The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Zara

The stairwell is narrow, the walls close enough that I could touch both sides if I tried.

We reach the top of the building, on the third floor. She stops at the last door on the left, sliding the key into the lock.

Clanm

And there’s a moment-just a moment-where I become aware of the stillness around me, the way everything seems to pause as though waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Then the door opens, and the space reveals itself.

Smaller than it looked in the photos, smaller than anything I’ve ever lived in, it’s a single room

that holds everything at once.

A narrow bed pushed against one wall, a wooden table and chair, a kitchenette that consists of two burners and a sink that’s seen better days.

The window is graceful, though, letting in a soft strip of light that falls across the floor in a way that feels almost deliberate, like it’s chosen its place and intends to stay there.

There’s no excess here. No room for anything unnecessary, no space for silence to stretch into something heavy.

There’s just enough.

I step inside slowly, my shoes soft against the worn floor, and for a moment I don’t speak, don’t move beyond that first step, because something inside me is adjusting, recalibrating.

Letting go of what I thought I needed, in order to understand what this is offering instead.

“It’s not very big,” Claire says, her voice careful. “But it’s a great lay-out, using the space to best advantage.”

“It really is,” I reply.

I move further in, my hand brushing lightly against the edge of the table, the surface smooth. in places, worn in others, the marks of previous lives still visible if I look closely enough.

“This used to be part of a larger unit,” she continues. “They split it a few years ago. Now it’s mostly students, short-term tenants, people just passing through.”

Passing through.

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Chapter 10

Claim

The words settle into me in a way she doesn’t intend, because for so long, I thought I was building something permanent, something lasting, something that would eventually feel like home if I just stayed long enough to deserve it.

And now… now I understand that there’s nothing wrong with passing through, nothing wrong with choosing something temporary when you’re still learning what it means to belong

somewhere at all.

I walk over to the arched window.

The city spreads out below in fragments: rooftops, narrow streets, people moving without noticing me, without needing to, and I rest my hand lightly against the glass, feeling the faint warmth of the sun where it touches.

It’s quiet here. Not empty, not hollow. Just… quiet.

The kind of quiet that doesn’t press against you. The kind that leaves space for you to breathe inside it.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Claire says, gesturing toward a small door near the kitchenette. It’s compact, but everything works.”

I nod, glance in at the minuscule shower, the lopsided shelving, the spotted mirror.

“Rent is very low because of the size,” she adds, watching me now with her clear blue gaze, trying to read something in my expression. “And the lease is flexible, month-to-month if you

want.”

“I’ll take it,” I say.

She blinks. “Sorry?”

“I’ll take it,” I repeat.

Claire studies me for a moment, as though she’s waiting for me to change my mind, to ask for more, to hesitate the way people usually do when faced with the idea of living in a space this small.

“Okay,” she says finally, a real smile breaking through. “We can get the paperwork sorted right away.”

I step further into the room, set my bag down on the chair, and look around again, when the thought hits me, smack in the face:

This room doesn’t know who I was.

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<Chapter 10

This room doesn’t remember me waiting in a house too large for my loneliness, me measuring my worth against a man who never once turned toward me.

It doesn’t know that in its entirety, it’s smaller than my walk-in wardrobe back in my old house, or that my old bedroom had six separate windows.

It doesn’t hold any of that memory.

And that’s why I want it.

Claim

I move toward the bed, pressing my hand lightly against the mattress, testing the firmness, the reality of it, and it holds.

So simple, so uncomplicated.

“I’ll move in today,” I say, the words feeling right the moment they leave me. “I’ll move in right

now.”

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