The Forbidden Throb Chapter 53

Emma's POV:

I woke to sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, the kind of gentle morning light that felt almost kind.

For a moment, I lay still, letting my mind catch up with where I was.

*Daniel's apartment. Not Robert's house.*

The relief that washed over me was immediate and visceral.

No need to tiptoe down the hallway. No fear of disturbing someone's morning routine. No anxious monitoring of every sound to gauge the household's mood.

Daniel's words echoed in my ears: *"You're the lady of the house, Emma. You can do whatever you want here."*

Yesterday, I'd been so tense. Waiting for something to go wrong. Waiting for the kind facade to crack and reveal... what? Another Robert? Another Nicholas?

But nothing had happened.

*Maybe not everyone is like that,* I thought, pushing myself up against the pillows. *Maybe blood and affection don't always correlate.*

I stretched, my body still heavy with sleep.

The bedside clock read 7:47 AM.

I pulled on a cardigan over my pajamas and padded barefoot down the hallway.

Downstairs was silent—Daniel had clearly left for the hospital. Morning light poured through the windows, flooding the kitchen and living room with a golden warmth that brightened my mood for the day ahead.

A plate sat on the dining table, covered with a clean kitchen towel.

I approached it slowly, lifting the corner of the fabric. Toast, perfectly golden. Scrambled eggs that still held a hint of warmth. A small bowl of cut fruit—strawberries, blueberries, melon cubes arranged with the kind of precision.

A note leaned against the plate, written in neat, angular handwriting on a prescription pad.

*Emma—*

*Had to leave early for pre-op rounds. Breakfast in the fridge if you want something else. Help yourself to anything.*

*Text me if you need anything at all.*

*—D*

Something warm unfurled in my chest as I traced the angular letters with my fingertip.

The casual domesticity of it—the breakfast, the note, the implicit care woven through such simple gestures—felt warm from my heart.

I ate quickly, savoring the normalcy of it. Then I dressed in professional clothes, grabbed my bag, and headed out.

Jane had already texted me twice this morning, barely able to contain her eagerness for me to come into the office today.

The city was already awake, the morning commute in full swing.

The Observer's office was exactly as I remembered—cramped, chaotic, smelling of coffee and old newsprint despite everything being digital now.

Desks crammed together, phones ringing, the constant hum of urgent conversations and typing.

Jane greeted me with a warm hug. "Emma! You're a lifesaver. We're drowning in submissions for the holiday issue."

"Happy to help."

She guided me to a desk in the corner, already piled with manuscripts and printouts. "Just flag anything promising. You know what we're looking for."

I settled in, opening the shared drive on my laptop.

The queue was indeed overwhelming—dozens of pitches, article drafts, opinion pieces.

*Time to focus.*

Hours passed. My phone buzzed occasionally. I responded briefly, keeping my focus on the screen.

Around eleven, someone tapped my shoulder.

"Emma? Hi! Remember me? Lily Madison, from the marketing internship?"

I looked up to find a petite brunette hovering anxiously, clutching a notebook. She was a fellow BU alumna—we'd crossed paths a few times before.

"Of course. How's it going?"

"Honestly? I'm drowning. I've been transferred to the editorial department."

Lily's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I'm working on this digital media piece, but I'm struggling with source material. Everything I've found feels too surface-level."

I thought of my phone, loaded with interview footage and raw material from various assignments I'd covered.

"Actually," I said, reaching for my bag, "I might have something that could help. I've got interview clips and research materials from several projects Olivia and I worked on together. "

Lily's eyes widened. "Really? You'd share that?"

"Of course." I pulled out my phone, already scrolling through folders. "Let me send you what I have. Hopefully, there's something you can use."

"You're amazing," she breathed. "Thank you so much. Can I buy you coffee? lunch?"

"That's sweet, but I really need to get back to campus." I glanced at my watch. "I have class this afternoon. Rain check?"

"Absolutely."

As she hurried off, I glanced at my phone. 11:47 AM.

One unread message from Daniel:

*Don't forget to eat lunch on time. *

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. My fingers moved across the screen almost automatically.

*You too. Don't let your surgeries run through lunch again.*

After hitting send, I rolled my shoulders and stretched my neck, working out the stiffness from hunching over my laptop all morning.

Time to head back to campus for lunch and my afternoon class.

I shoved my phone into my bag and headed for the elevator, desperate for fresh air.

The midnoon sun slanted between buildings, the air crisp with approaching winter. I stood at the curb, raising my hand to hail a cab.

"Emma!"

The voice was familiar—too familiar. I turned, my body tensing instinctively.

Nicholas's silver Porsche sat at the curb, engine purring.

He climbed out, dressed in black from head to toe—logo-emblazoned wool coat, designer hoodie underneath, expensive jeans, the kind of carefully assembled look where every piece announced its price tag.

Unlike Daniel's restrained elegance, Nicholas wore his wealth and style openly, almost defiantly.

He strode toward me, anger darkening his features. I didn't want this confrontation, but there was nowhere to go.