

I blinked. "Oh. Right."

He gestured me forward, and I wheeled my suitcase aside. His hand steadied mine, warm and careful, as he guided my thumb to the sensor. The panel beeped its confirmation.

Before I could say anything, Daniel turned toward a built-in cabinet near the entrance. From the top shelf, he pulled out a pair of slippers—wool, dove grey, with a subtle cable-knit pattern along the sides.

"I wasn't sure of your size," he said, crouching to remove the tags, "but these should work."

I took them, surprised he'd thought to prepare them. They fit perfectly.

Standing there in the grey slippers, I clasped my hands in front of me, suddenly unsure. The apartment stretched before me—warm, comfortable, entirely *his*.

"Which room..." I started, my voice coming out smaller than I'd intended. "Where should I...?"

"What do you think?" Daniel asked, and there was the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

My heart stuttered. *What did I think?* 

Heat flooded my face as the implication hit me. We were married. Married people typically shared a—

"I mean—" The words tumbled out in a rush. "If you have a spare room, any room is fine. I'm not picky. Really. Whatever's available, I can just—"

Daniel's quiet laugh stopped me mid-sentence. He gestured toward the staircase, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Second door on the left. Your room."

*Your room.* Not *our* room.

It took a beat for it to register—the amusement in his eyes, the slight curve of his lips. He'd been teasing me.

My face somehow grew even hotter. "Oh."

"And you don't need to worry," Daniel added, his expression gentler now. "I'm not going to try anything.

Olivia's voice suddenly echoed in my head, unbidden: *"He's either gay, or there's some kind of... dysfunction situation."*

I felt my eyes widen slightly before I could stop myself, my gaze flickering to Daniel and then immediately away.

But the thought had already lodged itself in my mind, making the reassurance he'd just given me take on a whole different meaning. Was he saying he wouldn't try anything because he was being a gentleman, or because he... couldn't? Or didn't want to with women in general?

"Emma?"

I snapped back to attention, realizing I'd been staring at the floor for far too long, my face probably the color of a tomato.

"Sorry," I managed. "I just—thank you. For the room. And for..." I gestured vaguely, unable to finish the sentence.

A flicker of confusion crossed his features. But after a moment, he simply nodded.

"If you need anything—furniture, supplies, whatever—just let me know," he added. "I had some basics delivered, but I'm sure I missed things."

I nodded mutely, not trusting my voice.

"If it would make you feel safer," he said, pulling out one of the counter stools. "We can write them down. Boundaries, expectations—"

"No," I interrupted, the word coming out more forcefully than I'd intended.

Daniel paused, looking at me with those calm, assessing eyes. "No?"

I swallowed. "I mean... I trust you."

*Setting up all these rules—it feels like I'm expecting something to happen. Or worried that it might.*

*Which makes it seem like I've been thinking about... that.*

Something shifted in Daniel's expression—surprise, maybe, or something I couldn't quite name. He studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said quietly.

He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sleek black card, placing it on the counter between us. In raised lettering, I could see my new name: Emma Prescott.

My breath caught. Seeing it there, in raised lettering—Emma Prescott—made everything suddenly, viscerally real.

This was the first time I'd truly felt the weight of our marriage. This made it concrete. Tangible. Undeniable.

"It's linked to an account I've set up for you," Daniel said. "For living expenses, whatever you need."

I stared at the card, my throat tight. "Daniel, I can't—I'm already living here rent-free. I don't need—"

"Emma." His voice was firm. "This isn't charity. You're my wife, at least on paper. And regardless of how this arrangement came about, while we're married, you're entitled to everything that comes with that position. Including financial security."

I looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of condescension or pity. I found neither.

"Your youth, your time—" he continued, his tone softening, "those are things no amount of money can buy back. If this arrangement costs you opportunities, relationships... the least I can do is make sure you're not financially dependent on anyone else. "

I looked down at the card again, at my new name glinting in the lamplight.

"If you meet someone," Daniel said quietly, "someone you care about—you can tell me. We'll discuss how to handle things then."

There was something in his voice—a subtle shift in tone, barely perceptible.

It made my chest tighten in a way I didn't quite understand.

"Is there..." I hesitated, then forced myself to continue. "Is there anything you need from me? "

Daniel considered this, his fingers drumming once against the counter in a rare display of uncertainty.

"Play the part," he said finally. "Twenty-four seven."

I blinked. "The part?"

"Of a happily married young couple." A hint of warmth flickered across his features.

"I can do that," I said, surprising myself with how certain I sounded.

Before Daniel could respond, his phone buzzed against the counter. The sound cut through the quiet apartment, sharp and insistent.

He glanced at the screen, and I saw him pause—just a fraction of a second, but enough for me to notice.

"I need to take care of something," he said, already reaching for the phone. "Why don't you get your things unpacked? If you need anything, I'll be in the study."

"Of course," I said quickly, stepping back to give him space.

He nodded once, already turning toward the hallway. I caught the beginning of his greeting—low, measured—before he disappeared around the corner.