The Forbidden Throb Chapter 55

Nicholas's POV:

"If I still had money, would you—"

The words died in my throat.

A flash of light caught my eye—sunlight glinting off her left hand where it rested against her lap. I'd been so focused on her face in the rearview mirror, trying to read her expression, that I'd missed it until now.

A ring.

Not just any ring. Even from this angle, through the mirror, I could tell it was expensive. Platinum band, the kind of understated elegance that screamed old money. A solitaire diamond that had to be at least two carats, maybe more.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.

"Nicholas?" Her voice came from the backseat, confused. "Are you going to finish that sentence?"

I couldn't. The question I'd been about to ask—whether she'd come back to me if I had money again—suddenly felt laughable. Pathetic.

She already had someone. Someone with enough money to put *that* on her finger.

Tom's text flashed through my mind: *Luxury sedan. Looked expensive.*

And now this.

I forced myself to meet her eyes in the mirror, schooling my features into something resembling casual interest. "Guess you've gotten better at it."

My voice came out wrong. Too tight. Too sharp.

"Better at what?"

"Getting men to like you." The words came out before I could stop them, bitter and ugly. "Must be quite the upgrade from what you had with me."

Her blue-green eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, with us, you got what? Some dinners? A few shopping trips?" I let out a harsh laugh. "Must have been frustrating. Playing the devoted girlfriend, pretending you weren't keeping score. And in the end, nothing to show for it."

"Stop the car."

Her voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet.

But I couldn't stop. All the emotions I'd been bottling up these past weeks finally broke free.

"Wasn't it? The innocent act, the shy smiles, the whole 'I'm not like other girls' routine." I met her eyes in the mirror, and something in my chest twisted at the hurt I saw there.

But I pushed on anyway. "You thought you could trap a Prescott. But you lost. And when that didn't work out—when the money dried up and the free ride ended—you moved on. Found someone else."

"Nicholas, stop the car. *Now.*"

I ignored what she said, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "Someone who could give you what you really wanted. So really, I should thank you. You showed your true colors before I made a bigger mistake."

I paused, the words turning even more vicious. "Make sure you take good care of your sugar daddy. I'm sure he expects a return on his investment."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, in a voice I'd never heard her use before—cold, cutting, furious—Emma spoke.

"Pull over."

It wasn't a request.

I jerked the Porsche to the curb, tires squealing slightly. Behind us, someone honked. I ignored them.

"Get out," I said, surprising myself.

Emma's hand was already on the door handle. "You're unbelievable."

"Am I? At least I'm honest about what I want. Unlike you, with your whole—"

The door slammed shut, cutting off my words.

I watched in the rearview mirror as she stepped onto the sidewalk, already pulling out her phone. Her face was pale, two spots of color high on her cheeks. She didn't look back.

A horn blared behind me. Traffic was backing up.

I shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb, probably faster than I should have. In the mirror, I caught one last glimpse of Emma, her arm raised to hail a cab.

Still wearing that goddamn ring.

*Good riddance.*

I made it three blocks before I had to pull over again.

My hands were shaking.

"*Fuck.*" The word came out strangled, barely audible over the sound of traffic. I gripped the steering wheel, pressing my forehead against it.

A tangle of emotions churned in my chest—anger, regret, jealousy, something that felt uncomfortably like grief.

I couldn't sort through them, couldn't name what I was feeling.

It was all just... too messy.

I straightened, running a hand through my hair, and that's when I saw it.

Hanging from my rearview mirror was a small charm—a silver compass, no bigger than a quarter. Emma had given it to me months ago, after I'd complained about having no sense of direction.

*"So you'll always find your way home,"* she'd said, her eyes bright.

For a moment, I could almost feel it again—that warmth that used to fill my chest when she looked at me like that.

We'd been happy then. I knew we had been.

My phone buzzed. A text from Tom: *Dude, where are you? Thought we were meeting at Sullivan's?*

Right. I was supposed to meet him for drinks.

I stared at the compass, watching it catch the light, and felt something crack open in my chest.

I grabbed my phone and typed out a response to Tom: *Change of plans. Meet me at the track instead.*

His reply came seconds later: *The racing club? Everything okay?*

*Yeah. Just need to drive.*

I pulled back into traffic, heading toward the private racing club on the outskirts of the city. It was members-only, full of guys like me—rich kids with fast cars and too much time on their hands.

I hadn't been for a long time. So long that I'd almost forgotten the reason—Emma used to worry. Every time I mentioned going to the track, she'd get this look on her face, concerned and anxious.

*"Please be careful,"* she'd say, her fingers tightening around mine. *"I know you're a good driver, but still..."*

The memory made my jaw clench. Made everything feel even more tangled and wrong.

*Fuck.* I pressed harder on the gas.

The sun was starting to set by the time I pulled into the club's parking lot. Tom's BMW was already there, parked near the entrance. I found him in the lounge, nursing a beer and talking to a couple of other guys I vaguely recognized from school.

"Finally." Tom stood, gesturing to the track visible through the windows. "Thought you'd bailed. What's going on? You look like hell."

"I'm fine." I headed for the door that led to the track. "Just need to clear my head."

Tom followed, his expression concerned. "This about Emma? Did you find—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Nick—"

"I said I don't want to *talk* about it." I rounded on him, and he held up his hands.

"Okay, okay. Jesus." He paused. "But if you need to, you know, after a few runs..."

I didn't answer. Just grabbed a helmet and headed for my car.

The first lap, I pushed the car hard. Harder than I should have, taking corners too fast, feeling the wheels fight for traction. The second lap, I pushed harder still.

By the third, my hands had stopped shaking.

But I couldn't get rid of the image of that ring, glinting in the afternoon sun. Or the sound of Emma's voice, quiet and cold: *You're unbelievable.*

I was.

I really, truly was.

And the worst part? The thing I couldn't admit to Tom or anyone else?

I'd been about to tell her I still loved her. Right before I saw that ring. The words had been on the tip of my tongue: *I miss you. I was an idiot. Please come back.*

Thank God I'd kept my mouth shut.

At least I'd saved myself that humiliation.